Vice: Seven Sonnets read by Webcam Models
Vice: Seven Sonnets read by Webcam Models
Vice tagged these with the line "This may be what it takes to get people to read poetry," which sums up a pretty powerful argument about poetry and elitism, and how messed up our values are in general, and what we gripe about, and what we ignore.
This is something I've wanted to do since 2008 (thanks Carrie), and I'm indebted to Stefan and Brian, and hugely indepted to Harry for getting this to happen.
I also have to thank the models, including a couple who aren't represented here, due to technical difficulties. I'd still love to have them participate, but would that be too much to ask? Ok, so, thanks BritishRuby, who read sonnet 16, MissEmily, who read #66, MissTaylerTexas, #41, TuesdayvonD, #26, Jesse Quinn, #20, #64, and Wowkellyhere, #14.
They're all here, along with the sonnets: http://www.vice.com/read/webcam-girls-read-sonnets
Pen Poetry Series: Two Sonnets
Pen Poetry Series: Two Sonnets
Oops, I never posted these. Thanks Ben. No 54 and No 57. Ben of course picked the best ones. http://www.pen.org/john-reed-two-sonnets
The Whole: Two New Sink Holes
The Whole: Two New Sink Holes
Ok, once again I have my brother to thank for providing me the intel on this. Two more sink holes, and a voyage into a sinkhole. This is becoming almost a category of its own. Hmm, I should say, this relates to The Whole, a novel of mine that came out a bit ago.
Here's the news:
Snowball Teaching Guide
Snowball Teaching Guide
Been meaning to post this for a while. Thanks to Claire and Melville House for working on this …
Here:
https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B0ZFDuIsC22nMkFrSm5nUnBNTlk/edit?usp=sharing
Or here:
AWP with Ben Tanzer
AWP with Ben Tanzer
Talked to Chicago's Ben Tanzer at AWP in Boston. My first year there. Ben just posted a podcast of the conversation for "This Blog Will Change Your Life."
Ben has authored a whole shelf of gorgeous and brilliant indie titles. Thanks Ben …
I suspect the highlight of the talk was the interruption—we helped a staff person move a keg of coffee into place.
http://bentanzer.blogspot.com/2013/03/peculiar-ambitions-keating-hettler-snow.html
Bikini Bloodbath Shakespeare
Bikini Bloodbath Shakespeare
Hey, so this is now out. I know you've been waiting anxiously for the release. We're, uh, apparently out of stock already, but order anyway! And I'm not listed as the director, but I was, sort of, and I am on the box. We took the original Bikini Bloodbath movie and dubbed it over with a script gleaned from Shakespeare ...
ICI: Shadows and Outlines: An Incomplete Portrait of the Reanimation Library
ICI: Shadows and Outlines: An Incomplete Portrait of the Reanimation Library
Melinda Hall caught this event on digital. Many thanks Melinda! 9/25, I read at the ICI for the Reanimation Library: http://curatorsintl.org/events/shadows_and_outlines_an_incomplete_portrait_of_the_reanimation_library
"The Reanimation Library is a small, independent public library based in Brooklyn. It is a collection of books that have fallen out of routine circulation and been acquired for their visual content. Outdated and discarded, they have been culled from thrift stores, stoop sales and throwaway piles, and given new life as a resource for artists, writers and cultural archaeologists."
Here's the video and a few stills (the stills are of me, Renaud Proch, and Andrew Beccone) …
John Reed at ICI from Melinda Hall on Vimeo.
Wall Street Journal: Snowball
Wall Street Journal: Snowball
Snowball is the lede in a Wall Street Journal piece today. The photos are by Natalie Keyssar. She came out to the office at the Brooklyn Rail to get some shots. Hope it's ok to put them here. Phong, there I am, uh, sitting at your desk. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10000872396390444426404577645574050661752.html
PopMatters: Snowball, New Edition
PopMatters: Snowball, New Edition
Shathley Q over at PopMatters on the new edition of Snowball. With glorious illustrations by Michele Witchipoo:
Part 1:
Part 2:
Critical Mob: Snowball's Chance
Critical Mob: Snowball's Chance
Greg Dybec and Critical Mob put up an interview about Snowball. Thanks Greg, now, you're all under arrest. http://www.criticalmob.com/critical-questions/books/critical_questions_john_reed
"John Reed is as fearless and honest as writers come."
—Greg Dybec, Critical Mob
Guernica: Snowball's Chance
Guernica: Snowball's Chance
Owe Craig and Joel martinis for this piece on Snowball. Many thanks. http://www.guernicamag.com/daily/craig-epplin-snowballs-chance-ten-years-later/
"The novel transcends its particular circumstances … Snowball’s gambit is to turn the farm into a giant spectacle of happiness, and his Animal Fair represents more than just a place: it names an entire ethos."
—Craig Epplin, Guernica
Electric Literature: Fiction Addiction at 2A
Electric Literature: Fiction Addiction at 2A
Erika Anderson wrote up the Fiction Addiction reading on the Electric Literature blog, The Outlet. Thanks Erika, for the callout and the sharp prose. http://electricliterature.com/blog/2012/08/03/from-good-to-great-fiction-addiction-at-2a/#more-11771
John Reed exploded my concept of a sonnet.
—Erika Anderson, Electric Literature
Big Other: Fifty Books That Brainwashed Me
Big Other: Fifty Books that Brianwashed Me
Contributed a list to John Madera's tribute to William Gass. Fifty books that brainwashed me:
Animal Farm, George Orwell
The Purple Crayon, Crockett Johnson
Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle
Ulysses, James Joyce
Stephen Hero (The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man), James Joyce
Batman
Superman
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting the Reason, and Seeking Truth in the Sciences, René Descartes
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
The Night Before Christmas, Clement Clarke Moore
Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak
The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein
On the Road, Jack Kerouac
Hardy Boys, Franklin W. Dixon
Little Peewee or, Now Open The Box
Babar, Jean de Brunhoff
Curious George, H. A. Rey
Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev
Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
Lord of the Flies, William Golding
Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach
Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
Paul Revere’s Ride, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Christiane F, Christiane F and Susanne Flatauer
The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane
Gone With the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
Clifford the Big Red Dog, Norman Bridwell
All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
All Things Great and Small, James Harriet
The Jungle Book, Rudyard Kipling
Henry V, William Shakespeare
The Ugly Duckling
The Little Engine that Could, Watty Piper
Old MacDonald Had a Farm
Baby Farm Animals
Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann
Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse
Nightmare of Reason, Ernst Pawel
The Basketball Diaries, Jim Carroll
Junkie, William Burroughs
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Ken Kesey
The Story of George Washington Carver (70s scholastic biography)
Helen Keller (70s scholastic biography)
The Right Stuff, Tom Wolfe
http://bigother.com/2012/07/30/fifty-books-that-brainwashed-me-by-john-reed/
Bomblog: Snowball's Chance
Bomblog: Snowball's Chance
Talked to Nicolle Elizabeth about the tenth anniversary edition of Snowball's Chance, coming soon from Melville House. Here it is o n the Bomblog: http://bombsite.com/issues/1000/articles/6679
Fiction Addiction: Snowball's Chance
Fiction Addiction: Snowball's Chance
Christine Vines has an ongoing series of answers to the question, "why do you write?" Here I am hemming and hawing: http://fictionaddiction.org/why-write/
Hmm, the reading is on 7/31, and here's the info: http://johnreed.org/occasions-since-2007/fiction-addiction-john-reed.html
American Wasteland: Heaven Help Us, Heaven Forgive Us
American Wasteland: Heaven Help Us, Heaven Forgive Us
This is a story of mine that appeared in American Wasteland (CCLaP):
His wife suggested they trade-in for a shorter fat man.
Of course, he'd already investigated that.
“What," she said, "now you’re not talking to me?”
There would be a connection fee—the equivalent of about a year’s worth of heating bills—and as it turned out, their fat man was only 5’4”, not 5’6,” and since 5’2” was the smallest model, the trade-in was pointless.
“Don’t patronize me and I’ll talk to you.”
“Isn’t he 5’6”? I think they come 5’2”.”
J.T. didn’t answer—walked into the kitchen and picked up an orange; citrus had been terrible for ten years, and all of a sudden, it was delicious.
His wife glared at him.
“I already investigated that,” he managed.
“Well?”
“I don’t want to explain myself.”
After they argued, and he explained himself, she retracted her suggestion, and the problem of the fat man was once again unresolved, without even a notion of resolution, without even much chance of rising to the level of conversation. Like any young family—a daughter of two, a son of four—some conversation had to be foregone, some battles, forfeited.
The fat man had straight black hair, matted down in a Hitler bowl cut. J.T. attended the hairstyle himself. Twice a month, the serviceman dropped in to swab the fat man with a mild bleach solution. So the fat man was very, very pale.
J.T. brought him down a carton of pre-sliced white bread. Twelve loaves. On sale at the supermarket. The bread had no actual flour in it—mostly sugar and wood pulp—and some of the cartons were flattened, and others had been eaten into by mice. J.T. had taken the time to find a better carton, one in reasonably good condition, but when he got home he discovered there was a mouse hole in it after all.
The fat man reached into the box—pulled out a bag. With watery eyes and shaking hands, he unwound the tie. He spat on the slices and pressed the dough into fist-size balls, which he nibbled with his hands close to his face, as if by smallness he could diminish the problem.
Around his abdomen, the fat man’s rolls had slackened into a single sheet. The fat man had cast aside his lap blanket, and J.T. was shocked at the sight of the fat man’s legs—thin and atrophied, skin withered and unstretched, like an old balloon deflated.
“Oh my God,” said J.T.. “Did your leg just move?”
Below the knee of one of the fat man’s folded legs, J.T. had seen an ankle reposition itself, creased wet skin touching the air for the first time in—for the first time since J.T. and his family had moved in, four years before.
That flesh, pink and raw like an abrasion, had probably never touched air before. J.T. had always wondered if the serviceman swabbed the cracks.
“I just had an itch,” said the fat man.
J.T. knew that was a bad sign. For the fat man to have any sensation at all in his epidermis—J.T. had read all about it. Not a good sign.
“You have nothing to worry about,” said the fat man.
He hated that he had once played checkers with the fat man. He had once heard the fat man laugh.
J.T. didn’t often vacation with his family.
Sitting on the porch, looking down into the misty valley, his children in the green grass, his wife at the bird feeder, doing something over there—all was right with the world. That the fat man was overheating the house—no cause for anxiety.
He, J.T., was a man. And the best thing about a man was his silence. His wife didn’t understand: a man’s work, a man’s words, were his flesh.
All the effort, all the hours, day in day out, that the world sucked out of him. All that nature took in trade for a happy family, for checks with his name scrawled at the bottom. How could a woman, with all her cooing words of consolation for her children, ever understand that all a man really wanted was peace?
It wasn’t like they’d said. The greenest grass was on his own side of the fence.
J.T. felt sick when he walked into the house—a perfect 68 degrees. Sick at his sternum, like he was simultaneously suffocating and throwing up.
