The Invisible Library

Via Making Light, I’ve just discovered the Language Hat, a blog full of entertaining digressions on language and words and possibly hats. Anyway, the Author is making his way through Proust (and subjecting it to his wife as well) which struck me as interesting (if a bit sadistic), as I vainly started reading Swann’s Way some time ago and just recently reached page thirty, where little Marcel is forced to take the long walk up the well varnished stairs, sans his mother’s goodnight kiss, which is followed by a four page digression as to how this makes him feel like, well, an awful lot of things, really.

The weird thing about Proust is that I don’t really feel qualified to offer an opinion (like it’s going to stop me, though!) I think this has to do with the density and aura of literariness that Proust’s work has gathered about it. There’s a certain amount of investment to be had when starting a seven volume novel. It’s not something you can just plow through in a long weekend, though Jane Smily thinks you can read the whole lot in 70 days,* which might be possible if you did nothing else. But for those of us with jobs and families and a half written novel to finish, that’s pushing it. Maybe as I read more of it I’ll feel more comfortable commenting. Seeing as how I’m still doggy paddling around in the shallow end of Volume 1, this may go on for some time. Perhaps if I resolve to make a weekly post about it, updating my progress, that’ll help. If anything, it’ll be a nice counter balance to all the Battlestar Galactica and Doctor Who blogging of late. Come for the Pop Culture, stay for the French Literature! And cat pictures (returning shortly; the little buggers have been camera shy of late). If I’m feeling really industrious, I’ll follow the example of Fred Clark’s superb analysis of the Left Behind Series. Only, this will be shallow analysis of a good book, rather than in depth analysis of a piece of crap (which is still fascinating in that it gives a critical view of the inner workings of evangelical end timers and their cultish fixations).

Besides discussions of Proust, Language Hat also features fascinating discussions on words and their origins and meanings. Well worth checking out if that’s your kink.

After a long wait, my novel, The Machine of the World, is done. It’s available now, for download as a PDF. Even better, for free! So, have a read, pass it around and share the joy of a happy story about a poor servant girl and the end of the world.

Norman Spinrad, author of the classic proto-cyberpunk novel, Bug Jack Barron has a new book but you can only read the first third of it online. Apparently, no publisher wants to get behind Osama The Gun. The author explains that he fears it’s for political reasons and having read the first twenty pages or so, I can definitely see how that conclusion could be reached. it’s a great read though. Have a looksee. If enough people read part of it, maybe we can use these tired Internets for good and get this book the publication it deserves.

Via Warren Ellis.

I’m 0 for 2 on being up on milestones. However, I’m still more bummed about forgetting about Sputnik’s 50th than banned book week and a comentor over at Heavy Metal Librarian sums up why:

Banned books are passe. Have the list ever been updated. It always reads like a 1950s blacklist or dry county red state goodly Christian moral paranoia.

Banned information isn’t exactly the problem these days. It’s false mythologies, misinformation, and a presidential personality cult like Kim Jong-il’s minus the fashion sense.

He’s right. As wonderful a novel as Lolita is, there’s nothing even remotely erotic about it, other than Vlad Nabokov’s luscious turn of phrase. The idea that forms the core of the story isn’t even all that shocking anymore, what with real life US Senators trolling for underage Page flesh in the frickin’ Capitol, a story about a middle aged pedophile who convinces himself that the object of his lust is in love with him is almost quaint.

Now sure, pedophilia is a problem. But its not the harry monster under the bed that some folks in the media would have us believe and nowhere near as insidious as the finely structured layer of lies, damn lies, bullshit and purple smoke that makes up our pubic discourse. Plus, if you can’t get Lolita or any other banned book at your library, you can order it from Amazon or find the text online. Just ignore the barely-legal porn pop ups and the adverts in your email for Viagra and hot mother on daughter incest action.* And honestly, if you don’t ever get around to reading Lolita, or Tropic of Cancer or Are you There God, It’s Me, Margaret, it’s not the end of the world. Of course, neither will the world end if you never hear what vile and fiendish plot our politicians are hatching. That’s just your freedom you’ll be missing. But hay, so long as we know what happens to Britney’s kids, who cares, right?

And I had this great post half written in my head, all about how Sputnik changed the world and all the technology we use today, from cell phones, to GPS to the Internet wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for a beeping little basketball that the commies launched into orbit fifty years ago today. Then I saw that Phil Plait went and wrote all that and then some. So go there and read.

I normally don’t address readers directly but I’ve got a quick question here. Is anyone reading this blog? If so, I’d like to know what you think, which is what the comments section is for. Part of the whole appeal of blogs is that what we have is a dialog, rather than just some dude pissing into the wind. So, if you like a post or don’t like a post, let me know. I’m not expecting to have the four hundred entry threads that the Big Boys get but I like to think I’m throwing out some interesting ideas here so lets chew on them a bit. What do you say?

While cataloging some issues of The New Teen Titans from the late eighties, I noticed that the back cover advert for a few issues was for Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan. I chuckled, remembering when that came out and how it was universally panned as the installment when the series crossed the line from frightening to silly. Then I realized that since then, they’ve made three more films.

Then it struck me: the true nature of horror is banality that never ends. It’s not a boot stamping on your face forever. It’s not the unknown made manifest. It’s not even the lurking fear of the infinite creeping up on you in the cold gray four o’clock morning. It’s some dick in the attic, wearing a sheet as a shroud and rattling chains. Who Never stops. Ever. Even after you’ve gone to a gun shop, filled out the paperwork, waited the three days for the license to clear, bought a gun and some ammunition, practiced at the firing range until you’re a Navy Seal sniper-level marksman and then marched upstairs and shot the bastard between the yes. The moment you get back down to your bedroom and settle into bed, he’s at it again with the chains and the moaning and the clanking. Forever and ever. Amen.

Over at Slacktivist, the weekly discussion of the Left Behind series, in all it’s horribleness, has devolved, as it often does, into other topics, this time a discussion as to whether or not Lost can pull a satisfying ending out of the murky depths of it’s atrocious story telling. Obviously, I’m in the camp that says it can’t and because I’ve decided to write about nothing but TV shows on this blog, here’s why…

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I stumbled upon Brass Goggles while looking at these magnificent adding machines on Boing Boing Gadgets.