bookblog

I looked back over at my blog history this morning, and realized with not a little bit of shock and self-reprimand that it's been well over a month since my last post!

I wish I had some sort of glamorous excuse like globe-hopping, or maternity leave, or being trapped in a bottomless trunk while my captor assumed my identity a la Mad Eye Moody, but the reality is that I've been cheating on my blog. In the pursuit of more google page results on my name, I've recently started work on my first book, so my blog has gone quiet while I've been developing ink stained fingers and a 4 cup a day coffee addiction.

I'm coming back though I promise! In the quest for literary notoriety and full time gainful employment, my best blog ideas have been relegated to several legal pad pages.

I've also been tooling around with the design, and what direction I want this site to take, so check back on Monday, July 14th to check out the changes!

Happy reading! 

Who is your favorite idol? No, I don't mean that obnoxiously annoying show full of talentless ass-pirates that keeps Fox in business, but that author (or authors) who you're sure if you met in person would cause you to turn into either a gaping guppy fish, or a screechy, babbling, pre-adolescent girl.

It had never occurred to me that I might actually encounter any of my literary idols wandering around the suburbs of Chicago, or the rolling hills of Central Missouri where I spent my college years. Because of this, I never had the time to properly prepare my chamingly witty, yet unique introduction to my idol, so that when the day did come, in October 2005, I pretty much ended up looking like...well...read on and see...

One late summer day in 2005 my program coordinator for the Summer Publishing Institute at NYU sent out a mass email asking which of us over-eager book nerds might be willing to give up a Sunday volunteering for the New York Times' Great Read in the Park, celebrating the 75th anniversary of the Bestseller List. I had no idea which authors were to be present, but they did promise a free t-shirt, so I was down.

Sunday dawned unseasonably warm for early October in Bryant Park, where the festival shenanigans were taking place, and I showed up as mandated in brown pants, my complimentary long sleeved t-shirt, clutching a bucket of coffee in my left hand. I scanned the events program that the volunteer coordinator stuffed into my hand, before taking off in 4" heels, screeching at one of the many minions present. It all looked pretty interesting, and I had heard of, and enjoyed most of the authors that were scheduled to lecture and do book signings, but then, I came to HIM. If this were a novel, I would have sputtered on my latest sip, and dropped my coffee to the pavement, splattering someones chic shoes.

Instead, I pulled the gaping guppy face. I was dumbstruck. HE was going.to.be.HERE. In Bryant Park. Right in front of me. Mr. Angela's Ashes himself, in the flesh, Frank McCourt.

I first read Angela's Ashes in December 1997 while bed-bound recoving from a tonsilectomy, and I fell in love. Even heavy doses of  regular painkillers and a slew of anti-biotics couldn't tear me away from McCourt's dry and brutally honest prose. This was the first book in my adult reading life that I truly devoured. I even chose to write my undergraduate thesis for my capstone on 20th Century Irish Literature on McCourt's two previous books (This was 2004, and Teacher Man had not been published yet).

In interviews and reviews of McCourt that I had read over subsequent years described him as dumbfounded by, and fairly annoyed by his literary successes, and all the fame and adulation that followed. I witnessed this firsthand when following a reading from his upcoming book, Teacher Man, a gaggle of middle-aged women grouped around him like a flock of hyper hens, cooing and clucking their praise and compliments. McCourt looked visibly annoyed and uncortable, and while polite, he made moves to get away from his groupies as quickly as was politely possible.

By some act of God, and my strategic positioning during his reading, I was tapped by Ms. Jimmy Choo volunteer coordinator to escort McCourt to his round-table discussion inside the New York Public Library just off Bryant Park. As he walked towards me, I steeled myself, attempting to look as professional and put-together as possible, though difficult given that I had just spent the past 7 hrs trotting all over the park in a long-sleeved shirt on an 82 degree, sunny day. Our exchange went something like this: 

Me: "Hi Mr. McCourt, my name is Jessica LeTourneur, and it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm here to escort you to your next presentation over there in the library."

Him: "Hrrmph, hello. How much time do I have?"

Me: "You have 45 min sir."

Him: "You see that bar over there? (Bryant Park has an outdoor bistro/bar set up just steps from the library in the summertime), I'm going over there for a drink...come back for me in 45 minutes."