The thermostat delivered the bad news; it had reset. From 45 degrees, the vacation setting, to 68 degrees, the "standard" setting. The fat man—for two weeks, the length of their vacation—had been subsisting on 2500 calories a day. Twenty-five hundred calories a day, at 45 degrees, was 1300 calories over the recommended allowance; J.T. had expected the fat man to put on seven to nine pounds. But at 68 degrees, the recommended allowance was well over 6000 calories; the fat man had lost close to 50,000 calories. J.T., grimacing like the bullet hit his groin, staggered to the basement door. Down the stairs—the steep wooden staircase—he held the rail and hoped.
And unbelievably, the fat man didn’t look too bad.
The fat man lifted his head:
“I’ve been very inactive.”
J.T. heard himself giggle—
“Good. Good.”
J.T. heard his wife calling to him from the kitchen. She had the serious tone of voice that told him to ignore her.
Then, J.T. smelled pasta sauce—
“When did they start making marinara?” J.T. processed the data—open a can of tomatoes, cut up the basil, put the swill in the microwave, six minutes—there was no way all that had happened since they walked in the door.
“Oh that sauce was frozen,” said the fat man. The frozen sauce J.T. remembered smelled like sage, not basil.
“That smells like puttanesca,” said J.T..
The fat man shook his head no—
"Marinara."
“Jesus Christ,” said J.T.. “You’ve been in the kitchen, haven’t you?”
J.T. had always thought of the basement stairs as a last line of defense, but they had failed him.
“How the fuck did you get up the stairs?”
“I didn’t walk.” The fat man was pleading. “I crawled, I swear.”
J.T.’s wife was calling him from the top of the stairs. She was asking about a second frozen tub of marinara.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” he said.
“I thought it’s what you would have wanted,” said the fat man. “I was … I was wasting away.”
J.T. called in the serviceman to see that the fat man had reconnected his vents properly.
“You’ve got an expensive problem,” said the serviceman.
“Could I replace him with a dog?”
“Shoulda been a dog in the first place.”
“Maybe I could pick up a unit and we could do something off the record.”
“I’d like to help you out, but I can’t do that.”
“C’mon man, you see I got kids.”
J.T. was reaching for his wallet.
“I’d like to help you out, but I’m not gonna take your money and do something that’s not gonna work.”
“You’d be a hero to me and my family.”
“Listen, I’m being straight with you. A dog isn’t gonna work. Not even a big dog. Their respiratory levels are just too low. All your vents, all your plumbing, it’s way too big. You’re not gonna have any pressure. You’re just gonna have a warm basement.”
“What about a woman?”
“Wish I could help ya, they don’t come in females.”
J.T. reached for the door handle; they still hadn’t checked the fat man’s valves.
“So we’d have to redo all the vents?”
“Yeah,” said the serviceman. “I’ll do it. Tear up the whole house, though.”
J.T. opened the basement door, started in, but the serviceman kept standing there.
J.T. pulled five bills out of his wallet.
“There is maybe one thing I could do. I mean, I wish I could, but I can’t risk my job.”
J.T. peeled off three more bills. “You’d really be a hero.”
J.T..
Every day, he walked, he drove, a piece of crap nobody cared about. At home, his wife talked to him about things he didn't want to talk about until, over the course of the week, he got so resentful she'd have to have sex with him.
J.T. and the serviceman knelt over the fat man. The serviceman held the syringe. He had pulled off the fat man’s blanket and was holding the fat man’s dimpled knee.
The serviceman had explained the “patch” to J.T.. The injection would destabilize any tissue within an inch of the tip of the needle. Bone, flesh, cartilage: to jelly.
“Oh my God, please, please,” pleaded the fat man. “I won’t walk again—I won’t I never will I swear I swear to God.”
The serviceman readied the syringe, plunged the needle into a vial and drew a viscous gray fluid into the barrel.
“Will I still be able to feel my legs? Not too far up the thigh, ok? Please. Please.”
Like J.T., all the serviceman wanted was peace. His hand on the fat man’s knee, he leaned forward and struck the needle into the fat man’s temple. The tip of the needle sank in deep—into the middle of the fat man’s brain. The fat man looked up with his watery eyes, his mouth parted, as the serviceman depressed the plunger.
"His expression will never change again," said the serviceman—
"It will just age."
Pax Americana: Frankie Felt Fucking Fine
Pax Americana: Frankie Felt Fucking Fine
Ok, I'm scouring around for something to read tonight, and I know there will be a rockband there, which is always a tough audience. Something short and punchy, right? I had this idea of finding this very short story of mine from a few years back (2009), which was published in Pax Americana, which is a literary site that is now … a wristwatch site. So, I'm posting it here. Alas, I fear it's too coarse for this evening.
As Published in PAX Americana
Frankie felt fucking fine. A bit of news like that—and Frankie didn’t want to be mercenary about it—but a bit of news like that and Angela would be quivering in his hands. He’d have a smoke at his lips and an ashtray on his crotch and a quart can hanging from his loose fingers, and a little beer would be dribbling off the flip-top like the cum off the tip of a cock—and the suds would be foaming in a sopping circle on the carpet, that red carpet of hers he and Bobby had dragged out of the lot next to the Motel, and he’d be drunkenly reclining with her head on his chest and his arm, tattooed and scaly, draped over her waist and she’d weep and he’d watch tv all night. TV and beers and weeping and sex.
He was running now. Coming out from under the shadow of the old train bridge and imagining how it’d be when he bust open the door and stood there huffing and shaggy with running and sweat and the doorframe and the sky and maybe even the moon behind him looking big from where she sat.
And now there was this news, this big news—and there was nothing like running when you were high. And there was nothing like running with a reason.
He was running in the wet grass, the dewy wet grass. Oh shit, he was barefoot. He’d left his fucking shoes. But that was better. Even better. He’d left his fucking shoes like a man at war. He wished he were bleeding. But all this sweat, that was right. That was righter. Running like fucking Mercury. And hard like Adonis. And fucking Angela just weeping. There in her house with a mattress and curtains on the windows and all that shit he’d never have without going fucking home and weeping in the arms of his mother like a two-year-old and watching his dad crack a beer and say, “Now you can’t have one you faggot junkie.”
But this news was everything; it was the best fucking thing that ever happened to him, he could tell the reporters someday when they wanted to know about all the shit that made him who he was.
He ran past the two stop signs and the four way stop and ran on the wide-open highway where no cars drove anymore. And he ran behind the supermarket that sold unripe tomatoes and the men unloading the trucks looked at him with the bright fluorescent lights behind them—and they had these deaf-mute expressions like “you wouldn’t listen to me anyway you stupid fuck.” And he ran down the alley behind the church and there he was standing in front of Angela’s house. And that old bastard Monroe came out and dumped the diner trash and he didn’t realize how fucking hungry he was and there was Monroe like another gift from God. He didn’t want to run in there hungry. Run in there and go straight for the fridge. He’d end up on the couch or the red carpet—and he’d be lying there, or sitting with his head back, looking up at the black curtains and how the fuck could he get to the fridge?
“Fuck you Monroe.”
“Fuck you kid.”
But he ate. Got some chicken must’ve come off a child’s plate. But he smelled like chicken and garbage so he rolled in the green wet grass of somebody’s lawn—everyone had their fucking sprinkler on—just like the wet grass where he left his shoes, his pipe, and his friend Bobby.
“Hey Angela,” he said, when he burst into the room—she was there, sitting on the edge of the couch and watching tv and still waiting—
“Your boyfriend is dead.”
Dr. Shathley Q: Tales of Woe, full gchat
Dr. Shathley Q: Tales of Woe, full gchat
A little while back, I had a long g-chat with Dr. Shathley Q, who was looking at Woe for Popmatters. Always thought it'd be fun to throw up the whole winding thing. Sitting here going over the new website one last time (before I post it), and well, why not. Here it is. Something like 5/23/10:
swordschool: hi is it John?
me: Hi
It's me
Shathley?
swordschool: excellent
yes Sir
me: You know, I chat all the time
but it is amazing
you're in australia?
swordschool: south africa
me: holy moly
my favorite old girlfriend is there
swordschool: actually I'm just back from a trip to Japan
me: I envy all of it
or
envy
isn't the right word
swordschool: lol my gf's with me
me: I'm enjoying vicariously
mine was too crazy
but she was dynamite
and a red head
swordschool: aww man
red heads
me: yep
curly red
sort of brown red
swordschool: if only there were some kind of league for red heads
red-headed men particularly
me: some semblance of sanity
I like them all
swordschool: it'd be like an old timey sherlock holmes story
me: a couple of years ago I realized I liked them all
a league for red heads
it does hav a marvel comics feel
swordschool: i just read a holmes versus zombies comic
me: where in south africa
really, holmes vs zombies?
swordschool: it was honestly so bad i want my time back
me: what is there to investigate?
swordschool: im in capetown
me: I think my old girlfriend is around there too
she has a bunch of women knitting blankets
swordschool: we decided on capetown really cos of the beaches
me: sounds amazing
the city is in a good time of year
here
hot
swordschool: oh its that aids charity thing? the quilts?
me: but everyone is laughing
yep
that's her
laura
swordschool: yeah my goto charity would really be malaria nets
me: they need those too?
swordschool: im sure they must
someone must
me: oh, yes
years ago, I was trying to get a tv show
swordschool: plus its a darwinian thing
the mosquitoes must die
tv show yeah?
me: we were planning to go to far away countries and do things like distribute malaria nets and build wells
swordschool: oh this sounds great
me: we got some development money
yeah
swordschool: but is there a market for this kind of thing?
me: then they decided angelina jolie had already done it
swordschool: right
it would rely on star power
me: she'd already done the good for humanity thing
ours was more reality show
we were going to take a few assholes with us
swordschool: like the crew from Bam's show
me: righto
swordschool: i dig those assholes
me: so, I'm looking at a stack of labels
bringing them up to mtv tomorrow
the books are in
swordschool: :]
me: they should be in envelopes in the mail room tomorrow
I'm doing this National Book Critics Circle thing
swordschool: let me ask you about that
me: so my office is full of really conservative books
swordschool: like Great Shark Hunt ;]
me: and here I have woe, which looks like it's from the moon
well
I looked up and saw "Parisians" from Norton
Or The Surrendered by Chang-Rae Lee
swordschool: oh oh well
me: Books my wife would admire
swordschool: that feel a little surreal? like you're outta place?
me: and here she is, married to the author of Tales of Woe.
swordschool: you're talking about this now, and I'm really put in the mind
of some of the lines from Last Words
me: ?
swordschool: Burroughs' final memoirs
me: oh, yes
swordschool: i use the term 'some lines' loosely
i don't actually have the lines
me: we could find them
swordschool: but its the part WSB goes on about
his acceptance into the Academy
when as a young writer he was rebuffed
I'll go find it immediately after (these lines)
me: I'll be curious
swordschool: I'll fwd them
me: ok
swordschool: but my question is
since i think this is an easy way in
whats it feel like
me: I like all this preamble
we should keep it
swordschool: physically having Tales
against the backdrop of High Letters?
i'm scrolling up to read your words
'really conservative books' you called them
yeah this was a great preamble
you're a great subject btw
me: the physical book, in terms of th canon?
