A couple of more reviews, of similarly-themed books, for your perusal. The second one will be returned late to the library tomorrow. Not only am I providing this public service free of charge to you, gentle readers, I'm actually paying out-of-pocket for the privilege. There's commitment, huh? As always, email me at mpbookfreak@hotmail.com with any comments, and come see me at the Freret Market on Saturday, September 5th, if you're in New Orleans.
Flat Broke in the Free Market: How Globalization Fleeced Working People
by Jon Jeter
W.W. Norton and Company, 2009
Life, Inc.: How The World Became a Corporation and How to Take it Back
by Douglas Rushkoff
Random House, 2009
When NAFTA was passed in 1993 (with Vice President Al Gore casting the deciding vote) (thanks, Al) (I still don't regret voting for Nader), the dot com boom may have insulated the U.S. economy from the worst of the predicted results for a few years. Still, despite the mainstream media's annointment of Ross Perot as the official voice of the opposition, commentators, activists and pundits from across the ideological spectrum warned of the disasters to come. Meanwhile, the Zapatista Army took matters into their own hands on January 1, 1994, launching military assaults against the Mexican army in their home state of Chiapas as the first salvo of a campaign that continues to inspire. In November of 1999, an international grassroots alliance took the fight to the Masters of the Universe, disrupting the WTO meeting in Seattle and dealing it a public blow from it has arguably never recovered (by which I don't claim that they have been rendered ineffective, just that they are much less public about their activities).
Unfortunately, as deindustrialization and the outsourcing of work has continued apace, the intellectual component of the opposition has been largely outsourced as well. While the home of Thomas Paine, Frederick Douglass, Thoreau, Ida Tarbell, Izzy Stone and George Seldes has been hammered by the tsunami of corporate globalization, I would argue that the most rigorous, lively and readable analyses have come from the likes of Kalle Lasn (Culture Jam: The Uncooling of America, 1999), Joel Bakan (The Corporation: The Pathological Pursuit of Profit and Power, 2004), and Naomi Klein (The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, 2007). What is the common thread? That's right, they're all.... Canadian.
But Americans can take heart in the publication of two recent books that take on corporate globalization without any of the, shall we say, baggage of works by the likes of Lou Dobbs or Pat Buchanan. Both complement each other well, as John Jeter's approach is more journalistic muckraker, his comprehensive reporting allowing the most blatant victims of corporate globalization their say. Douglas Rushkoff is more cerebral and scholarly, offering a centuries-spanning big picture context for our current predicament.
Jon Jeter’s Flat Broke is a powerful indictment of the gospel of free-market globalization fundamentalism, written by an unlikely source. Jeter was a the former Washington Post bureau chief for southern Africa (1999-2003) and South America (2003-2004), and this passionate jeremiad draws heavily from reporting in South Africa and Zambia, Brazil and Argentina, Chicago and Washington, D.C., as the lives and daily struggles of cab drivers, prostitutes and vegetable peddlers vividly illustrate the homicidal dynamics of increasingly abstract financial machinations beyond the control of most individuals and even governments, including those of long-established “democracies.”
Jeter’s perceptions and analysis are worlds away from the established orthodoxy of Thomas Friedman’s New York Times and Fareed Zakaria’s Newsweek, whose confidence in neoliberal globalization’s historical inevitability rival Lenin’s faith in “scientific socialism.” He sees once-functioning economies and societies like Argentina’s, with historically high rates of public infrastructure investment, domestic manufacturing, literacy, employment, union membership and relative social mobility, devastated in a very short time by irrational adherence to the mantra of the International Monetary Fund: the slashing of public investment, the acquisition of enormous national debt, privatization of common resources, the shrinking of manufacturing and agricultural sectors to a handful of exportable commodities. The reader then sees the human devastation through Jeter’s sensitive and passionate reporting, as social pathologies appear in short order and play themselves out in the lives of individuals, couples and families.
