Shakespeare and Co. Booksellers

The excellent Nora Ephron writes.

Earlier today, I was thinking that I’d lose my legitimacy as a bookstore blogger if I always gave a positive review. I actually thought about finding a book I could sink with sarcasm, and, when my boss gave me the inevitable “What the hell are you doing?” talk, I would distract him with an articulate discussion of the varying degrees and forms of honesty. I also planned to offer him a slice of cardamom-pumpkin pie as recompense.

None of this was necessary. At the very beginning of my survey of the fiction space, my search for a terrible, or at least lackluster book, I stumbled upon a literary trinity. As someone who spent two months of her twentieth year truly believing she could uncover an “underlying rhythm of existence” by writing a too-broad research paper that attempted to reconcile religious and scientific patterns, I cannot ignore this grouping. And, though it might suspend my legitimacy for another week, I feel overwhelmingly positive about all three of these books.

Part I: Sister Bernadette’s Barking Dog. Author, copy editor, and all-around grammar nerd Kitty Burns Florey has written a book about diagramming sentences. That’s enough to get my blood up, but if you need more, she breaks down the sentences of well-known authors (James Fenimore Cooper, Joyce Carol Oates, etc.) and dialectical expressions (“Youse kids make me tired”).

Part II: Listening is an Act of Love. The somewhat sappy title gives fair warning–this is a potentially heartwarming book, but if you can get beyond that, it’s probably also one of the most populist and remarkable pieces of non-fiction out there. StoryCorps sets up booths in cities, and interested citizens go in and record interviews with each other. This is based on the idea that everyone has a story to tell (a conviction I share), and I’m intrigued by the relationship it’s forging between oral history and our print-heavy (and, increasingly, digital) means of acquiring information. Also, if you find my use of Roman numerals irritatingly pretentious, I remind you that this collection is down-to-earth speech.

Part III: UM Professor Joanna Klink’s book Circadian. I’ve been a heavy Klink supporter since I heard her read at BookFest, and she continues to be an accessibly transcendent writer–with that clumsy phrase, I mean to say that she starts from a phrase or emotional moment that is easy to understand (“Apology”) and then moves it in words and intensity that, alone, the reader had not accessed. She’s much more articulate than I am, so, if you’re interested, just turn to page five. She’s taken on the “underlying rhythm of existence” eloquently with this collection, and the end of “Apology” is an acceptable conclusion to this entry, typed hastily on a day when the snow is melting in Missoula:

“In these hours when snow shuts, it may be we empty,
amounting to something. How could I not
wait for those few words, which we might enter.”

We have enjoyed receiving advance payment-by-check for December releases by Susanna Sonnenberg and Perri Knize, because it has meant getting kind hand-written notes from all over the country. Thanks so much for sending these.

On another note, we had occasion to visit the new Missoula Hastings location (and Staples too) today, looking for nothing in particular. Hastings has a wonderful outdoor patio, facing south, and but for the out-gassing of new carpet and fixtures inside, is not that bad a store (in our opinion) for a chain store. So many magazines …. It is nice to see (more) signs of life — especially those two coffee shops — in the center of town! But mostly we think the outdoor patio is an inspired touch, and we like to see those kinds of things wherever they may occur.

Mayor Engen: Well, that looks like it, folks. Even with the police station in the mix there is not enough support for this Performing Arts Cen-

Some Developer: Wait a second! I’ll throw in fifty tons of concrete for a 9/11 Memorial at the site!

Council Chambers: [gasps all around]

Mayor Engen: That’s very generous, Bill. Come to think of it, we have been thinking of building a 9/11 Memorial, but I’m not sure it’s enough to -

Another Developer: I’ll put up a statue of Barbaro!

Council Chambers: [more gasps]

Stacy Rye: You mean the horse?

Mayor Engen: [Mmmmmm ... horsemeat]

Jason Weiner: Can I just ask: How tall will this statue be?

Developer: Oh, I don’t know … ten feet?

Symphony guy: A statue of Barbaro! I think that’s something that our kids and grandkids might really enjoy!

Jim Valeo: [Jumps up] Yeah!

Heidi Kendall: [Sits at home]

Stacy Rye: Listen, this stuff is all very well, but it still doesn’t address some of the issues and the problems relat-

Some Banker: Hey! I can see about donating one of those popcorn poppers! Like the one at Ace Hardware!

Keila Szpaller: [spits up coffee into her lap]

Mayor Engen: [Mmmmm ... popcorn]

Bob Jaffe: It sounds to me like if we can somehow make all this work, it could be a [counting on his fingers] … win, win … win … win, win … for the city!

Dave Strohmaier: I move for an extension!

Dick Haines: I demand an appraisal!

All us staffers went bowling Wednesday night and totally tore it up on lane 15 at Westside. The next morning we had a football game in the snow at the alternative high school. Many touchdowns were made and no one was injured.

From the Bibliophile’s Dictionary: caravansary: a large inn or hostel, esp. one built around a large courtyard to accommodate caravans in the Near or Far East.

A day off for us tomorrow. Nerf football – highlights at 11!

Wishing you all good food, good drink, close friends, peace.

Per the boss’s request, here’s a little excerpt from my short story, “The Span of an Octave,” which is forthcoming in CutBank 68. Look for it later this winter (2008).

“The timer cuts the pianist off with its metallic trilling. The pianist turns to the burner and shifts the rice carefully to a trivet on the counter. But when she turns around again, the woman is somehow (almost magically, though the pianist doesn’t believe in magic) dressed again in her full winter getup, hat on, coat fully zipped, scarf knotted tightly around her bony neck. The pianist jumps, for the mother, who had appeared so fidgety and submissive, now stands but three inches from her face. The pianist can clearly see the centers of her watering eyes, red at the edges and narrowed. And before the woman vanishes, gusted out the door as if by a wind, she holds her gloved hand up to the pianist’s face, points a straight, quivering finger and says, with the utmost shocking clarity, ‘Ms. Himmelricht. I want to thank you for teaching Samuel. But whatever it is you are doing to him–’
The mother pauses to exhale. ‘Whatever it is you are doing to my son, I am telling you to stop it.’”

We have stock now, again, on two of the National Book Award winners: Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. (Tim Weiner, author of Ashes, may visit Missoula next spring for a reading. We have our fingers crossed on this one. It looks good.)

Fallen snow, like homemade chili, is so good the second day.

Trevor quietly repaired his injured drugs.

– Peter Carey