Oh, thanks, I'll try to make a total ass of myself
swordschool: lol
well the physical copies of Tales
me: I feel like woe is something that an alien put in my hands, and commanded me to take credit for
swordschool: against the backdrop of the officeful of 'really conservative books'
swordschool did not receive your chat.
swordschool: interesting play on words there
me: asking me how it looks physically compared to these books?
swordschool: no no
just the psychological/emotional yield
me: content?
swordschool: you experience
me: ah
well
swordschool: when those two systems confront each other in the same space
me: I don't want to denigrate books I admire
but sometimes a book feels alive
and woe feels alive to me
maybe contagious
but alive
maybe that's always the author's feel of their own book
swordschool: nice
me: Woe really happened because of a plateful of garlic, I think
which may be a better way to say it
swordschool: ok there's a story
me: how many books have that going for them?
swordschool: can i hear that?
me: I was sitting with my editor, Jacob Hoye
who was my editor at Delacorte
and I was tossing out ideas, as I do
and meanwhile, he asked the waiter
—we were at some fancy publishing restaurant—to bring him a sideorder of grilled garlic cloves
which is something they did as a garnish
so the waiter said yes
and i'm tossing out ideas
swordschool: what just the raw garlic?
me: and then I get to Tales of woe
grilled
grilled garlic
swordschool: k
me: phenomenal
and I get to Woe, and give him the notion
true stories that just get worse
and the waiter sets a huge plate in front of him, with maybe fifty cloves of grilled garlic
and Jacob looks down, and says, "Now that's a book!"
swordschool: :]
that's a really great story
me: it made sense for him
he likes to do books with a lot of design
at mtv press
I'd previously done a book with mtv books
swordschool: btw, that's the title for this piece
Things Will Be Worse Now
me: which is also jacob, but a diff venue
lovely
swordschool: so... let me get to the next question in this way
me: k
swordschool: do you anticipate the post-launch response much?
of your books of course
me: well, at a reading for woe, I did have one heckler
I always hope they hate it so much I sell a million of them
swordschool: :]
me: I thin that anticipation part is now built-in
built in to the writing
swordschool: ok... so it's an active part of the process
?
me: yes
this is the first book I've had so much involvement with, in terms of the whole package
jacob has a brilliant design sense
what we wanted: a reading and design experience that worked together
a lot of small presses are doing an excellent job of that, by the way
swordschool: yeah i want to get into that a bit
me: I don't expect woe is for everyone
so far, the people who want nothing to do with it have told me they won't be looking at it, which is fine with me
a perfect iteration of capitalism and freedom of speec
swordschool: so no more picket lines with dozens of folks waving signs that read "Leave It To The Beavers?"
i jest of course
me: well
if they burn the book
they'll have to buy it
I'd rather they burned it
swordschool: that's really the thing itsn't it
me: a waste of resources, of course
but woe is all about wasting resources
the paper isn't really black
swordschool: it's the opposite of what happened in China
not printing the book
me: the white pages are inked, twice, to give white letters in negative space
right
swordschool: but I'll be getting into that
me: all the fuel shipping the book from china
Jacob is around too
swordschool: I don't know if you've ever seen that Penn & Teller constitution burning trick
but that gets me everytime
me: what is it?
they burn it, get arrested, produce it unburned?
swordschool: yeah kinda
minus the arrested part
me: oh, well they should ad that
maybe there should be a police shooting
in the middle
we were all really surprised
swordschool: but Penn's got a really stirring speech on what it means to have the freedom to burn the document
me: oh
swordschool: lol
me: he is good
yeah
all my publisher pals seem unconcerned
swordschool: the final piece is them doing the trick with acetate
so you can see the 'magic'
unconcerned at the the swallowing up of freedom of expression?
me: but to me, that we're now heeled by Chinese Decency lawas, whatever the fuck those are, that's pretty scary.
swordschool: yeah that's the second feature we're doing
me: part of what's changed about comics and graphic novels
swordschool: the moral of the story is freedom of expression internationally is now a matter of national security
me: is the erosion of the comics code
publishers don't get everything filtered, and don't need to
manga and undergound comix did that for us
swordschool: yeah it still gets to me that DC proudly announce that this book is CCA approved
me: I wouldn't say we're back to a pre-code era
but woe is meant to pick something up, something that we've lost
the kind of hybrid magazines, art and text, that were destroyed by the comic code
that's kind of our future
swordschool: i like that
i really do
it's what seth llyod mention in his Computing The Universe
the future as the mastery of the past
me: the further you go back, into the nineteenth century, all the way to the illuminated manuscript, the more you'll see a presumed integration of art and text.
swordschool: it's kinda what ron mallet's book Time Traveller (in which he defines the science of time travel) is all about
me: finally, we have the software to duplicate the human hand, a quill, and a page
or, not duplicate, rival
swordschool: let me ask you about that, the i'd like to double back a bit
me: ok
swordschool: do you think there's something redemptive about the book itself
me: huh
swordschool: that a book can over turn a status quo
me: well the whole point is to deny redemption
but I guess you're right
swordschool: sorry about the redemptive
ive had a day of prepping a daredevil piece
i meant revolutionary
me: well
my ego nods at revolutionary
pathetic
in woe
hmm, how to say this best
I wanted to strip woe of the western "story"
which is a religious story
sin, suffering, redemption
but also a political story
that story is built into news, into entertainment, into advertising, into everything
the notion that people who suffer are suffering for a reason, or that their suffering, in the end, will somehow be for the best
in my experience of life, not true
but that narrative is worse than not true
it's what allows us to ignore or discount the suffering of other people
so and so deserved it, it's for the common good
that kind of logic allows for monumental evil
isn't it Colonialism in a nutshell?
swordschool: :]
that was magnificent to read
me: shucks
swordschool: when i read snowball's chance
me: now I'm tempted to make a smiley face
:}
swordschool: to be honest when i reread it i was jetlagged
me: haha
perfect time to read
swordschool: but when i read it
the idea that kept trying to hammer its way out was
90% of ppl arent going to get it
but this guy's derrida
and you're reading on grammatology again
me: I'd take a 10% sales rate
it's funny you mention that book
I went to CU for my mfa because there was this famous professor who had a course on derrida
and I was really excited to take his class, and I read that book
and now I not only don't remember anything that I read
I don't even remember sitting in the room
I told that story to jacob, and he told me, "we have to forget that stuff."
swordschool: :]
me: when I was reading all the philosophy, I was writing terrible stuff
I don't think he meant that we forget it, as in lose the meaning, I think he meant forget it, as in, take it for granted
the other night
I went out to martinis with this marvelous publicist from the feminist press
and we've formulating a hit list
swordschool: oh yeah?
me: for when publishing dies
yeah
so everyone will have something to do
you know
writers are pretty bitter anyway
can't take too much to get them to marblehead with an uzi
swordschool: lol
me: in the movies, the arms dealers are always from South Africa
are you an arms dealer?
swordschool: well i can neither confirm
well you know the rest
me: good answer
we'll be in touch
swordschool: what was Colorado like btw
just as an aside
me: ?
swordschool: college?
me: hampshire
of Columbia
grad school
oh
swordschool: right
me: I meant
I'd love to go to colorado
swordschool did not receive your chat.
me: but I worry it's too hilly to take my bike everywhere
swordschool did not receive your chat.
swordschool did not receive your chat.
me: I meant
I'd love to go to colorado
swordschool did not receive your chat.
me: but I worry it's too hilly to take my bike everywhere
swordschool: its Freak Power country
me: it would be great
sit around and forget how screwed up everything is
swordschool: I'd be scared the ghost of the Good Doctor would come find me
me: plant radishes and live on wind power
swordschool: lol
radishes
me: well
swordschool: that's that vegetable thing right?
me: what vegetable thing?
swordschool: apparently there're these things called 'vegetables'
me: oh
yeah
they're like fruits, but not as good
swordschool: yeah whats up with that
me: they keep longer
swordschool: i gotta say tho
since we got here
to capetown
me: is it amazing?
swordschool: the fruit is amazin
me: aw
swordschool: amazing!!!
me: sounds divine
swordschool: triple exclamation point
me: sit around all day eating fruit
amazing
I bet there's some new and exciting fruit, too
swordschool: i had a strawberry omelette for the first time here
me: cripes
swordschool: which is i promise
really far better than it sounds
me: sounds good to me
swordschool: i got two questions outta that last round
ones a postmodern one
me: ok
swordschool: and ones an enlightenment one
me: ah
ok
swordschool: here's the PM one
working with Jacob
having a book where the artwork is integral
do you feel its a step in the right direction for your creative process?
me: Oh, I have have to shout out to Walter Einenkel, on the book design
swordschool: nods
me: hmm, I like the possibilities
but I don't see art as a mandate
I did get some art in All The World's a Grave
it doesn't look like much work
swordschool: actually could I ambush you with a sidebar here?
me: but the twelve or so images in there, from nineteenth century shakespeare illustrations, were actually heavily phtoshopped
ok
swordschool: between All the World's and Snowball's
I reckon you're mischaracterized
your work is at least
as satire
me: oh
yeah
as I said
swordschool: for me satire's really an episode of Ugly Americans
or South Park
a kinda here-to-go thing
me: I'd rather just be an asshole
swordschool: lol
i can't print it like that tho
me: no?
yeah
I don't mind satire
did you see shitty mickey?
swordschool: nah we're selling the idea of you
me: shittymickey.com
that's satire
we're working on a new season
one of my artists from woe is illustrating
swordschool: ok excellent
me: michelle witchipoo
mickey mouse
on drugs and palin
swordschool: yeah palin
me: she got a boob job
swordschool: i grumble a lot
yeah?
im so outta touch with politics
honestly
me: whenever I begin to lose interest
she does something
swordschool: there's an upside and a downside to that
me: gets a boob job
and then, this is what's so great, she doesn't play it cool, she runs outside in a tight white tshirt
i'm voting for her
swordschool: the last i wanted to hear of her was with the you're pimping my daughter dave thing last year
me: i'm writing her in
swordschool: wait that wasnt quite the thing
but who can tell with letterman
me: she's the armageddon
how can you turn that down?
swordschool: i've always suspected i'd win armageddon
me: yeah
swordschool: i read the bible wrong
me: I have all this art I'm planning to steal
swordschool: just completely got off on the wrong foot
me: ok
swordschool: as a kid we were told the story of revelation
which is why again that was told to 8yr olds?
me: which relates to time travel
swordschool: but there you go
me: the end of time
swordschool: and i was rooting for the wrong guy
hey that was a clever reference
me: that can happen
swordschool: end of time
there was this guy who was making all the deals
then he summoned this hidden beast
me: don't want to be reading resurrection, rooting for the underdog
swordschool: from the water
then wait... what now?!
then jesus fights him
me: you're onto something
swordschool: my folks got asked to never bring me back to sunday school again
cos i asked
me: give me a name for the hitlist
swordschool: 'scuse me... why'd jesus end up fighting him... did jesus go evil?'
me: haha
swordschool: then i realize the guy i was rooting for was actually the 'antichrist'
which i thought was aunty christ
fun times
me: oh, nice
yep
luckily
swordschool: here's the enlightenment question
me: none of those dipshits will be in hell
ok
swordschool: oh now im really laffing out loud
books were always at war with libraries
me: can you imagine wanting to go to a party they were invited to?