Parallels are drawn between these international examples and the deindustrialized American city, with the complicity of corporate-friendly African-American political leaders, their rise facilitated by the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement, coming under particular scrutiny. Unfortunately, New Orleans is not part of Jeter’s focus (I would recommend Naomi Klein’s aforementioned Shock Doctrine for an analysis of post-Katrina shenanigans in a global context), but the nation’s capital and President Obama’s most recent hometown are, with numerous examples of the co-optation of the power structure for the benefit of the few. This is a remarkable work, complementing recent works like Shock Doctrine and John Perkins’ insider expose’ Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. Jeter’s unique strength is a Studs Terkel-like empathy with his subjects, combined with an Izzy Stonesque doggedness and eye for the numbers and statistics that illustrate their plight.
Douglas Rushkoff's Life Inc. is an intellectual feast, providing a scope and context for the development of the corporation and its unprecedented power and influence that rivals Bakan's earlier work. Like that commentator and many others, including Thom Hartmann, Rushkoff identifies the fraudulent 1886 Supreme Court decision that established "corporate personhood" and 14th Amendment (the one that guarantees Constitutional rights to former slaves) as a crucial watershed. However, he sees that designation as merely building on economic and political dynamics stretching back to the Renaissance, as aristocrats married their political leverage to a merchant class whose global reach and ambitions was rendering landlocked nobles and their authority increasingly irrelevant.
The 20th century sees the introduction of modern psychology and sophisticated propoganda techniques, which gradually make their way into the new disciplines of marketing and public relations, all at the beck and call of the corporations whose reach becomes ever more insidious. Rushkoff's discussion of local vs. centralized currency, historically and modern-day, is also utterly fascinating, connecting a lot of dots for those of us, like myself, without a deep understanding of such issues.
I must admit to one peeve about Rushkoff's style, however. He has a tendency to overgeneralize about classes of people and the level of their complicity and entanglement in the corporatist system. In just one of many, many examples, Rushkoff discusses the enormous complexity of the interlocking corporate interests controlling so much of energy, agriculture, health care and governmental policies and the quixotic efforts to combat and control them: "Those who do get the full picture--intellectuals reading all about it in The New York Review of Books as they sun with their Dalton-educated teens on the beaches of East Hampton--can't help but shrug. The problem is just too big," (p. 212). While John Jeter gives his reader portraits of working-class people from South America and Africa who "get it," Rushkoff appears at times tone-deaf to the nuances of both acceptance of and opposition to the corporatism he so brilliantly analyzes historically. Very few can live a life of pure rejection of the corporate system, but I have known at least dozens, if not hundreds, in the communities I've lived in as an adult(New Orleans, Shreveport, Portland, small-town New Hampshire and Vermont), who choose their battles and live the parts of their lives that they can without the mediation of corporate entities. And I would argue that New Orleans has as large a concentration of people trying to do just that as anywhere, motivated by a kind of existential stubbornness (I hereby declare a personal moratorium on the word "resilience") I am in absolute awe of.
Rushkoff's overgeneralization tendencies are doubly disconcerting when a search of his personal webiste reveals his participation with the MaybeLogic Academy, a project of the late novelist and quantum philosopher Robert Anton Wilson, who was hypervigilant about rooting out such lazy thinking. However, despite my obvious preoccupation with the matter, Life Inc. is a true tour de force of original analysis and synthesis.
Better yet, we're back, baby! Come on, Lou Dobbs and Stephen Colbert, let's show these books some love. USA! USA! USA! USA!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Actual Reviews
Well, I'm sitting here in our new house, surrounded by boxes in various states of unpackededness (?), putting aside everything to bring new nuggets of insight to you, dear readers. I am now on my fourth blog post, and, given the presence of the word "review" in the title, I was thinking there might be a reasonable expectation of literary analysis on your part. I have actually written a handful in recent months, after some communication with Antigravity editor Leo McGovern regarding the writing of reviews for that publication. But Mr. McGovern has proven completely unreliable in returning emails and phone calls, so I have no clue as to whether anything I submitted will be published. Is that a New Orleans thing, or what? The New Orleans Levee, the Colton Studio School and NOMA are among the other institutions that just don't seem to feel an obligation to return basic inquiries. No matter, they will eventually rue the day they crossed the Abomunistic Review of Books! I will crush them like overripe grapes! (note to self: edit last two sentences)
Oh, well, God bless them, one and all. On with the review--
The Posthuman Dada Guide
by Andrei Codrescu
Princeton University Press, 2009
16.95
The jumping-off point for this ambitious work of literary criticism/cultural analysis/historical revisionism is the photographically-documented chess match between Romanian Dadaist poet Tristan Tzara and Russian revolutionary Vladimir Lenin in Zurich in October 1916. Switzerland’s neutral status during World War I made it a haven for artistic and political radicals of all stripes, and many of the movements midwifed there would resonate, and often compete, over the course of the century.
