Charles Bock's debut novel BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN is being offered as a free PDF download via www.beautifulchildren.net/read, starting last night and running through midnight this Friday. (Sharing, emailing and printing are all allowed.) [Note that! My italics.-- ed] The free file is also available online via Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, Powells.com and Northshire.com.Beautiful Children, incidentally, was the subject of a looong NY Times Magazine profile by former NYT Book Review editor Charles McGrath last month, which set lit blogs a-twitter.
Bock says in the announcement, "I want people to read the book. If that means giving it away for free on-line, great." Random's deputy director of marketing Avideh Bashirrad adds, "The book really struck a chord with readers as bookstore sales have demonstrated. We believe it has even more potential readers out there, and the best way to reach them is online, with this unrestricted access."
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The first post is about Graham Rowle's recent book, Woman's World--a novel entirely composed of fragments cut out of women's magazines. (The book's ransom note-like page design preserves the mode of construction; see above.) Dan Visel offers a dense but fascinating meditation on this weird hybrid work, touching on Barthes, Ted Nelson, and The Devil Wears Prada along the way. Worth a read.
The second post is about cell phone (or flash, or keitai) novels, the tiny, bite-size fictions made for mobile phone screens. The post--written by my good friend Ben Vershbow--is pegged to a recent interview of Barry Yourgrau, a New York/South African practitioner of this mostly Japanese genre. Ben treats keitai novels as more than just a goofy Japanese trend, offering some serious reflection on the form:
Western publishers would do well to study this free-flowing model. A story need not be bound to one particular delivery mechanism, be it a cell phone, web page (or book). In fact, the ecology of forms can make a more comprehensive narrative universe. This is not only the accepted wisdom of cross-media marketing franchisers and brand blizzardeers (Spiderman the comic, Spiderman the action figure, the lunchbox, the movie, the game, the Halloween costume etc.), but an age-old principle underlying the transmission of culture. The Arthurian legends, for instance, weren't spun in one single authoritative text, but in many different textual itertations over time, a plethora of visual depictions, oral storytelling, songs, objets d'art etc.
This is a point emphasized in Sven Birkets' book The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age, which I've been reading on the train. Birkets, musing on the word processor in 1995, wrote:
The dual function of print is the immobilization and preservation of language. To make a mark on a page is to gesture toward permanence; it is to make a choice from an array of expressive possibilities. In former days, the writer, en route to a product that could be edited, typeset, and more or less permanently imprinted on paper, wrestled incessantly with this primary attribute of the medium. If he wrote with pencil or pen, then he had to erase or scratch out his mistakes; if he typed, then he either had to retype or use some correcting tool. The path between impulse and inscription was made thornier by the knowledge that errors meant having to retrace steps and do more work. The writer was more likely to test the phrasing on the ear, to edit mentally before committing to the paper. The underlying momentum was toward the right, irrevocable expression.
This ever-present awareness of fixity, of indelibility, is no longer so pressing a part of the writer's daily struggle. That is, the writing technology no longer enforces it. Words now arrive onto the screen under the aspect of provisionality. They can be transferred with a stroke or deleted altogether. And when they are deleted it is as if they had never been. There is no physical reminder of the wrong turn, the failure. At a very fundamental and obvious level, the consequentiality of bringing forth language has been altered. Where the limitations of the medium once encouraged a very practical resistance to the spewing out of the unformulated expression, that responsibility has now passed to the writer. (page 157 in the 2007 paperback edition)
Both posts are vintage if:book--complex and erudite, yet engagingly conversational. I also think they do a great job balancing their forward-thinking thirst for change with a healthy skepticism, not to mention a firm grounding in literary history. They're excited about the new, but not shocked by it.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
When thinking about electronic literature and digital culture, it's easy to start feeling untethered from the real, physical world. You can do so much of your reporting from behind your laptop screen--you really have to work to get out there, to meet people, to see and record things.
Text, after all, has an element that is completely abstract and non-corporeal. (Until it's set down as writing or printing.) But people, at the very least, still live in real, tangible, physical spaces and are formed by specific environments. I've been thinking a lot about this notion of physicality vs. virtuality as I prepare to (hopefully) profile some artists working with digital text.
Given all that, I was totally charmed to come across this feature from the Guardian called "Writers' Rooms," which shows the desks and offices of famous (non-digital) writers. Here's Martin Amis's office, for example, above.