swordschool: oh man
it would be martinis and feminist press hitlists
wouldnt be
me: righto
swordschool: damned monkey fingers
me: it's be dixie ups and cake from a mix
cups
and coors, my friend
if you were lucky
swordschool: lol
me: ok
swordschool: ok books vs. libs
me: books libraries
swordschool: the real threat of gutenberg was the popularization of knowledge
of learning
books are pretty much as close to a 17th century flash-drive as you can get
libraries on the other hand
theyre all about churchly power
me: huh
swordschool: well churchly culture
monks were skilled labrorers
or laborers as some ppl say
storing knowledge and distributing knowledge
they were two very different things Back When
me: I hadn't put all that togehter
swordschool: ok
if that's something you can buy into
do you see Woe as disrupting that stored knowledge system
me: oh
well, I am trying to disrupt the history, yes
swordschool: in other words... Woe's gonna make demands on you as a reader aint it
me: I hadn't related the church to libraries, but you're right about that
and the bog booksellers have taken much of that structure on
including some of the religious underpinnings
well
I was really afraid woe would be hard to read. physically difficult, white text on black page
but it's not, so that's a relief
and I also assumed that it would be impossible to read through in one sitting
that a reader would pick up the book and read a story, and then another later, like an old story book
swordschool: nice
me: but people have read it all the way through
I was shocked
but they were like, no problem
I did attempt to keep the prose super simple
swordschool: that's how i read orhan pamuk's My Name Is Red
me: so simple that it was almost a parody of journalism
I enjoy reading books in that way
I've been reading, how is his name spelled, echart tolle, that way
swordschool: i dunno about journalism
i got a roald dahl vibe from it
switch bitch
kiss kiss
his adult stuff
me: that makes sense
I was thinking journalist humor
gallows humor
swordschool: nice
now im thinking dave barry
that churches versus books btw... that's the final chapter from my doctoral disstertation
me: well, incredibly interesting
and not a discussion I've heard
swordschool: it ends up fingerwagging about the importance of wally wood's 32 Panels That Always Work
yeah i thought that would be it
me: haha
swordschool: i'd either pass or fail on that one chapter
so part of the initial email MTV sent out
bills Woe as a return to the original greek catharsis
me: yes
swordschool: you think the Greeks got it right? or
or
ok
me: I think they were less full of shit than we are
swordschool: man i gots to tell you something
i did one of those meet-a-shaman tours in brazil
me: and by the way, the contemporary interpretation of Greek catharsis proves how full of shit we are
swordschool: the happily ever after catharsis?
me: they have a cure for zombies
right
that had nothing to do with aristotle
I can't tell you how often I've had someone tell me that aristotle said to do this or that
and aristotle never said anything even close to what they're saying
swordschool: i reckon its as close to dammit as began with Freud
me: probably the least read and most cited 15 pages in the hostory of writing. the poetics
swordschool: Freud was really the Quentin Tarantino of his day
me: it was the coke
swordschool: oh yeah The Poetics
i had a student stop me after a lecture
she reckoned i was misreading Poetics
me: oh?
swordschool: cos she'd read on wikipedia
thats really when my brain shut down
me: aha
well
I read on wikipedia that pop art
in an entirely British development
swordschool: lol
i read that in Greil Marcus
ok im kidding at that one
me: haha
Sent at 3:18 PM on Wednesday
me: catharsis in woe is the greek version: you watch people suffer and go home feeling better. very hard to read these stories, or to write them for that matter, and not be thankful for what you have/
swordschool: thats from the blurb?
me: is that what it says on there
?
something like that
it made me a better person
swordschool: yeah that was the bit i was refering to
me: working on these stories
swordschool: yeah?
me: yeah
very tough to take my petty self seriously while working on a story about a child whose brain was eaten by a baboon
swordschool: yeah that second story was the 'no return' point for me
no that i couldn't go back
but that i didn't want to
me: yeah, I had the animal artist work on that one
what a baboon
Rotwe
swordschool: i got to the same point in joe hill's horns about half way in
me: Patrick McQuade
he's good at everything, but what animals
swordschool: i get a very visceral reaction to the art
like in some senses you or jacob or walter
spent months getting to a decision on which artist for what
what was that process like?
finding artists
me: yeah
we looked at, I'm guessing, about 3000 artists
swordschool: i like the care in that
me: I knew one of them previously
oh, Patrick, actually
swordschool: and i mean this as a genuine compliment
but its like the music from my early childhood
me: we wanted art that was "Woe" that could somehow communicate total hopelessness
swordschool: the Doors and Led Zep and Jimi... it's that same kind of blend
me: but we also wanted to do that old pulp thing
get a great monster guy for the monsters
a great pin-up artist for the pin-ups
etc
swordschool: :]
i really like that
me: TWO SARAH PALIN PINUPS
swordschool: theres a sense of composition that emerges
now im imagining sarah clones
me: yeah
I'd do a whole book of her pinups
swordschool: what if tina fey
and sarah
and that woman from that eminem video met in a single white room
and the joker
me: who
swordschool: played by bob dylan
me: Dido?
swordschool: nah
much much later
me: I dunno
Dido, Palin, Faye
that
that's a threesome
swordschool: oh no
me: that's a book
swordschool: i can't unimagine that
i knew i should showed up that day in school when we had to kill our creativity
btw
me: well
that phd might help
swordschool: you reckon Woe is the beginning of wide-scale change?
me: don't despond
in what?
in the world?
in me?
swordschool: publishing
me: oh
I think it's indicative of something that's happening
design will increasingly play a role
the book as object
printing is more manageable, as is the design software
people think with images and text. they''re accustomed to that now
I think it's inevitable, and well underway
swordschool: ad astra per aspera
me: there was a book I adored, a few years ago, well ahead of its time
Marc Estrin's The Nose
Sent at 3:33 PM on Wednesday
me: I'd already sold woe then, but that title had me smelling the roses
swordschool: :]
how long was the process btw
me: well
swordschool: from pitching over garlic
me: hmm
quite a while
swordschool: till today
me: the book was delayed by the financial crisis
by about a year
swordschool: sure
me: very expensive to print
and jacob, wisely
slowed down our timetable
also
the design took a long, long time
and influenced the text
there was more satire, which we took out
also, I researched for fifty stories
I found fifty
but then they were turning out longer than I'd anticipated
and then, they were so depressing to work on, I had to take breaks
swordschool: of course
me: maybe 2.5 years
but a long 2.5 years
everything about the book fought back
swordschool: was that emotionally taxing
me: printing a pdf cost 100 bucks in ink
black paper
swordschool: the immersion in the catharsis?
me: I felt like my eyeballs were getting sucked out
I'd traipse home in a zen-like state of gratitude
to be done for the day
to have happy, healthy children
to have all my limbs
swordschool: I'm gonna wanna put that near the front
me: Ok
I like this whole, unwieldy conversation exactly as is
just a thought
swordschool: :]
i've very little problem with that
me: I like how you're story comes out, too
swordschool: but i do need to do the features from these interviews
me: oops, your
swordschool: yeah my story's like that
the friendly monster
hops out the closet
does its thing
goes back, by way of under the bed
me: funny how, with age, monsters are our last friends
swordschool: there's a line in the Tao Te Ching exactly about that
me: ?
swordschool: chapter 60: Demons
Lao Tzu's book on taoism
me: can we find it?
swordschool: urm one sec
http://taoteching.org/chapters/60.htm
me: amazing
swordschool: basically it's 'when faced with your demons, clothe them and feed them'
yeah
the tao te ching is what isn't for public consumption
the i ching is
i ching's also based on a binary system
tao te ching's ternary
and its funny how computers are binaried
and genes are ternaried
me: really interesting
in the last few days, I've had the ttc cited three or four times
swordschool: ha
thats what we in the Biz refer to as
a clue
me: yeah
swordschool: ok
one last question my side
oh
me: ok
swordschool: just an aside
i do that to have a conversation
letting in parts of my story
the first time i did an interview
it was the worst thing ever
me: who said that the all of writing is digression?
swordschool: i asked exactly the fanboy questions
now that is on the tip of my tongue
me: Ray Bradbury?
swordschool: yeah
me: Digression is the soul of wit
swordschool: altho Unkle Google also suggested Laurence Sterne
me: I just found it
oh, that's actually what I was thinking of
swordschool: weird
me: very similar quote
the soul of reading
swordschool: my last questions pretty simple
me: k
swordschool: whats your profile pic for your gtalk?
me: oh
it's a painting
hold up
I can't see it
swordschool: yeah
yeah i cant either
i thought it was the death of leonardo for a second there
me: oh
swordschool: but its not
me: it's an image I came across for All the World
swordschool: oh i just snagged a bigger version
i'll source it
let me give you an opportunity
did we miss out on/gloss over anything
me: I think you got all
swordschool: just like freddie mercury from queen
excellent
this was
honestly John
me: thanks so much
swordschool: a mindblowing conversation
me: I'm going to go find that painting
terrific
martinis in new york
or capetown
swordschool: oh
on that point
i'm back stateside in november/december
me: ok
swordschool: would you be available for a follow-up
me: oh wait
swordschool: it wouldn't be anywhere near as long
me: I may have the image
oops, no
ok, will email
oh, yes, of course
swordschool: theres a defined PopMatters format called 20 questions
but i reckon it might be good to meet in person
me: ok
swordschool: if your up for it of course
me: ok
whatever you need
swordschool: great
again, let me thank you for your time
me: thank you
swordschool: alright then
i can't tell you how excited i am to get the book.
me: on the way
tomorrow
swordschool: nerd prom moment
me: got the painting
swordschool: yeah?
me: the title "dispute"
Fuseli
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.alanhoward.org.uk/dispute.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.alanhoward.org.uk/spell.htm&usg=__SK-ygN2gI5XASqRxPZjcy8zF-IM=&h=682&w=507&sz=50&hl=en&start=0&tbnid=jTypplsZWRUnlM:&tbnh=160&tbnw=131&prev=/images%3Fq%3D%2522dispute%2522%2Bpainting%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26client%3Dsafari%26rls%3Den%26biw%3D1518%26bih%3D970%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1286&vpy=224&dur=1208&hovh=260&hovw=193&tx=134&ty=89&ei=h1JHTPHKIcG88gbb1oyOAw&page=1&ndsp=35&ved=1t:429,r:13,s:0&biw=1518&bih=970
swordschool: ok got it
me: haha
lates
swordschool: bcnu
PopMatters: All the World's a Grave
PopMatters: All the World's a Grave
Dr. Shathley Q bestows a nice mention of Grave: http://www.popmatters.com/pm/feature/153171-you-are-who-you-learn-to-become-the-new-crusaders-exclusive
“Nobody can write like Shakespeare, the visionary John Reed reminds us in “Gist” the first part of the closing meditation to his All the World’s a Grave. Nobody can write like Shakespeare primarily because that copypasta style of cutting-and-thieving plot, character, poetry that Shakespeare relied on itself relies on a much greater archive of writing in the public domain. What’s at stake is as much the cultural ownership of great literature, as the definition of the same. ...” —Shathley Q, Popmatters
The New Yorker: The Politics of Narrative @ The Rumpus
The New Yorker: The Politics of Narrative @ The Rumpus
Blogged by the New Yorker. Long piece on the politics of narrative and narrative structure, via a roundup of recently published books.