Codrescu argues that Dada, founded in Zurich’s Cabaret Voltaire by a polyglot crew of European writers, dancers, musicians and visual artists as a conscious repudiation of the entire culture that spawned the war, Shakespeare and Beethoven as well as the Kaiser and the Czar, has retained its vitality because it has never become “historical”: while Andre Breton and Jean-Paul Sartre, for example, tried to force the square pegs of Surrealism and Existentialism into doctrinaire Communist round holes, “The stem cell of Dada (‘the virgin microbe’) contains every possibility of revolt, destruction, and self-destruction;… Dada has causes, all of them, and is against them all, including itself,” (p.46).
The tone, format and even physical design of the book are all playful and intellectually rich. Discussions of Surrealism, Modernism, Kabbalah as a tool of Jewish emancipation (including seamless Battlestar Galactica references), the early Romanian avant-garde and café culture are exhilarating, relevant and completely free from academic jargon, despite Codrescu’s frequent forays into academia and the blessing of an Ivy League university press. Incidentally, it was rather surprising to find some editing lapses from dear old Princeton (misspelling of Charles Henri Ford’s middle name, incorrect copyright dates for The Name of the Rose and The Da Vinci Code [note: since the original writing, I have come to the conclusion that the dates refer to the movie adaptations, although that is not specified in the text]). But perhaps they were simply feeling liberated from such linear concepts as correct spelling and chronological accuracy. It’s easy to imagine while reading this tour de force.
In bookselling news, be sure to look for Deep South Samizdat at the Freret Market in New Orleans on Saturday, Sept. 5. Check out freretmarket.org for further details. And you can always shop online at amazon.com/shops/deepsouthsamizdatbooks.
The Abomunistic Review of Books is always interested in hearing from you, at mpbookfreak@hotmail.com. If you don't want your email published on the blog, just let me know. Take care.
Oh, well, God bless them, one and all. On with the review--
The Posthuman Dada Guide
by Andrei Codrescu
Princeton University Press, 2009
16.95
The jumping-off point for this ambitious work of literary criticism/cultural analysis/historical revisionism is the photographically-documented chess match between Romanian Dadaist poet Tristan Tzara and Russian revolutionary Vladimir Lenin in Zurich in October 1916. Switzerland’s neutral status during World War I made it a haven for artistic and political radicals of all stripes, and many of the movements midwifed there would resonate, and often compete, over the course of the century.
Codrescu argues that Dada, founded in Zurich’s Cabaret Voltaire by a polyglot crew of European writers, dancers, musicians and visual artists as a conscious repudiation of the entire culture that spawned the war, Shakespeare and Beethoven as well as the Kaiser and the Czar, has retained its vitality because it has never become “historical”: while Andre Breton and Jean-Paul Sartre, for example, tried to force the square pegs of Surrealism and Existentialism into doctrinaire Communist round holes, “The stem cell of Dada (‘the virgin microbe’) contains every possibility of revolt, destruction, and self-destruction;… Dada has causes, all of them, and is against them all, including itself,” (p.46).
The tone, format and even physical design of the book are all playful and intellectually rich. Discussions of Surrealism, Modernism, Kabbalah as a tool of Jewish emancipation (including seamless Battlestar Galactica references), the early Romanian avant-garde and café culture are exhilarating, relevant and completely free from academic jargon, despite Codrescu’s frequent forays into academia and the blessing of an Ivy League university press. Incidentally, it was rather surprising to find some editing lapses from dear old Princeton (misspelling of Charles Henri Ford’s middle name, incorrect copyright dates for The Name of the Rose and The Da Vinci Code [note: since the original writing, I have come to the conclusion that the dates refer to the movie adaptations, although that is not specified in the text]). But perhaps they were simply feeling liberated from such linear concepts as correct spelling and chronological accuracy. It’s easy to imagine while reading this tour de force.