(As we walked towards the bar...)

Me: "You know, I have read both Angela's Ashes and Tis several times, and I just wanted to tell you that I think you are a wonderful writer, and I really loved your books. In fact, I wrote my undergraduate thesis on them."

Him: "Oh God, don't tell me you wrote one of those fucking English student 'deeper meaning' papers that are always full of shit on my books..."

Me: (chuckling nervously) "Heh, actually, I did."

Him: "Oh Christ. And you work in book publishing now?"

Me: "Yes....."

Him: "Jesus Christ. I'll be at the bar. See you in 45 minutes." 

Well I didn't think that it would ever happen, but I seem to have been struck with a paralyzing case of literary attention deficit disorder. Blame it on the warmer weather, my erratic schedule, or a type-A personality, but nothing I've been reading lately can seem to hold my attention for more than 20 minutes. And it is driving me bonkers!

First it started with Anna Karenina, which I was happily enjoying. Then 87 pages in I got distracted and picked up The Persian Bride. 54 pages into that, and I wandered towards a tattered copy of Le Mariage that I picked up at my library's book sale 2 yrs. ago, and have not touched since I brought it home. Then halfway through Le Mariage I found myself in the car heading towards Barnes and Noble to purchase a copy of I Was Told There'd Be Cake. Somehow I managed to make it all the way through, though I have a sneaking suspicion that was entirely owing to the fact that I Was Told There'd Be Cake is a collection of quick-reading essays, and the entire book was only about 220 pages long. Now I am forcing myself to plow through the last 90 pages of Le Mariage, though I swear I'm this close to packing it in, and donating it to my local trade-a-book shop.

Did I also mention that I currently have about 13 requests/holds at my local library? Not to mention the 7 books I already have checked out.

So in the absence of any better term, I've diagnosed myself with Literary ADD/Overload. There are just too many books, and too little time! When perusing at B&N this morning, I felt my pulse quickening, and all of a sudden, my light sweater seemed just a bit too warm. Was it the grande cup of coffee I held in my left hand kicking in? After spending the past week wondering what in the world was wrong with me-why couldn't I just sit down, read, and make it through just one novel? The answer came to me in the Biography section, as I scanned the titles, and thought to myself "own it, own it, on request at the library, own it, on amazon wishlist, etc..." 

The problem isn't that I can't find anything to read, it's that there are too many things that I'm desperately eager to read. And every day as I read more reviews, publishing news blogs, author interviews, etc...I keep finding even MORE books to read! So what happens is that after reading a raving review of the latest installment in Stephen Clarke's Merde series, my literary flavor of the week turns from its original Ben & Jerry's Dublin Mudslide to Kroger brand Mint Chocolate Chip.

I don't see this as a problem of sorts, say on par with gainful, secure employment, or rising fuel costs, but it sure is bugging the crap out of me.

Now if you'll excuse me, I better get back to finding out whether or not Anne-Sophie and Tim will follow through with their wedding, and if Gabriel really stole the manuscript before I decide to donate the novel to the geese wandering just out my back door.

Happy reading!   

Whew, I'm back! I apologize for the extended silence in my posts, but I've finally returned back to my desk after several weeks of bouncing around between Missouri, Florida, North Carolina, and Washington DC. I really need to get my family to live all in one time zone!

In my absence from my trusty Dell laptop, I've managed to get bunches of reading done, all of which I will post more about in the coming days. In the meantime though, I've learned that hauling that legendary brick of a novel-Anna Karenina to the beach in Florida will elicit a few strange looks from fellow sun bathers, and a sigh from ones mother.

In the words of my junior high's namesake..."I shall return."

Happy reading!

As a fledgling young writer, I cannot imagine ever really getting to the point at which I feel that I can write on "autopilot". I really admire writers who are consistantly striving to improve their previous book; playfully stretching the normally acceptable bounds of plot and language, instead of allowing themselves to be seduced into plodding along with a routine formula. 

Most would describe those writers such as Stephen King, Nicholas Sparks, Jodie Picoult, and John Grisham as "successful". Commercially, they are. But on from a literary point of view, I think they all just flipped on the 'auto' switch after their third novels, and climbed into a hammock on the beach, waiting for the next royalty check to arrive. Reading any of their later books is akin to eating a bowl of Kraft Mac and Cheese. It's easy, predictable, and comforting.