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/alexia-nader
Last week, the essay was published at the Rumpus:
... With the beginning of the twenty-first century, the sprawling literary novel has regained pre-eminence. The realist recoil is cyclical—Bellows springs to mind as indicative of a generation that tended toward socially engaged novels of nebulous structure. In the larger political context, the “realist” novel indicates conservative values. The novel that puts content second to structure parallels a nation (a globe) that espouses an ideology of the systemic over the sovereign. To maintain that content comes before structure is a precept for revolution: a particular idea, person or solution comes before the nation, the corporation, the praxis.
Max Brand (Frederick Schiller Faust), a prolific pulp western writer of the 1920s and 30s, maintained that there were two types of stories: coming home, or leaving home. The assertion neatly correlates to the classical definition of comedy and tragedy, as well as a content-first v. structure-first division of the arts. The coming home story (usually comedic or “feel good”): the cowboy accepts and/or is accepted by society. The leaving home story (usually tragic or “dark”): the cowboy rejects and/or is rejected by society. Structure-first stories, i.e. coming home, tend to be about assimilation, while content-first stories, i.e. leaving home, tend toward dissent.
The difficulty of reading a text that puts forth a dissenting structure is that it is self-aware. The sentence-to-sentence qualifications, the adjustments to expected language and idiom, place readers in unfamiliar territories. In counterpoint, the assimilative text is necessarily unconscious of its own intentions. The conformist can’t “try.” (The grade school realization: you can’t try to be normal, in the trying, you’re abnormal.) The conformist story, i.e., the “coming home,” must assume that the state of conformity is the norm. The hero gains acceptance, which is “better.” To acknowledge that a conformist state must be gained, or acquired, is to acknowledge that the conformist state is as difficult to attain as some other alternative state. In the context of literature, the acknowledgement would be tantamount to acknowledging that the structures commonly perceived as “easy” or “naturalistic” are only so because readers have been guided, or indoctrinated, to them. ...
Here's the full essay @ the Rumpus:
http://therumpus.net/2011/12/the-politics-of-narrative/
Huffington Post: All the World's a Grave
Huffington Post: All the World's a Grave
Allan Jalon: "Arts Lust: Shakespearean Storms on Stage and Page."
... Reed's performance (classical post-Modernism, I guess you could call it) turned out to be a fabulously imaginative reinvention of existing Shakespearean plays into a completely new one, like a chemistry experiment re-linking polymers into new fabric. "A New Play by William Shakespeare," the cover announces, though the fine print says: "Adapted from the works of William Shakespeare."
Reed, a proven Thomas Edison type among fiction writers (Tales of Woe, an anti-sentimental stories-plus-graphics collection about awful things that happen to people, was his latest light bulb) turns five tragedies (in play form, with stage directions) into a convincing new five-act tragedy. The woven layers sometimes feel as rich and subtle as a three-dimensional Swiss lace, but it all becomes wonderfully clear, sophisticated fun. ...
Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/allan-m-jalon/all-the-worlds-a-grave_b_951036.html
PopMatters Fourth of July: Snowball's Chance
PopMatters Fourth of July: Snowball's Chance
Shathley Q’s articles: perfect, and extraordinarily timely. And a nice mention of Snowball’s Chance and Tales of Woe, too. http://www.popmatters.com/pm/review/144840-bought-on-the-fourth-of-july/
"The ideal of A Better Life is, simply put, too much to ask for ... We’ve read the amazing John Reed weaponize this idea for his magnificent Snowball’s Chance and its thematic successor Tales of Woe." —Shathley Q, Popmatters
Utne Reader: All the World's a Grave
Utne Reader: All the World's a Grave
Thanks to David Doody of the UTNE Reader, for picking up the InDigest interview in his “Great Writing” blog:
http://www.utne.com/Great-Writing/Rewriting-Shakespeare-Arthur-Phillips-Chris-Adrian-John-Reed.aspx
I wrote about the day this interview happened: http://www.brooklynrail.org/2011/11/express/arthur-phillips-stole-my-bike
KGB Bar Lit Magazine: Heaven Help Us Heaven Forgive Us
KGB Bar Lit Magazine: Heaven Help Us Heaven Forgive Us
Many thanks to Caroline Falzone and Suzanne Dottino of KGB Bar Lit Magazine, who just posted this very short story of mine:*
His wife suggested they trade-in for a shorter fat man. ...
http://www.kgbbar.com/lit/fiction/heaven_help_us_heaven_forgive_us
*Since I posted this, the story has been anthologized in American Wasteland.
InDigest InDialogue: All the World's a Grave
InDigest InDialogue: All the World's a Grave
I talked with Arthur Phillips and Dustin Luke Nelson about Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Arthur, All The World’s A Grave: A New Play by William Shakespeare.
http://indigestmag.com/blog/?p=8187
Thanks to Dustin Luke Nelson, Ashleigh A. Lambert and InDigest.
InDigest: All the World's a Grave
InDigest: All the World's a Grave
Podcast of sonnets I started working on while working on All The World’s A Grave: A New Play by William Shakespeare. Thanks to Dustin Luke Nelson, Ashleigh A. Lambert and InDigest:
http://indigestmag.com/blog/?p=7934
Barnes and Noble Book Club: Tales of Woe
Barnes and Noble Book Club: Tales of Woe
Jill Dearman at the Barnes and Noble Book Club Blog, Unabashedly Bookish recently talked to me about Woe: http://bookclubs.barnesandnoble.com/t5/Unabashedly-Bookish-The-BN/Tales-from-the-Dark-Side/ba-p/875760
Newsarama: Tales of Woe
Newsarama: Tales of Woe
Thanks to Chris Arrant for talking to me about Tales of Woe for Newsarama: http://www.newsarama.com/comics/tales-of-woe-mtv-press-100902.html
“A truly memorable and heart-wrenching book.” —Chris Arrant, Newsarama
Rain Taxi, Powell’s Review A Day: Tales of Woe
Rain Taxi, Powell’s Review A Day: Tales of Woe
A cautious take on Tales of Woe from Rain Taxi, by Jesse Tangen-Mills. I’m not sure the book is quite so slapstick. Picked up by Powell's Books "Review-a-Day."
http://www.powells.com/review/2011_02_07.html?utm_source=overview&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=rss_overview&utm_content=Tales%20of%20Woe&PID=18
"The Grotesque is alive and well ... a dash of Rod Sterling with a touch of Alfred E. Neuman." —Rain Taxi, Jesse Tangen-Mills
PopMatters: Tales of Woe
PopMatters: Tales of Woe
Dr. Shathley Q is taking a long look at Tales of Woe for Popmatters. I believe this is the first of several parts: http://www.popmatters.com/pm/post/129725-tomorrow-on-the-day-before-tales-of-woe/
“Tales of Woe, a book that will undoubtedly come define our generational zeitgeist, in it's overturning of the thrall of commercialist catharsis. ... after Friends and The X-Files, Boston Legal, House and The Corrections, reading Tales of Woe feels like a beginning, like the fertile soil of a generational nightmare has at last been properly tilled and readied for something to grow.” —Shathley Q, Popmatters
“It feels good in my hands, heavy, shaped. Small and black, tight. Like an airport-hotel room bible, like it’s the right shape to fill in the gaps. And heavy, like it’s otherworldly, alien or improbably shriven of all need to fit into the world. Hand-made alien object, like the kind Karl Marx denigrated in Capital.” —Shathley Q, Popmatters
Evergreen: Tales of Woe
Evergreen: Tales of Woe
I’m grateful to Rami Shamir for his thoughtful, in-depth look at Tales of Woe: http://www.evergreenreview.com/125/review-tales-of-woe.html
“John Reed’s Tales of Woe presents a sprawling landscape of contemporary apocalyptic vistas painted in the sweeping vignette brushstrokes of a master artist’s hand. Reed, whose previous All the World’s a Grave alerted the world to a timbre of postmodern genius never before seen in American letters, cements his historical legacy with Tales of Woe.” —Rami Shamir, Evergreen Review
West Side Spirit: Tales of Woe
West Side Spirit: Tales of Woe
Lauren Betesh put together this look at Tales of Woe for the West Side Spirit and Our Town New York.
http://westsidespirit.com/2010/10/06/making-sense-of-suffering/
http://ourtownny.com/2010/10/06/making-sense-of-suffering/#more-8881
Rather a thrill for me; my wife, visiting one of these fancy friends of hers (they intimidate me), saw me on the cover of a newspaper she picked up in the lobby.
"Stories are so dark that they cast no light. Don’t expect happy endings here." —Lauren Betesh, West Side Spirit
Brooklyn Rail: Art Attack
Brooklyn Rail: Art Attack
An story from Tales of Woe, which looks better here: http://brooklynrail.org/2010/09/express/art-attack
ART ATTACK
by John Reed
From John Reed’s Tales of Woe, (MTV PRESS, August 2010)
“Art Attack,” from Tales of Woe (MTV Press). Art by Ralph Niese.
City Council Leader Warren Bradley: “Brouhaha is one of Liverpool’s most colorful, vibrant, and diverse cultural celebrations. To see so many people from so many communities getting involved in activities from dance to costume-making, and from music to carnival parades, really captures what Capital of Culture is all about—creativity, inclusion and participation.”
Two hundred artists from 20 different countries: to entertain, educate, and edify.
In the midst of festival fever Maurice Agis, acclaimed artist, opened his “Dreamspace V” at the Metropolitan Cathedral. The work, consisting of 157 interconnected ovoid cells constructed from colorful PVC sheeting, invited guests to an experience that was described by the artist as “surreal, magic, like swimming in a sea of changing colors.”
On opening day, a band of young thugs slashed the “Bouncy Castle,” leaving it in a deflated heap. But dreams do come true, and not a week later, the 16-foot high installation was repaired and reopened, and the trite act of vandalism was lost to the mellifluous music and mutable colors of “Dreamspace V.”
Mr. Agis, on his work: “My art, my dialogue, my communication is part of an urban art culture, part of the urban environment. It’s about finding a way into the social fabric of everyday life so as to breathe and blossom.”
Since the first Dreamspace opened in Copenhagen in 1996, more than 250,000 visitors, across Europe, had wandered in the PVC cells.
“Dreamspace V” was the culmination of a lifetime’s work, set for a 10-year anniversary tour of Dreamspace. The interactive sculpture was the largest yet, with a 165 by 165 foot base. In layman’s terms: it was about the size of half a football field.
One visitor: “It’s very womb-like and trippy. It’s dreamy, a really nice vibe.” Mr. Agis saw the origins of the work in Constructivist and De Stijl Schools of abstraction, but welcomed playground analogies.
Upon entry, visitors removed their shoes and donned a colored plastic cape, becoming “part of the artwork.” New Age music by composer Stephen Montague, accompanied the adventurers. A wheelchair access facilitated those with disabilities.
An unidentified man described his experience inside the structure on the second day the installation was open to the public at Riverside Park, County Durham: “My wife was coming towards me and was laughing and thinking, ‘This is all part of it.’ That’s when I hit the floor and realized, ‘This isn’t right.’”
“All of a sudden it just started rising like a balloon,” said eyewitness Mark Spooner, “flinging people all over—then it just seemed to flip over in the air.”
Richard Gordon, another eyewitness, age 22: “I was standing next to it when I heard a ‘snap’ sound as the holding pegs were ripped out of the ground.”