In bookselling news, be sure to look for Deep South Samizdat at the Freret Market in New Orleans on Saturday, Sept. 5. Check out freretmarket.org for further details. And you can always shop online at amazon.com/shops/deepsouthsamizdatbooks.
The Abomunistic Review of Books is always interested in hearing from you, at mpbookfreak@hotmail.com. If you don't want your email published on the blog, just let me know. Take care.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Greater New Orleans Market Bestseller List Debuts Today!
Hello, all, I am writing to you from the position of homeowner, a status my wife and I have attained for the first time in our lives. It's a heady proposition, and my muscles are rather sore from books over there, but I am nevertheless taking some time out to communicate a few nuggets of wit and wisdom.
As I write, the Freret Market is four weeks away, which, for this bookseller, means the kickoff of market season. I know a few brave souls hawk their wares even in the depths of the New Orleans summer, but early June was my cutoff, and I am anxious to get back to it, especially given that 2009 will be my first full calendar year selling in this area, and I am getting better at it as the months go by.
Those of you who know me well know that my mind tends toward statistical analysis and categorization, and market bookselling in greater New Orleans is no different. I keep meticulous records of what books I sell, and those records guide me in ongoing book acquisition and preparation. Given the eclectic nature of my stock, I take pride in having something for everyone whose literary tastes reflect even a modicum of intelligence and sophistication, i.e. I don't sell romances, self-help, or anything that would possibly be marketed as "inspirational" and sold in one of those stand-alone spinner racks at Rouse's. I am far from a snob, as my sports-heavy personal reading will attest, but for Christ's sake, we are the only species capable of self-conscious evolution, and the tools we choose for our intellectual exercise should reflect that responsibility, right?
In that spirit, I present a list of the top-selling authors chosen by some of you, a cross-section of the local commerce-supporting greater New Orleans used book-buying public, as we head into the late, late summer, with appropriate commentary. This list is drawn from market sales since the beginning of 2009, with the limitations being those of my own stock. For example, I'm sure I could sell multiple copies of Confederacy of Dunces every time I sell at a market, but the used copies just aren't there, compared to say, Fahrenheit 451. Also, authors and subjects of books are combined into one category. Bob Dylan, for example, gets credit for sales of books he has written (Chronicles, Volume I and Tarantula), as well as any of the voluminous biographies, critical studies, etc. written by other authors. Finally, this list will be updated throughout the rest of the year, so the list should be quite fluid:
1.) Kurt Vonnegut: No surprises here, right? I think I read my first Vonnegut novel (Dead-Eye Dick) at about 15, maybe 16, and I vividly remember pulling it down from the shelf at the Bossier Parish Library and being transported to a very different place than the science fiction that comprised much of my independent reading at the time. I was probably passionately hooked for about five years, with waning but never fully-diminished enthusiasm since. I'm sure I'm not the only one.
2.) Star Trek books: I have to admit, this one has surprised me, but even New Orleans has its share of nerds, right? This listing is probably skewed by a particular type of book, the photonovel. This was a paperback format in which episodes of the original series were recreated through a sequence of still photographs with word balloons. I have never seen it used with any other t.v. show or movie, and I had the good fortune to buy a cache of several of them about three years ago. I believe I am sold out now, and I do not expect the more conventional Star Trek book sales to be able to sustain this ranking.
3.) (tie) Ray Bradbury: I have to admit I finally read Fahrenheit 451 about six years ago. I knew I would be sympathetic with the subject matter, but I truly did not anticipate the emotional power of the writing. I have since devoured several of Bradbury's short stories, and find him a true poet, particularly of a kind of nostalgic melancholy, much in contrast to the technological optimism many associate with science fiction.
3.) (tie) Walker Percy: Finally, a hometowner, the Kierkegaard of Covington, the chronicler of the existential angst afflicting the bourgeoisie, despite their best attempts to lose themselves in moviegoing and sloe gin fizzes.
