Fakoir
Sweet old couple with Holocaust memoir outed as fakers:
Again, Oprah is just a sucker for a wildly implausible story about the damn Holocaust. All the way back in 1996, Herman and his lady had a gushy segment on Oprah's show, and their tale was deemed "the greatest love story ever told." Trouble is, the romance at the heart of Rosenblat's story (which was turned into the now-canceled memoir Angel at the Fence)--about a young man in a concentration camp who was thrown an apple a day (to keep Dr. Mengele away) by a young woman across the fence; later they met in Brooklyn and fell in love--turns out to be completely fake, and everyone's sad because why would these nice old people lie? And about something so terrible. Ah well. Oprah hasn't spoken out yet, but when she does... Oh lord help us. She has been jilted one too many times, this book-loving Patron Saint of Sad, Lonely, and/or Awful People.We just love these amazingly miraculous life-affirming redemption stories. You know the ones where the woman waits a hundred years for her lover to come back from the war, or the one where the quadriplegic blind mountain climber is rescued from snowy hypothermic death by his preternaturally intelligent dog. But life--what a pain in the ass--just doesn't actually cough up the goods. No wait, maybe we want to read novels, but we don't like that they're such a patent crock. What we like is books that are secretly fake. Everyone's sad all right.
New Year's resolutions
I figure it's been a strange and interesting year for Heather Mallick, who posted her resolutions at the Ceeb:
So true. You need yoga pants, one of your husband's ming T-shirts, wool socks and a toothbrush. Though I wish I'd read this before I fell into Arnold Churgin the other day.
posted by Charlotte at 11:41 AM | permalink | email it |0 comments
December 28, 2008
Happy holidays
And a warming blip of Euro-prop from the excellent people at DeSmog:
posted by Charlotte at 2:57 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments
December 22, 2008
Xmas Eve tubage
We're living without The Box of Irresistible Rays this year, which is a relief, because everybody knows there's no better incidence of writerly mortification that to witness oneself on TV.
December 24, 9:30 a.m. EST.
posted by Charlotte at 12:18 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments
December 17, 2008
Pulp
Too many books, people? Quill says yes, and apart from rope and hanging oneself, I think I probably do, too. My sister used to work in a bookstore where employees wore out this acronym: STLR, or Straight-To-Landfill Release.
Think of the trees, one commenter says. Which got me to wondering: exactly how many trees does it take to make a book?
One ton of virgin free-sheet paper is made using the pulp and bark from 24 trees. 1 tree makes 16.67 reams of paper or 8,333 sheets. Say the average novel uses 320 pages or 80 sheets. And is printed at the bestseller threshold of 5,000 copies.
1 book = 48 trees.
posted by Charlotte at 3:05 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments
December 13, 2008
30 below
Just returned from a week at the Banff Centre, where I made the acquaintance of two fantastic writers, David Chariandy and Ruth DyckFehderau, whose residencies coincided with mine. I walked to the Banff Springs Hotel and had a beer in the Rundle Lounge while staring out at the craggy, snowy view. I thought about how unreal this view is, and how staggeringly raw at the same time. I walked a lost Korean kid into town by way of the graveyard and we talked, misunderstanding each other the entire way. It was then that I started to get that unsettled, despairing feeling. The one that always arrives when I'm getting to the end of a draft.
Now, I'm back in Calgary, and are you fucking kidding me? No wonder nobody walks anywhere in this town. My eyelashes froze together this morning on the way to campus. I was also reminded that it is possible to suffer frostbite on one's ass.
posted by Charlotte at 12:58 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments
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