Approximately 40 park goers, on line to enter Dreamspace V, attempted to stabilize the rope and peg system that anchored the inflatable structure. Among them was Mr. Agis, 74.
Mr. Agis’s girlfriend, Paloma Brotons, was by his side: “I saw him flying with it and I thought he was going to be killed. There was a team of us that helped to tie the structure to the ground. We even used more ropes because it was hot.”
“It was going with such force it just dragged us along and we couldn’t stop it,” said Mr. Gordon, who estimated that three industrial blowers were in use when the structure “took off,” and that a gust of wind “got under” the sculpture: “I could hear people inside screaming as it flipped on its side, went into the air and started gaining speed.”
“The whole thing took about a minute,” said Mr. Gordon. “It was awful to see.”
Claire Fairnington, also 22, was another eyewitness: “The screams continued for about another 15 minutes after it landed.”
John Tubbrit was picnicking with his wife Raj and their 3-year-old daughter, Nicole: “The back of the sculpture came up pretty slowly at first and then it was vertical.” Raj grabbed the child but ran in the wrong direction.
“By the time I got to her,” said Tubbrit, “the thing was on my back. Thankfully there was a light breeze which lifted it off us and at that point there was absolute bedlam.”
Chris Gillott, 20, was selling duck food to park goers when patrons began pointing out the window: “The Dreamspace was right outside the cafe and I saw the corner closest to the window lift off the floor and then the whole thing go straight up into the air.”
Mobile phone cameras and security cameras captured the event: Dreamspace drifted, airborne, 100 to 150 feet.
“Everyone was running away—then it flipped right over and went upside down, bending in on itself and landed on loads of people who were trying to get away,” said Mr. Gillott. “Some people looked really badly hurt. When it was about 30 feet up, I saw a woman fall out of one corner. She landed on the concrete path and bounced onto the grass. She was not moving after that.”
Mr. Gillott and his customers hurried to the deflating heap: “They were cutting it up somehow, slicing into it and dragging people out from inside and underneath it.”
Three year old Rosie Wright and her brother Jack, 6, were visiting “Dreamland V” with their mother, Penny, at the time of the incident. Penny called her ex-husband, Lee Wright, to inform him of the circumstances.
Mr. Wright: “I went straight down there and it was like a disaster zone.” Despite protestations that “my son and daughter are in there,” Mr. Wright was unable to access the park, which had been sealed off by that time. “I got out of the car and just ran into the park. Eventually I found them.”
Rosie had fallen out of an access cell of “Dreamspace V”; subsequently, the metal fan of one of the hot air generators fell on top of her. Her injuries were severe. Her spine and pelvis were fractured. Bones had been broken in her lower leg and upper thigh. She had sustained head injuries—bruising to the brain—a punctured lung and a lacerated liver. Other injuries included multiple fractures to the ankle and ribs, a bruised elbow, and four stitches to the forehead.
Because of their ages, Rosie and Jack had been waived the entrance fee to Dreamspace.
Jack and his mother Penny were uninjured; Rosie recovered. Four other children required hospitalization. In all, 13 people were injured.
Deborah Anne Simpson: “The scenes I saw today were horrific and I hope I never see anything like it as long as I live.”
Claire Furmedge, from nearby Whitehills, County Durham, had brought her two daughters to Dreamspace V. Jessica, 8, and Emily, 6, were inside the structure throughout the ordeal, and were held overnight at the University Hospital of North Durham. Mrs. Furmedge, who fell from the soaring sculpture, did not survive.
Elizabeth Collings, from Dalton Heights, County Durham, accompanied her 14-year-old grandson, Craig, on a walk-through of Dreamspace. Craig witnessed his grandmother’s death, which was also witnessed by her husband, Bill, and her daughter, Susan.
Susan: “She was a loving, caring mother and grandmother who was always there when you needed her.”
Mrs. Collings was 68, Mrs. Furmedge, 38.
Two air ambulances, a police helicopter, six ground ambulances, two rapid response paramedic vehicles, four patient transport vehicles and five fire crews arrived at the scene.
As the crowd hewed at the PVC with keys or anything they could find, rescue workers joined in the search for individuals missing inside Dreamspace.
Darlington and Durham Fire and Rescue spokesman, John Robson: “There were parents looking for children, children looking for parents. We had to extricate a number of people from the structure. A number of people had fallen on top of each other.”
By sunset, “Dreamspace V” had been reduced to scraps of colored PVC, which festooned the public park. Cleared of casualties and the general public, the site was cordoned off; inspectors from the Health and Safety Executive launched their investigation.
Spokesman Robson: “The structure somehow went up vertically into the air then went 40 or 50 yards toward a children’s playground next to the River Wear.”
Linda Ebbatsib, leader of Chester-le-Street district council, made a tearful statement: “We were satisfied it was safe. We had done what needed to be done.”
The artist, Mr. Agis, was interviewed at Chester-le-Street police station.
Accident investigators called on the expertise of an engineer to evaluate the structural integrity of the sculpture. Police secured remains of Dreamspace—PVC, ropes, and anchor pins.
Chief Superintendent Trevor Watson, of Durham Police: “We haven’t received reports that is was particularly windy at the time of the incident.” Police would not speculate on causes of the tragedy, but were keeping a “very open mind.” Sabotage could not be ruled out.
“It didn’t seem to be windy,” said Paloma Brotons (Mr. Agis’s girlfriend), “Maurice used more ropes than usual to hold it down because he said it was hot.”
Maurice, she said, had lost the will to continue his work: “Maurice is devastated, we all are. He’s spent all his life working for the happiness of people—and now two people are dead.”
In 1988, “Clause 28,” a previous inflatable sculpture by Mr. Agis, jumped its tethers and lifted off during the Glasgow Garden Festival. Steadfast, Mr. Agis had refused to release the guide ropes, when the high winds whipped him 30 feet in the air.
Accompanied by her mother, Keeley, 7-year-old Chloe Wilson returned to the park to lay flowers where Elizabeth Collings lost her life.
“I saw a lady clinging on and then falling out and she was lying on the ground with people around her,” said Chloe, who had watched as the sculpture deflated on those still trapped inside.
Emergency Services initiated a trauma hotline.
Tricia Montague, the 51-year-old wife of Stephen Montague, who composed the music for “Dreamspace V,” said: “This is Maurice’s life’s work. He has been doing Dreamspace and Colourspace before it for over 17 years. I desperately feel for him. He needs our support.”
Her husband was “speechless” when she delivered the news.
“In the past, there have been several instances of vandalism on Maurice’s structures but every time he just gets up and gets on with it. But this is different,” said Mrs. Montague. “He designed Dreamspace and he puts it together with his own bare hands. Every part of him is involved in creating this thing. He must really be suffering.”
Mrs. Montague, herself a fiddler, had played live music inside the Dreamspace, four years before: “It’s just so sad how something of such beauty, something so special can cause injury and death in this way. You just can’t bring those two things together.”
Mr. Agis was arrested and later charged with gross negligence manslaughter.
In a February 2009 trial, the jury failed to reach a verdict on the manslaughter count. Mr. Agis was found guilty of breaching health and safety rules. A fine of £10,000 was reduced to £2,500 on appeal. The families of the victims protested the meager sanction, and the markdown.
Mr. Agis: “There was absolutely no wind that day. I never, never have it up when it is windy. It’s just one of the things I decided 10 years ago, when we started, that wind, any wind, was unacceptable.”
Polyvinyl chloride, or PVC, is a widely used petroleum product (40% petoleum, 60% chlorine), which, during the course of its consumer cycle, releases mercury, phthalates, dioxins, and numerous other toxins.
Mike Schade, of the Center for Health Environment and Justice: “PVC is the most toxic plastic for our health and environment. There is no safe way to manufacture, use, or dispose of vinyl plastics.”
Mike Schade, on Dreamspace: “There is a very good chance that the vinyl was off-gassing volatile organic compounds (VOCs)—these are chemicals that we find in all kinds of things, such as paint or products that have a strong plastic smell. You know that new shower curtain smell? That’s the smell of VOCs off-gassing from a PVC product. We conducted a study about a year ago with new shower curtains, which have no safety standards. What we found was quite startling.”
CHEJ.ORG:
• 108 different volatile organic compounds were released from the shower curtain into the air over the course of the study.
• Toluene, cyclohexanone, methyl isobutyl ketone (MIBK), phenol, and ethylbenzene were detected in the greatest concentrations during the 28-day period. The USEPA also found all of these substances except cyclohexanone in a study of chemicals off-gassing from PVC shower curtains.
• Forty different VOCs were detected in the chamber after seven days; 16 VOCs were detected after 14 days; 11 after 21 days; and four after 28 days.
• The level of Total VOCs measured was over 16 times greater than the recommended guidelines for indoor air quality established by the U.S. Green Building Council and Washington State Indoor Air Quality Program.
• Seven of the chemicals released by the shower curtain are classified as hazardous air pollutants by the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) under the Clean Air Act.
• Two of the chemicals detected, toluene and ethylbenzene, are on California’s Proposition 65 list. This law prohibits companies doing business in California from exposing individuals to chemicals known to cause cancer or reproductive toxicity without first giving clear and reasonable warning, and from discharging such chemicals into drinking water.
• VOCs can cause eye, nose, and throat irritation, headaches, loss of coordination, nausea, and damage to the liver, kidney, and the central nervous system. Some VOCs can cause cancer in animals; some are suspected or known to cause cancer in humans.
Mr. Agis died on October 12, 2009, of causes undisclosed.
“I was sitting there looking around and it was a lovely day, a beautiful day,” commented Mr. Agis, hard upon the Dreamspace tragedy. “Everybody was happy. I was looking at the people under a tree picnicking.”
New York Press: Tales of Woe
New York Press: Tales of Woe
Many thanks to Sean Patrick Kelly, who has an enviable gig at the New York Press. I owe the Press and now Sean.
http://www.nypress.com/blog-7134-tales-of-woe-john-reed-wanted-uncensored-stories-to-convey-real-pain.html
“Tales of Woe is a macabre compilation of 25 true stories of misfortune, pain and suffering presented in their naked, stark reality without resolution or justice. ... Tales of Woe violently strips the silver lining off of tragedy and presents it as it is most often experienced—without hope.” —Sean Patrick Kelly, New York Press
The Faster Times: Tales of Woe
The Faster Times: Tales of Woe
Gchatting with Nicolle Elizabeth at The Faster Times about Tales of Woe: http://thefastertimes.com/indiebooks/2010/09/24/woe-is-you-tft-interview-with-tales-of-woe-author-john-reed/
"Tales of Woe is epic." —Nicolle Elizabeth, The Faster Times
Publisher’s Weekly: Tales of Woe
Publisher’s Weekly: Tales of Woe
Calvin Reid of PW posted a review of Tales of Woe to the PWxyz blog.
http://blogs.publishersweekly.com/blogs/PWxyz/?p=1582
We talked yesterday, and wondered about our mutual name. His, via Jamaica; mine, via Ellis Island.