5.) (tie) Robert Heinlein: Science fiction makes a big splash, with three of the top eight, including the dean of Golden Age military SF and author of Stranger in a Strange Land, one of the more unusual works of the 1960's, written by the most unlikely of suspects.
5.) (tie) Hermann Hesse: Question: Who is the only Nobel Prize winner on our list, as well as the only one whose book titles have inspired both a 60's rock band and a Keanu Reeves movie? William Burroughs? No. Philip K. Dick? No. Aldous Huxley? No. It would be the author of Steppenwolf and Siddhartha, the man whose work has probably fueled more dorm room acid-fueled inner journeys than any other Nobel winner save, I don't know, Pearl S. Buck?
5.) (tie) James Joyce: Now this one is a pleasant surprise. I know New Orleans has historically seen a lot of Irish immigration and influence, but who knew that one of the most challenging writers of the previous century would be so embraced. I haven't actually sold a copy of Finnegan's Wake yet, but the other major works of the Joyce ouvre have all been represented.
5.) (tie) J.D. Salinger: As with Joyce, all of the major works are represented in the sales totals, including the collections of those pristine, Steuben crystal short stories that launched a thousand New Yorker subscriptions.
I will spare you the ever-expanding tie that follows, but I will let you know a few of the writers/subjects who seem poised to make big splashes in the coming weeks: James Lee Burke, Albert Camus, Bob Dylan, Ernest Gaines, Aldous Huxley, Henry Miller, George Orwell, Anne Rice. I will post new rankings every week as the markets move along, and you can follow your favorites, not to mention helping them out. If you find it appalling that a hack like Vonnegut sits smugly at the top of the greater New Orleans market bestseller list, while Faulkner languishes in relative obscurity, cast your vote by stepping up and purchasing that copy of The Reivers, and make your voice count! Additionally, if you would like where your favorite author rates on the list, send an inquiry to mpbookfreak@hotmail.com. If you would not like your email published, please specify.
While we're on the subject, let's turn to the digital mailbag. Jason in New Orleans writes:
after reading your blog, my brain exploded from sheer intellectual satisfaction. damn you, mike. you owe me at least a cerebral cortex.
Thank you for your, um, kind words, Jason. It is exactly such feedback that keeps me going until the Macarthur Fellowship comes in. As for the cerebral cortex, let me talk to a couple of New Jersey rabbis I know who may be able to facilitate that. And I'll throw in the instantaneous Hebrew fluency for free!
As I write, the Freret Market is four weeks away, which, for this bookseller, means the kickoff of market season. I know a few brave souls hawk their wares even in the depths of the New Orleans summer, but early June was my cutoff, and I am anxious to get back to it, especially given that 2009 will be my first full calendar year selling in this area, and I am getting better at it as the months go by.
Those of you who know me well know that my mind tends toward statistical analysis and categorization, and market bookselling in greater New Orleans is no different. I keep meticulous records of what books I sell, and those records guide me in ongoing book acquisition and preparation. Given the eclectic nature of my stock, I take pride in having something for everyone whose literary tastes reflect even a modicum of intelligence and sophistication, i.e. I don't sell romances, self-help, or anything that would possibly be marketed as "inspirational" and sold in one of those stand-alone spinner racks at Rouse's. I am far from a snob, as my sports-heavy personal reading will attest, but for Christ's sake, we are the only species capable of self-conscious evolution, and the tools we choose for our intellectual exercise should reflect that responsibility, right?
In that spirit, I present a list of the top-selling authors chosen by some of you, a cross-section of the local commerce-supporting greater New Orleans used book-buying public, as we head into the late, late summer, with appropriate commentary. This list is drawn from market sales since the beginning of 2009, with the limitations being those of my own stock. For example, I'm sure I could sell multiple copies of Confederacy of Dunces every time I sell at a market, but the used copies just aren't there, compared to say, Fahrenheit 451. Also, authors and subjects of books are combined into one category. Bob Dylan, for example, gets credit for sales of books he has written (Chronicles, Volume I and Tarantula), as well as any of the voluminous biographies, critical studies, etc. written by other authors. Finally, this list will be updated throughout the rest of the year, so the list should be quite fluid:
1.) Kurt Vonnegut: No surprises here, right? I think I read my first Vonnegut novel (Dead-Eye Dick) at about 15, maybe 16, and I vividly remember pulling it down from the shelf at the Bossier Parish Library and being transported to a very different place than the science fiction that comprised much of my independent reading at the time. I was probably passionately hooked for about five years, with waning but never fully-diminished enthusiasm since. I'm sure I'm not the only one.