Yet at the same time their commercial successes makes it possible for less lucrative, and literary writers to be published. So while I most definitely will pass on The Notebook v.17, I appreciate that millions of readers still find the formulaic and bestselling authors pleasurable, because without them, I'm not sure that I would now find myself in the middle of one of the most brilliant novels I have read in many moons, The Bastard of Istanbul.

The moral of the story here is that while I, and many others may constantly lament the amount of drivel that's regularly published, the truth is that this is what's paying the publisher's bills, allowing the house to occasionally expose us to the next truly great read.   

I went to college as a journalism major, and took classes in communications law, and ethics, so I understand, and can practice impartiality. So if this were a newspaper, or were I being paid to review books for a living, this might be unethical, but since this is my own blog, I'm going to rave away!

Last year a friend of mine, Derek Landy, published the first in a series of young adult books following the story of a very unique Irish girl named Stephanie Edgley titled Skulduggery Pleasant. Now because the author is Irish, and resides in Dublin, he is much more well known and commercially successful in his native Ireland, and in the neighboring United Kingdom.

His second book in the series, Skulduggery Pleasant: Playing With Fire will be available on May 6th, 2008 from HarperCollins, and if the second book is as clever and well-written as the first, then readers are in for a real treat. I have a feeling that if HarperCollins' U.S. publicity team pushes this book as hard as their UK counterparts currently are (the book is already on store shelves in Europe), then Derek Landy should be a recognizable name on our shores in the not-too-distant future.

You all should get out there, and read for yourselves what HarperCollins did when they signed Landy for a seven figure advance and a multiple book deal, something nearly unheard of in the publishing industry for a first time author. Not even JK Rowling received so much fanfare when she signed her first contact for Harry Potter.

Skulduggery Pleasant tells the story of young Stephanie Edgley, and her unconventional association with a "snappily dressed, razor-tongued wit, crackerjack sorcerer, and walking, talking, fire-throwing skeleton" named, you guessed it, Skulduggery Pleasant. It is set in modern day Dublin, but there is an underground magical world that is much more than meets the untrained eye, and Stephanie and Skulduggery Pleasant  work together to solve a myriad of magical and fantastic mysteries.

Many authors who set out to write a series, such as Philip Pullman, Jasper Fforde, and JK Rowling often found critical and commercial fame and success around, or after publication of their second books. I anticipate, and hope the same will happen for Mr. Landy.

So years from now, after all the books, films, calendars, and action figures have sufficiently inundated us in Skulduggery Fever, wouldn't it be great to be able to say "I was one of the first?"

In addition to enjoying reading books, I also love to read about books, and what's new and exciting in the literary and journalism world. My morning routine usually consists of a cup of coffee (or sometimes two), and sitting down and spending a good hour reading through the online editions of various news sources, such as my local newspaper, my hometown's paper, The New York Times (of course), and several international news outlets.

What's been neat about this is that through quenching my news thirst, I have stumbled across some really great book reviews, literary blogs, and have had my radar attuned in ways that it wouldn't have been otherwise had it not been for some of these international news sites such as, my personal favorite, the UK Guardian whose bloggers and staff writers update the Book section on a daily basis, unlike the weekly New York Times Book Review section, which most think of as the Lord of the Literary Kingdom.

Yet were it not for The Guardian, the London Review of Books, and even some translated Dutch, German, French, and Italian papers that I got into the habit of reading on a regular basis when I worked in international program development, I might never have heard about Salman Rushdie's upcoming novel, or learned more about Nazi Literature in the Americas, or discovered with small and obscure American publisher was distributing one of my new favorite authors.

So while I'm not intending to impugn great American book review sites in any way; indeed my hometown paper has a wonderful literary blogger that I enjoy reading on a regular basis, there are some brilliant international reviews and bloggers out there across the pond that can deliver a fresh breeze of news and ideas.

So for those of you who are online, on the lookout for the next Carlos Ruiz Zafon, or perhaps want to know what someone besides Michiko Kakutani thought of The Book Thief, then I say get thee to a Google and roam away!  

Happy reading!