"Novelist John Reed set out to write a book about abject misery and he has succeeded. This month MTV Press is publishing Tales of Woe, a title so appropriate to the unrelenting suffering the book details that there’s little to tell you beyond that. ... Powerful, disturbing and unforgettably painful." —Calvin Reid, Publisher’s Weekly
Campblood: Tales of Woe
Campblood: Tales of Woe
Andy Swist has posted a review of Tales of Woe, on Brian Juergens’ Campblood.org:
http://campblood.org/Newblog/?p=3169
"There’s a new book of the illustrated macabre hitting shelves today that contains some of the most depressing, unbelievable, gore-soaked, abusive, disturbing and generally unacceptable stories you’ll ever hear … and they’re all TRUE!." —Andy Swist, Campblood.org
"If you’re fascinated by or a fan of the Faces of Death movies, this book is a no-brainer: It’s ugly, disturbing and unapologetic. Definite stocking-stuffer material for the nihilist on your list." —Andy Swist, Campblood.org
Vola: Tales of Woe
Vola: Tales of Woe
Christopher Vola, an extraordinary young writer who was my thesis advisee, posted a lovely review of Woe on his blogsite:
http://christophervola.blogspot.com/2010/08/most-disturbing-book-of-year-probably.html
In other recent news, a book store refused to host a reading of the book (because of the illustrations), and a guy I know from college just wrote me a snide email about how he was going to “pass” on the title. I’ve never seen him pay his own check.
Blog Critics: Tales of Woe
Blog Critics: Tales of Woe
Gratitude to both Etiers. Miss Bob Etier posted a review about Woe that made me feel better about the whole thing. Deep appreciation. It makes me want to have a Woe martini party. All of us get together in a big room floating over the surface of the earth, visiting every country and talking about not-too-important things.
I know I’m indebted to all these people for taking the time to read Woe. I’ll mix the martinis.
http://blogcritics.org/books/article/book-review-tales-of-woe-by/
"Reed’s dispassionate reportage combines with illustrations that nearly leap off the page, and grabs the reader by the throat, screaming ‘Unfair? Unfair doesn’t begin to define life!’ ... Tales of Woe is not a book to be ignored. It is startling, scary, and relevant. It chills because the reader knows this is the world in which we live." —Miss Bob Etier, Blog Critics
Los Angeles Times: Tales of Woe
Los Angeles Times: Tales of Woe
Carolyn Kellogg reads everything, knows everyone, and blogs for the Los Angeles Times. Seems impossible, but it’s all true. Very generously, she allowed me to write up a few words for the “Jacket Copy” summer reading segment. I was supposed to pick a book I liked, and hustle it, while hustling my own book. Of course, I managed to screw up the assignment, but Carolyn published it anyway.
I apologize here in advance, but there was a slight amendment to piece as published in the LA Times. The thesis now reads:
“Which brings me to the two types of schmucks. 1) The kind that cares what other people think. 2) The kind that doesn't.”
It used to read:
“Which brings me to the two types of assholes. 1) The kind that cares what other people think. 2) The kind that doesn't.”
So throughout, asshole to schmuck. Family paper. I should have done as Carolyn said, and written sonnets.
One other little amendment. “Shit” to “Poop.” Not that that matters. What’s interesting about that other horrible word is that it’s not just the word that’s a problem. It’s evidently the “concept.” So I couldn’t just say “kiester” or “tukas,” or “arse,” as I suggested. We had to go totally family paper.
My endless gratitude to everyone over there for putting up with me.
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/jacketcopy/2010/08/summer-reading-john-reed.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+JacketCopy+%28Jacket+Copy%29
Superpunch: Tales of Woe
Superpunch: Tales of Woe
John Struan, a headspinningly active pop culture and custom toy blogger (what I would give for Drumtheater’s “Fearsome Smurf Mummy,” below) posted a review of Tales of Woe, on Superpunch:
http://superpunch.blogspot.com/2010/08/tales-of-woe.html
"In Tales of Woe, John Reed assumes the role of a modern day Crypt Creeper and shares tales of shocking horror and absurd tragedy. The stories are nearly as strange as anything E.C. Comics ever published. ... Except, unlike the Crypt Creeper, the stories John Reed tells are all true." — John Struan, Superpunch
http://www.toycutter.com/
Dollar Bin Horror: Tales of Woe
Dollar Bin Horror: Tales of Woe
Rhonny Reaper, founder of super-splatterfest, Dollar Bin Horror, takes a gruesome gander: http://dollarbinhorror.blogspot.com/2010/08/dollar-bin-horror-spotlight-tales-of.html
"The stories are dark, disturbing, disgusting, and horrid...yet I couldn't stop reading! From the first story of a baboon mistaking an infant for a meal, to the story of what albino humans are used for in Tanzania, to the tale of a man having too close of a relationship with animals. ..this book is a great read (if you can handle it)." —Rhonny Reaper, Dollar Bin Horror
India Times: Tales of Woe
India Times: Tales of Woe
Kate Travers just sent me a link to the India Times, which picked up Shathley Q’s review from Popmatters:
http://iplextra.indiatimes.com/article/06g7e6Udrj7PK?q=Karl+Marx
"Tales of Woe, a book that will undoubtedly come define our generational zeitgeist, in it's overturning of the thrall of commercialist catharsis. ... after Friends and The X-Files, Boston Legal, House and The Corrections, reading Tales of Woe feels like a beginning, like the fertile soil of a generational nightmare has at last been properly tilled and readied for something to grow." —Shathley Q, Popmatters
"It feels good in my hands, heavy, shaped. Small and black, tight. Like an airport-hotel room bible, like it’s the right shape to fill in the gaps. And heavy, like it’s otherworldly, alien or improbably shriven of all need to fit into the world. Hand-made alien object, like the kind Karl Marx denigrated in Capital." —Shathley Q, Popmatters
Brutal as Hell: Tales of Woe
Brutal as Hell: Tales of Woe
Gratitude to Marc Patterson for his look at woe on his site Brutal as Hell.
http://www.brutalashell.com/2010/08/book-review-john-reeds-tales-of-woe/
Marc’s Brutal as Hell:
http://www.brutalashell.com/
"Tales of Woe is a collection of twenty-five of the most disturbing, bizarre, fucked-up and twisted tales you might ever read, and the catch? They’re all true. Yes, Virginia, truth is stranger than fiction. I’ll take some fava beans and a bottle of chianti over this trip any day. (But I’m glad I took the red pill.) John Reed delivers these stories with a pointed and punctuated sense of delivery that reads as if it were William Burroughs delivering the 6 pm news. Factual. Concise. Pithy. Bothersome. Really, really bothersome." —Marc Patterson, Brutal as Hell
"So twisted and perverse, and so TRUE that even the editor of a horror blog walks away feeling a little sickened. ... Tales of Woe is nearly two hundred pages of strange and twisted tragedy without even the slightest inclination to serve up a single happy ending. It’s a sickening look at the horrors of real life from around the globe, and while I’m hesitant to recommend it, I have a feeling I pretty much just have." —Marc Patterson, Brutal as Hell
Midnite Media: Tales of Woe
Midnite Media: Tales of Woe
Jonny Metro, the Subterranean Beatnik Bastard, has posted an appraisal, not too different from my own, on Midnite Media.
http://midnitemedia.blogspot.com/2010/08/tales-of-woe-by-john-reed.html
"A dark and deeply disturbing examination of injustice and misery the whole world over. That's a pretty fair assessment of the book Tales of Woe by John Reed. ... The titular tales are clearly and deftly expressed, and its quite a handsome little package: a slightly-larger-than-paperback hardcover with white and red text printed on slick black paperstock, punctuated by occasional illustrations provided by some deeply-disturbed outsider minds." —Jonny Metro, Midnite Media
"I have a feeling that, much like my VHS copy of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Tales of Woe will have a long and lonely shelf life, leering at me and hungrily licking its lips, just daring me to partake in it again. And, just like with Henry, I will occasionally succumb, only to feel guilty and dirty in its wake." —Jonny Metro, Midnite Media
Enter the Caveman and The Mike: Tales of Woe
Enter the Caveman and The Mike: Tales of Woe
Geofree Capodanno, who I had fun talking to a couple of days ago, just posted a review of Tales of Woe to his blog Enter the Caveman...
http://www.theman-cave.com/2010/08/book-review-tales-of-woe-by-john-reed.html
Geofree links to a review from The Mike, from the horror site, From Midnight, With Love.
http://frommidnight.blogspot.com/2010/08/book-review-tales-of-woe-by-john-reed.html
"A universe of sin, suffering, pain, dread, perversion, and depravity. ... If you like romance novels and happy endings, this might not be your cup of tea. If you are into horror, anthologies and want to read something different than the norm, hit your local Barnes & Noble or visit Amazon online." —Geofree Capodanno, Enter the Caveman
"Tales of Woe is a depressing and harrowing success. ... I must warn you, however. Tread that road carefully." —The Mike, From Midnight, With Love
The Bloodsprayer: Tales of Woe
The Bloodsprayer: Tales of Woe
Just gchated with Thomas LeBeau from The Bloodsprayer, who encourages me to let 8Pussy tattoo a dagger to my back.
He’s working on an interview for The Bloodsprayer.
The website logo, right, weirdly similar to old website of mine, which is still up. SnowballsChance.tv.
http://www.bloodsprayer.com/
The Orphan: Tales of Woe
The Orphan: Tales of Woe
From Tales of Woe. A piece too terrible even for me. Unfinished, abandoned, and published here, where such things come to dwell: http://theorphan.org/issues/issue-3/reed/
Another Sarah Palin Pin Up from Tales of Woe
Another Sarah Palin Pin Up from Tales of Woe
Third poster for Tales of Woe, up on Deviantart. Another Sarah Palin Pin-up. Many options, many sizes. Illustrated by Michele Witchipoo.
http://fav.me/d2rgo9t
Sarah Palin Pin Up from Tales of Woe
Sarah Palin Pin Up from Tales of Woe
Second poster for Tales of Woe, up on Deviantart. This one a Sarah Palin Pin-up. Many options, many sizes. Illustrated by 8Pussy.
http://easyreeder.deviantart.com/gallery/#Tales-of-Woe
My conscience made me put a mature filter on this one, sorry. You have to sign in to deviantart to make a poster. But you can! Huge! And put it in a frame! Great gift.
The Whole: People Running into Crater
The Whole: People Running into Crater
My brother just sent me this. In relation to Duh Whole.
Eeenteresting. It’s called “People People falling into hell.” I don’t think that does it justice, though. Here’s the link: http://yoursovest.soup.io/post/51750582/People-falling-into-hell
The Whole: Quebec Family Dies as Home Vanishes Into Crater
The Whole: Quebec Family Dies as Home Vanishes Into Crater
In the last few weeks, I’ve been sent two spectacular holes. This was the first one sent to me. In relation to Duh Whole. Unbelievably awful. Here’s the link:
Quebec Family Dies as Home Vanishes Into Crater
The Whole: volcanic eruption; then, devastating storm
The Whole: volcanic eruption; then, devastating storm
Guatemala: volcanic eruption; then, devastating storm
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
In the last few weeks, I’ve been sent two spectacular holes. This is the second (will post first in a second). In relation to Duh Whole. Widely reported. A terrible, terrible tragedy.