2.) Star Trek books: I have to admit, this one has surprised me, but even New Orleans has its share of nerds, right? This listing is probably skewed by a particular type of book, the photonovel. This was a paperback format in which episodes of the original series were recreated through a sequence of still photographs with word balloons. I have never seen it used with any other t.v. show or movie, and I had the good fortune to buy a cache of several of them about three years ago. I believe I am sold out now, and I do not expect the more conventional Star Trek book sales to be able to sustain this ranking.
3.) (tie) Ray Bradbury: I have to admit I finally read Fahrenheit 451 about six years ago. I knew I would be sympathetic with the subject matter, but I truly did not anticipate the emotional power of the writing. I have since devoured several of Bradbury's short stories, and find him a true poet, particularly of a kind of nostalgic melancholy, much in contrast to the technological optimism many associate with science fiction.
3.) (tie) Walker Percy: Finally, a hometowner, the Kierkegaard of Covington, the chronicler of the existential angst afflicting the bourgeoisie, despite their best attempts to lose themselves in moviegoing and sloe gin fizzes.
5.) (tie) Robert Heinlein: Science fiction makes a big splash, with three of the top eight, including the dean of Golden Age military SF and author of Stranger in a Strange Land, one of the more unusual works of the 1960's, written by the most unlikely of suspects.
5.) (tie) Hermann Hesse: Question: Who is the only Nobel Prize winner on our list, as well as the only one whose book titles have inspired both a 60's rock band and a Keanu Reeves movie? William Burroughs? No. Philip K. Dick? No. Aldous Huxley? No. It would be the author of Steppenwolf and Siddhartha, the man whose work has probably fueled more dorm room acid-fueled inner journeys than any other Nobel winner save, I don't know, Pearl S. Buck?
5.) (tie) James Joyce: Now this one is a pleasant surprise. I know New Orleans has historically seen a lot of Irish immigration and influence, but who knew that one of the most challenging writers of the previous century would be so embraced. I haven't actually sold a copy of Finnegan's Wake yet, but the other major works of the Joyce ouvre have all been represented.
5.) (tie) J.D. Salinger: As with Joyce, all of the major works are represented in the sales totals, including the collections of those pristine, Steuben crystal short stories that launched a thousand New Yorker subscriptions.
I will spare you the ever-expanding tie that follows, but I will let you know a few of the writers/subjects who seem poised to make big splashes in the coming weeks: James Lee Burke, Albert Camus, Bob Dylan, Ernest Gaines, Aldous Huxley, Henry Miller, George Orwell, Anne Rice. I will post new rankings every week as the markets move along, and you can follow your favorites, not to mention helping them out. If you find it appalling that a hack like Vonnegut sits smugly at the top of the greater New Orleans market bestseller list, while Faulkner languishes in relative obscurity, cast your vote by stepping up and purchasing that copy of The Reivers, and make your voice count! Additionally, if you would like where your favorite author rates on the list, send an inquiry to mpbookfreak@hotmail.com. If you would not like your email published, please specify.
While we're on the subject, let's turn to the digital mailbag. Jason in New Orleans writes:
after reading your blog, my brain exploded from sheer intellectual satisfaction. damn you, mike. you owe me at least a cerebral cortex.
Thank you for your, um, kind words, Jason. It is exactly such feedback that keeps me going until the Macarthur Fellowship comes in. As for the cerebral cortex, let me talk to a couple of New Jersey rabbis I know who may be able to facilitate that. And I'll throw in the instantaneous Hebrew fluency for free!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Odds and Ends
Well, yours truly and Mrs. truly are soon to be homeowners for the first time, which means the book packing has begun. If you don't hear from me for a while, it probably just means that my newly muscular arms destroyed the keyboard in a display of unforeseen strength. Until then, I will do my best to keep you apprised of noteworthy events, books published, and the like.