If you've read Rob Boynton's book The New New Journalism, you'll know that the most fascinating parts of the interviews--if you're a writer yourself--are when Boynton asks tthem what kind of pens they use, where they like to position their desk lamps, and what kind of notebooks they like to carry in their pockets. A friend of mine likes to call that part "journalist porn," and I totally agree.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
On Friday, I met up with Dan Shiffman, an "associate teacher" at NYU's Interactive Telecommunications Program. (ITP is a division of Tisch, the arts school, that pursues all kinds of fascinating work in digital communication and interactive design.) While flipping through Dan's syllabus for "Programming A to Z," I found "What is Electronic Literature?", a highly useful writeup by Brian Kim Stefans, an internet artist, digital poet, and former instructor at Brown.
Stefans defines electronic literature as "any form of writing that takes advantage of the possibilities afforded by digital technology" as well as, more loosely, forms of writing that are inspired or "informed by digital technology." (I think he means structurally and formally more than thematically--does William Gibson fall under this umbrella? Unclear.) He then offers a list of (admittedly porous) categories that fall under this genre.
Check it out--it offers a good intro to a fascinating artistic field.
(the image is Daniel Howe's piece, "Text Curtain")
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
There's already news trickling out about some interesting digital experiments being undertaken by traditional publishing houses:
** Tor, the venerable sci-fi/fantasy imprint from Macmillan, is starting a digital book-of-the-week club: If you sign up, you'll get occasional newsletters and a free e-book every week.
** Megapublisher HarperCollins is also giving it away for free: They're currently offering full online access to five titles as part of a program they're calling "Full Access." One of these books is The Witch of Portobello, by Paulo Coelho, author of the omnipresent The Alchemist. Coelho is actually participating in a year-long pilot program with HC, in which they'll offer online access to a new Coelho book every month. Neil Gaiman, author of the awesome Sandman comic book series, is also going to be offering free access to one of his (presumably prose) books--you can vote for which one you'd like to see on his blog. (Motoko Rich wrote about the announcement in yesterday's New York Times.)
** Random House is experimenting with an iTunes-esque model--selling single chapters of a book online for $2.99 a pop. Right now they're only offering this on one title: MADE TO STICK: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die, by Chip and Dan Heath. If you buy a chapter, they throw in the intro and index for free.
The publishing industry--like all media industries--needs to find new models of distribution and monetization that suit today's digital marketplace. Luckily, publishing isn't in quite the same sinking boat as the music, TV, or film industry. Online book piracy isn't really much of an issue (until someone manages to invent a super-fast, automatic book scanner). But publishing is an industry--like newspapers and periodicals--that's continuously sounding its own death knells, so it's good to see them experimenting, even if they're doing so relatively cautiously.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
… But I can’t wait to see the new staging of Ben Katchor and Mark Mulcahy’s musical theater piece, Slug Bearers of Kayrol Island, opening next week at the Vineyard. Katchor is an awesome illustrator and comic book artist (The Jew of New York; The Beauty Supply District; Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer). Mulcahy is a musician who is perhaps best known as the leader of the house band for the great mid-90’s Nickelodeon show The Adventures of Pete and Pete.
I saw their other collaboration, The Rosenbach Company, at Joe’s Pub a few years ago and loved it—I’m pretty sure this show follows a similar set-up. Rosenbach’s concert-like staging was very simple: A screen displayed a shifting mix of Katchor’s drawings and animations, while a small group of singers and actors, seated in front of the screen, performed the dialogue and score.
Katchor and Mulcahy's shows offer plenty of interesting connections to this portfolio topic. Rosenbach was about a pair of (real-life) brothers who ran a famous rare book company in Philadelphia. Slug Bearers, according to the press release, “follows the efforts of a New York philanthropist to bring the modern poetry of instructional pamphlets to a group of exploited island workers.” So in both cases, these plays are about arcane forms of reading, and about romanticized notions of the book as object—the latter only heightened by the shows' allusions to comic books, which are increasingly being seen as literary art objects (in their "graphic novel" form) as opposed to disposable entertainments.
Katchor and Mulcahy's shows an oddly elegant mix of cool technology and warm, hand-made tactility. The way Katchor and Mulcahy interweave image, text, sound, and space calls to mind plenty of contemporary electronic literature projects—even as Katchor himself says he's drawing on a 17th-century Indian practice known as "picture reciting," in which a storyteller hangs a painted banner in a public area, tells his tale, and then sells prints of the image afterward. A good reminder that most "new" ideas are, in fact, old ones.