Here’s the link:
Guatemala: First, volcanic eruption; then, devastating tropical storm
Dr. Shathley Q: Tales of Woe
Dr. Shathley Q: Tales of Woe
A couple of days ago, had a long g-chat with Dr. Shathley Q, who’s looking at Woe for Popmatters. A few years back, Lisa Nuch Venbrux reviewed The Whole for the Popmatters. Always wanted to thank her (thanks), but the site is international, and my “I’ll just run into her in the city plan” hasn’t worked.
http://www.popmatters.com/pm/review/whole-2005
CCLaP: Tales of Woe
CCLaP: Tales of Woe
Jason Pettus at the CCLaP is running a twitter series of stories in installments. Sometime soon, date yet to be decided, we’ll be previewing a Twitter variation of the Sarah Palin extraordinaire, “Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire, and a Cold-Served Dish of Unjust Deserts.” It’s one of my favorite Tales of Woe stories, and certainly one of my favorite Woe illustrations, which is brought to you by the inimitable 8Pussy.
http://www.cclapcenter.com/twitlit
Click here to follow TwitLit at Twitter: http://twitter.com/cclapcenter
A note on the series:
CCLaP Publishing is happy to announce "TwitLit," the center's first-ever story series. Written as a collection of haiku-like chapters, each no longer than 140 characters, TwitLit stories are first published serially through the short-message service Twitter.com, then published here as high-quality, printable poster versions.
Tales of Woe Posters at Deviantart
Tales of Woe Posters at Deviantart
Goofing around, made poster for Tales of Woe. Up on Deviantart. Many options, many sizes. Illustration by 8Pussy.
Fictionaut: Tales of Woe
Fictionaut: Tales of Woe
Tales of Woe, in a Fictionaut interview: http://blog.fictionaut.com/2010/05/28/checking-in-with-john-reed/
Tales of Woe: The Novena in Santa Muerte
Tales of Woe: The Novena in "Santa Muerte"
Going over the proof today with Charlene, and it occurs to me I should mention that the Novena in the book, which gives instructions for a bewitching spell, is completely authentic. I’ve worked with two priests, one Santeria and one Abakua, to be sure that the spell be accurate, and fully functional. Both priests have assured me that these spells will work. Just follow the instructions. You can be the object of his/her desire, and have full possession of his/her soul.
You’ll find the story in Santa Muerte of Tales of Woe. Dropping the first page in as a pdf—click to get it full size ...
WFUV'S Cityscapes: All the World's a Grave
WFUV'S Cityscapes: All the World's a Grave
Said a few asinine things, but they cut them all out. Many thanks to George Bodarky for talking to me about Grave on WFUV's Cityscapes: http://www.mediafly.com/Podcasts/Episodes/Shakespeares_Return_1
Penguin Books: Podcast
Penguin Books: Podcast
Podcast with Penguin books: http://us.penguingroup.com/static/html/blogs/listen-our-authors-podcasts-running-week-1-19
"John Reed discusses how he reconstructed several Shakespeare plays to create a new tragedy, and his opinions on contemporary literature."
Penguin Books Guest Author: All the World's a Grave
Penguin Books guest author: All the World's a Grave
This coming week, I'll be the "guest author" for Penguin Books, which says:
John Reed is our guest blogger during the week of September 8th. If you have any questions for John Reed, add a comment to any of his posts. Here is some more information about All the World's a Grave: A New Play by William Shakespeare:
An epic tragedy of love, war, murder, and madness, plucked from the pages of Shakespeare
In All the World's a Grave, John Reed reconstructs the works of William Shakespeare into a new five-act tragedy. The language is Shakespeare's, but the drama that unfolds is as fresh as the blood on the stage.
Prince Hamlet goes to war for Juliet, the daughter of King Lear. Having captured Juliet as his bride-by reckless war-he returns home to find that his mother has murdered his father and married Macbeth. Enter Iago, who persuades Hamlet that Juliet is having an affair with Romeo. As the Prince goes mad with jealousy, King Lear mounts his army. . .
This play promises to be the most provocative and entertaining work to be added to the Shakespeare canon since Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.
See the blog entries at: http://us.penguingroup.com/static/html/blogs/guest-author/all-worlds-grave-john-reed
Moby Lives: Saint George and the Damn Truth
Moby Lives: Saint George and the Damn Truth
Found this old blog post on MobyLives: http://www.mobylives.com/Orwell_Reed.html
Backdating and posting here.
Last week a notebook in which George Orwell kept a list of acquaintences he suspected of being communists—a list he eventually gave to a friend in the British government—went on display in London. MobyLives took the occasion to ask Orwell critic John Reed to comment.
10 November 2003 — To look at the history of the Saints, the question quickly arises—how many people must die in your name before you're canonized?
On this centennial year of his birth, George Orwell—who coined the term Cold War, and remains our faithful Cold War pedagogue after nearly sixty years—has apparently amassed the sufficient number. Virtue, in the hands of religionists, will often turn to vice. And in a time when political discussion has taken on fanatical polarity, Orwell, who despite his flaws sought to be reasonable, can be consistently located in the temples of intransigence. He is the champion of Trotskyite perpetual warriors, militant right–to–lifers, and fiercely defensive gun–toters.
Few would assert that Orwell the man is personally guilty of all the obtuseness that he is invoked to vindicate. Equally untenable is the position that Orwell was not responsible for his life and work. He did things, he wrote things, that can't be explained away as objects of misinterpretation.
From the New Yorker's Louis Menand, you won't find out what those things are. Despite his lengthy article of 1/27/03, Menand will not tell you—will not even mention—that Orwell penned a list of 35 names for the IRD, or Information Research Department (which was overseen by the British Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6), and that the degree to which those artists and writers were damaged by Orwell is still undisclosed.
Christopher Hitchens, the Grand Poobah of the cult of Orwell, demonstrates a similar inability to exercise what Orwell called "the power of facing." His general formula, on questions concerning Beastly George, is to concede any minor point—such as whether or not Orwell hit so–and–so with a walking stick, or Orwell's small mindedness on the metric system—but to outright dismiss any major point. Rival intellectuals are fools and liars.
When cornered, Hitchens will reiterate the age–old excuse—that Orwell was always trying to be right, even when he was wrong, and is therefore worthy of praise in any circumstance. One would think that after Hitchens' own attack on Mother Teresa, he would be immune to this Saint/Greatness argument, but it is the thesis of his aptly titled "Orwell's Victory" (a reference to Orwell's Cold War investment). Like Menand, Hitchens will spare no effort to contort himself into an omissionary position.
The Orwell canonization will grant you such tidbits as—Orwell had some unresolved sexual issues, didn't do too well with women, thought poor people smelled, didn't really live down and out all that often, dramatized his journalism, and never entirely escaped his colonialist upbringing.
It won't tell you that "Animal Farm" was very likely cribbed from "The Animal Riot," a story by a Russian historian, Nikolai Kostomorav, published in 1917. It won't tell you about Orwell's IRD snitch list, except to say Orwell enjoyed writing lists, like grocery lists, and playing games, like Scrabble. It won't talk about the content of Orwell's writing, much of which is so outdated as to hold appeal for none but the atavistic. "Shooting An Elephant," "Down and Out in Paris and London," "The Road to Wigan Pier"—the closer you look, the worse it is. And it's not just the colonialism, but the anti–Semitism, the sexism, the homophobia, the racism, the classism, and a Papal attitude to human reproduction.
Certainly, you won't find the idea that Orwell was a political opportunist. Yes, Orwell was always reassessing himself. Yes, in his essay "Why I Write," the number one reason was "Sheer Egoism." Yes, there were the flip–flops, such as Orwell's sudden turn–around on Hitler (against, laudably). But no, Orwell never considered personal consequence. He was just a bumbling Englishman who, in the end, was always right—and that he was always right had nothing to do with the fact that he'd switch teams if his was losing.
Orwell's defenders always look to contextualize Orwell's shortcomings in a historic moment. Whatever his infraction, he was a victim of circumstance—times were different then, and, for example, Hitler was looking really good for a minute there. Orwell never meant that his books should be employed to stultify schoolchildren.
And yet that's what "Animal Farm" is—an educational missile aimed at any healthy impulse towards reform. The argument that "Animal Farm" is a generalized indictment of totalitarianism is simply unsupportable by the text or any existing presentation of the text. Rather, the intelligence of the pigs as opposed to the stupidity of the other animals, and the ultimate hopelessness of revolution, renders "Animal Farm" a de facto endorsement of the status quo.
Orwell, with his master understanding of propaganda, did not accidentally exclude Germany, Italy and Japan from his allegory. He knew that he was writing against the East, for the West. But the assertion that the Cold War was won by the arms race, as fueled by the enemy–out–there equation of "Animal Farm," is as undemonstrable as it is unconvincing. Because the manufacture of weapons is far less expensive in a Communist state, it's more probable that the U.S. participation in the arms race delayed the inevitable collapse of a Soviet Union facing the superior economic model of the West.
Furthermore, Orwell's perpetual war model goaded American policy–makers into ill–advised forays all over the world. Trouble spots that pop into mind—Afganistan, Iraq, and Korea. The current environment within America, in which any criticism of U.S. policy is considered un–American, is precisely the McCarthy–esque inflammation we expect from such Cold War rhetoric—and it is no coincidence that George Orwell has been successfully drafted by Christopher Hitchens as a supporter of the George Bush "war on terrorism." No matter that this kind of unexamined forward march (and euphemistic lexicon) is exactly what rankled Orwell most. Judging from Orwell's stance on World War Two and Winston Churchill, it's likely that Orwell would have opposed military intervention in Iraq, and that even if he did support George Bush, it would be only with the utmost antagonism.
And, none of that is out of historical context.
But that's part of canonizing someone. To quote The Book Of Matthew's Jesus (23:25)— "Woe, unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess."
Despite all the lip service paid to the nuanced argument, that's exactly what we can't have, and especially not about great men. They are cast in bronze, and unassailable.
Not to say that Orwell, even if he did make his own bed, would have liked lying in it. To a large degree, Orwell's appeal is that it's hard to believe he'd stand by any political formulation 55 years old. (It's interesting to consider that if Orwell had survived another twenty or thirty years, in the light of his happy–frog type essays, he might have sought redemption in environmental issues.)
Orwell once said that writers "tell you a great deal about [themselves], while talking bout someone else." Raymond Williams, in 1955, turned this argument back on Orwell, noting that, "Orwell's reports are indeed documents, but largely of himself." With that in mind, Orwell's opinions on canonization ("Reflections on Gandhi," 1949) are particularly revealing.
"Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proven innocent. . . . In Gandhi's case the questions one feels inclined to ask are: to what extent was Gandhi moved by vanity—by the consciousness of himself as a humble, naked old man, sitting on a praying mat and shaking empires by sheer spiritual power—and to what extent did he compromise his own principles by entering politics, which of their nature are inseparable from coercion and fraud?"
Orwell doesn't doubt that Gandhi was conscious of the Sainthood for which he lobbied—to Orwell, Gandhi's complicity and incentives are the primary question. That is to say—who was Gandhi on the inside?
Herein was Orwell's "commitment to the truth." So, with that same insistence, we look to Orwell's unspoken truth, and ask, what is it?
Eric Blair, or "George Orwell," was a complicated man with complicated motivations, who did at least as many things wrong as he did right. And the best thing about him was that he probably would have agreed with that assessment, and that, for all his mistakes, he would have had nothing but uneasiness for his own supporters, and the fundamentalism of their smelly little orthodoxies.