I did manage to attend the reading at New Orleans' historic Latter Library this past Saturday, August 1. Laura Mattingly, Danny Kerwick, Martha McFerrin and Chris Champagne were the participants, all very good in their very different ways.
Mattingly, introduced by emcee and occasional participant Gina Ferrara as someone who rafted the Mississippi (particularly impressive to this reader, presently working on Huck Finn and Life on the Mississippi), seems to write from a perspective of youthful discovery, including handwritten poems seemingly random pieces of paper. The highlight was her last poem, about a tattooed street youth named Cisco, lingering near death after being stabbed. Compassionate and powerful, it reminded me of Jim Carroll's "People Who Died," alchemically bestowing dignity on someone who superficially seemed to live his life in rejection of it.
Danny Kerwick read from his new book You Stand Alongside Death, a book-length poem released by Foothills Publishing, and illustrated with a gorgeous painting by Patricia Kaschalk. I will try to have a review of the book posted soon, but the excerpts read by Danny had a crystalline beauty to them, each image a carefully and starkly crafted moment of consciousness that has unsuccessfully eluded capture.
Martha McFerrin was the member of the group with the most high-falutin' academic credentials, and she did make generous use of references to Yeats and Knossos and Orpheus. But a keen wit was wedded to the esotericism (I might have made up that word), and she wrote wistfully of her roots in northeast Texas, a piney-wooded region that has produced its share of unique individuals (think Bill Moyers, George Foreman, Bubba Ho-Tep writer and cult novelist Joe Lansdale, and Albert Parsons, the former teenage Confederate soldier who married a former slave and ended up at the end of a noose, executed for his agitation in Chicago on behalf of the campaign for the eight-hour working day).
Chris Champagne, known for his one-man theatrical performances lampooning New Orleans public figures, finished up with some surreal wordplay, including a remarkable Hemingway parody that transcended mere imitation. We've all heard a few sentences or even paragraphs from the competition in Key West every year, exploiting the obvious cliched bread crumbs that Hemingway graciously left on his way out, but Champagne took it to a whole new level, channeling, I don't know, Alfred Jarry or Antonin Artaud or someone within that whole Paris orbit.
Unfortunately, I believe that the Latter Library's readings fall on the first Saturday of the month, which conflicts with the Freret Market, where Deep South Samizdat Books has an ongoing presence, providing greater New Orleanians with quality literature in a wonderful outdoor setting (when the fires of Hades are not upon us in the summer).
For those of you outside of the city, you can always shop online at amazon.com/shops/deepsouthsamizdatbooks. Recent additions to the online inventory include A Thomas Merton Reader, Wallace Stegner's Joe Hill, a biography of Jane's Addiction, studies of African-American religion, some writings on economics that are probably helpful for those of you still trying to make sense of the real world, and books by Kinky Friedman, Doris Lessing and Primo Levi.
And finally, from the digital mailbag, Joe in Brooklyn writes:
Anyway, GREAT first post. I was not familiar with Kaufman's manifesto. Love how you weaved it in. I've booked marked it and will be checking it daily (okay, weekly) and am already trying to come up with something worthwhile to contribute.
However... I will do none of the above unless you CHANGE THE COLOR. Black is devastating to read on, especially since once you click off it and go to a more neutral (esp. white) backgrounded page, you feel like you are going blind.
Joe
RESPONSE:
Ask (or in this case, demand in all caps), and you shall receive, my friend. As you can see, my crack technical support team worked overtime and did in fact change the color of the background from black to white (when will we get beyond this?), thereby eliminating any shortcuts to edginess I previously enjoyed. It's just up to the writing, now, I suppose.
