Onstage Lit

I don't know much about the author Aimee Bender, but one of my cohorts here reviewed a recent book of hers and -- unless my memory's gone totally to shit at this time of night -- talked about her work as being in the same vein as Kelly Link. And, hey, I can't argue with that.

Anyway. There's a theatrical adaptation going on in NYC of five stories from her collection The Girl in the Flammable Skirt; the play goes by the same name, and can be seen through the 29th of this month.

If memory serves, I also heard something about an adaptation of George Saunders's Pastoralia onstage in the city....

Splendid Duality

I saw Martin Scorsese's Bringing Out the Dead not long ago for the first time.  It clarified for me a theme that's run through a number of Scorsese's films: that of duality.  Think of Howard Hughes in The Aviator: suave and accomplished on one hand, and nearly crippled by his OCD on the other.  Or, more obviously, The Last Temptation of Christ.  In Bringing Out the Dead, Frank Pierce is so divided as to be nearly two separate men: one noble and dedicated to helping others; the other, reckless, engaging in self-destructive behavior.  The contrast between the two is shocking, and it's not until partway through the film that you realize that this contrast is the point: that the divide between Pierce's two aspects is at the root of the film's conflict.

What does this have to do with Harvey Pekar?  A lot.

Last week, I went to the Union Square Barnes & Noble to see Pekar and artist Dean Haspiel speak about their new graphic novel, The Quitter.  Like most of you, I was most familiar with Pekar's work through the film American Splendor ; the only work of his that I've read was Unsung Hero, which concerns the experience of a friend of his in the Vietnam War.  Pekar and Haspiel had a good chemistry -- Haspiel was charismatic and seemed to know half the crowd (and while I don't know the man, I did learn of the reading through his posting on The Engine), while Pekar seemed less comfortable in front of the crowd, while still dispensing at times brutally honest pieces of information.  The Quitter is not the first time the two had collaborated, but both gave the impression that their collaboration had reached a new height with this work.

So, you might ask: how is it? 

It's good.  The Quitter is the story of Pekar's early years -- from birth to roughly his mid-to-late twenties, with a postscript bringing everything together.  It's about his insecurities, his abilities, and the evolution of his character -- and throughout it, duality plays a huge role.  You see the young Pekar adopt an all-or-nothing attitude towards academics, abandoning anything that causes him to feel insecure -- but at the same time, we also see him finding certain things to take refuge in that will sustain him for years to come.  Haspiel's page design contrasts Pekar -- both the confident and insecure versions in his younger years, but also the younger man with Pekar today.  Its thematic design is subtle, but it works -- and, a day or so after finishing it, its emotional core is still resonating with me.

LeRoy

I'm about a third of the way through this New York article on JT LeRoy.  Subtitled "The True Identity of a Great Literary Hustler", it's well worth reading...

More Link

The title story....well, I read it and found myself wanting to watch the television show it described. Either of them. Sorta like if watching Buffy back in the halcyon days of Bar 126 was merged with William Gibson's Pattern Recognition. How can you argue with that, I ask? How?

That, I can't argue with, plain and simple. I loved the title story the best (see here for not-my-best-bit-of-critical-writing-ever) and I liked "Stone Animals" and "The Hortlak" very much indeed. I didn't like "Lull," the cheerleader-and-devil one, so much; I wasn't convinced the playing with time was working out, and it made my brain want to nitpick. "The Cannon" seemed a bit of a throwaway, although the imagery was on occasion great.

I think I felt that yes, some stories showed a greater mastery of craft, but others, perhaps as a result, were lacking the crackle and spark of Stranger Things Happen - and we agree that it's because it's not like that first album - or, I'd argue, the album with which you meet a band, be it first, third or fifteenth, it's the introduction that makes magic.

I think she's working up to a novel, though. These stories were longer and thicker. I bet.

Absolute Beginners

The new Kelly Link collection, while delicious, is not quite as lip-smackingly good as the last.

Yeah, I'll have a go at this. I'm taking a break from packing for a wedding in Charleston and watching Firefly episodes...

I'll agree that Magic for Beginners doesn't quite have the ring of freshness that Stranger Things Happen did. It's the difference between the debut album that comes out of nowhere and knocks you on your ass and the follow-up that does everything that the last one did, but finds the band easing a little more into their own sound. That rush of exhilaration is lessened just a little bit, but the craft's that much better.

First and foremost, "Stone Animals" is hella creepy, and its ending works equally well as metaphor or taken literally. The title story....well, I read it and found myself wanting to watch the television show it described. Either of them. Sorta like if watching Buffy back in the halcyon days of Bar 126 was merged with William Gibson's Pattern Recognition. How can you argue with that, I ask? How?

Not to mention the one with the cheerleader and the devil, which made my head spin as I was reading it.

(You may note that I have neither refuted nor supported the point quoted at the top of this post. Whoops.)

Actually, while we're on the subject of books with the devil, I should also sneak in some kind words here for Richard Butner's chapbook Horses Blow Up Dog City & Other Stories, also from the fine people at Small Beer Press. You've got a total of six stories in there, including the title story, which has the best depictions of hardcore puppeteering since the opening scenes of Being John Malkovich. The story that left me the most impressed, though, was one called "Ash City Stomp", in which the devil does make an appearance. And hey, presto, you can read it here. It's partly set in scenic Asheville, North Carolina.

Strangely enough -- because this hadn't occurred to me when I started this post -- the first time I met the groom in Friday's wedding was also in Asheville, North Carolina. Coincidence?

Yes, actually.

It's just too good.

I'm sorry I keep forgetting to post. It's just that I'm engrossed in the tirades and tidbits of Miss Snark. Go. Read.

(Were I still an editorial assistant in NYC, I would be moderately obsessed with figuring out her identity. Way out here in the boonies, though, anonymous is fun.)

Here's a topic for consideration: The new Kelly Link collection, while delicious, is not quite as lip-smackingly good as the last. Toby? Anyone? Discuss.

Filming the Unfilmable

Indiewire is reporting that Michael Almereyda is directing a film called Tonight at Noon, which is based upon Jonathan Lethem's short story "Five Fucks".

Having read the story in question, I will definitely say that it's creepy as hell -- there are bits from it still lodged in my head a few years after first encountering it.  It's also virtually unfilmable, as written. 

The story (it's the last item down on the page) indicates that Almereyda has figured out how to make it work -- and with a cast headed by Chiwetel Ejiofor, it could be interesting...

(the day before today)

I've just finished reading Ian McEwan's Saturday. I may simply be flush with the emotions of having recently completed it, but I daresay it's the best novel I've read since making my way through Marilynne Robinson's Gilead earlier in the year. Assorted ramblings on the subject are forthcoming...