But on to Bob Kaufman. How could you not know the Abomunist Manifesto, Joe? What did they teach you in that Yankee MFA school, how to sit around on the floor with wine and cheese and mispronounce "allegorical" and "didacticism" (Woody Allen, Manhattan)? Get your head out of that Don Delillo novel, put down the bagel, and march down to the Strand and get some Bob Kaufman. And while you're at it, grab a copy of the Times-Picayune and read in pure, unadulterated fear the Saints and LSU previews as they both prepare for utter domination. Talk to you soon, my friend--Parker
I did manage to attend the reading at New Orleans' historic Latter Library this past Saturday, August 1. Laura Mattingly, Danny Kerwick, Martha McFerrin and Chris Champagne were the participants, all very good in their very different ways.
Mattingly, introduced by emcee and occasional participant Gina Ferrara as someone who rafted the Mississippi (particularly impressive to this reader, presently working on Huck Finn and Life on the Mississippi), seems to write from a perspective of youthful discovery, including handwritten poems seemingly random pieces of paper. The highlight was her last poem, about a tattooed street youth named Cisco, lingering near death after being stabbed. Compassionate and powerful, it reminded me of Jim Carroll's "People Who Died," alchemically bestowing dignity on someone who superficially seemed to live his life in rejection of it.
Danny Kerwick read from his new book You Stand Alongside Death, a book-length poem released by Foothills Publishing, and illustrated with a gorgeous painting by Patricia Kaschalk. I will try to have a review of the book posted soon, but the excerpts read by Danny had a crystalline beauty to them, each image a carefully and starkly crafted moment of consciousness that has unsuccessfully eluded capture.
Martha McFerrin was the member of the group with the most high-falutin' academic credentials, and she did make generous use of references to Yeats and Knossos and Orpheus. But a keen wit was wedded to the esotericism (I might have made up that word), and she wrote wistfully of her roots in northeast Texas, a piney-wooded region that has produced its share of unique individuals (think Bill Moyers, George Foreman, Bubba Ho-Tep writer and cult novelist Joe Lansdale, and Albert Parsons, the former teenage Confederate soldier who married a former slave and ended up at the end of a noose, executed for his agitation in Chicago on behalf of the campaign for the eight-hour working day).
Chris Champagne, known for his one-man theatrical performances lampooning New Orleans public figures, finished up with some surreal wordplay, including a remarkable Hemingway parody that transcended mere imitation. We've all heard a few sentences or even paragraphs from the competition in Key West every year, exploiting the obvious cliched bread crumbs that Hemingway graciously left on his way out, but Champagne took it to a whole new level, channeling, I don't know, Alfred Jarry or Antonin Artaud or someone within that whole Paris orbit.
Unfortunately, I believe that the Latter Library's readings fall on the first Saturday of the month, which conflicts with the Freret Market, where Deep South Samizdat Books has an ongoing presence, providing greater New Orleanians with quality literature in a wonderful outdoor setting (when the fires of Hades are not upon us in the summer).
For those of you outside of the city, you can always shop online at amazon.com/shops/deepsouthsamizdatbooks. Recent additions to the online inventory include A Thomas Merton Reader, Wallace Stegner's Joe Hill, a biography of Jane's Addiction, studies of African-American religion, some writings on economics that are probably helpful for those of you still trying to make sense of the real world, and books by Kinky Friedman, Doris Lessing and Primo Levi.
And finally, from the digital mailbag, Joe in Brooklyn writes:
I'm seeing spots over here, man!
Joe
RESPONSE:
Ask (or in this case, demand in all caps), and you shall receive, my friend. As you can see, my crack technical support team worked overtime and did in fact change the color of the background from black to white (when will we get beyond this?), thereby eliminating any shortcuts to edginess I previously enjoyed. It's just up to the writing, now, I suppose.
But on to Bob Kaufman. How could you not know the Abomunist Manifesto, Joe? What did they teach you in that Yankee MFA school, how to sit around on the floor with wine and cheese and mispronounce "allegorical" and "didacticism" (Woody Allen, Manhattan)? Get your head out of that Don Delillo novel, put down the bagel, and march down to the Strand and get some Bob Kaufman. And while you're at it, grab a copy of the Times-Picayune and read in pure, unadulterated fear the Saints and LSU previews as they both prepare for utter domination. Talk to you soon, my friend--Parker
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