Category Archives: Todblog

Stories, Delivered.

One of the great pleasures–and also one of the great pains–of being the editorial director of Exterminating Angel Press is getting to read the amazing work coming out of like minds everywhere…the pleasure is obvious, the pain comes from not being able to publish everything we love. The online magazine, of course, is great for that. We can support any books there, and give a little extra breeze for their sails as they head out onto that uncertain sea.

When they find port, no one is happier than us. And we like to spread the word. Books like Ken Womack’s novel Playing the Angel, and Ralph Dartford’s beautiful Cigarettes, Beer & Love among many others (but both of those I have a particular soft spot for, as who wouldn’t who read them?).

And then there’s Hannah, Delivered, by Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew. The story of a woman who delivers her true self in learning to deliver the children of others is not just a lovely, sometimes wrenching but always hopeful, tale, it looks at the world surrounding it and tilts the vision to a better one. That’s what EAP likes: tilting our everyday vision to a better one. Washing the windows of the culture, as it were. Making things a little clearer. What gets a little clearer in Hannah, Delivered is the importance of supporting every individual in their own autonomy, in their own birth. And it’s a great read. Have a look and see if I’m not right. See if you don’t love my favorite character: a man in a sarong who trains to be a midwife right along with the heroine. And why not? Why can’t men be as nurturing and caring as women? Why can’t we allow them that, in fiction as in all else?

No reason that I can see. Can you?

Meanwhile, in Jam Today Too: The Revolution Will Not Be Catered land, I’m still on the road with a book tour, and will be at the wonderful, tremendous, beautiful Gallery Bookshop, on the headland in Mendocino, California, meeting and greeting on Sunday, July 27, from 2 pm to 4 pm. Love those meetings and greetings with foodlovers of like mind…

Cheers, All.

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Three Cheers for Guest Editors.

I’m quite enthusiastic about this guest editorship thing we have going on EAP: The Magazine. For those of you who’ve come in late, when we did our Indiegogo funding push, one of the surprisingly popular perks was said editorship. This issue is our second, with one more to go, and both so far have been unmitigated pleasure for the host editor (ie me).

Aside from the fact that Ken Womack, and Kate and Mark Tallman, are all affable, curious, and highly literary, there was a small surprise hidden in each collaboration.

Backing up, let me mention again the rather odd way EAP works. We’re a trade publisher, distributed, both domestically and internationally, by the wonderful Consortium Book Sales (cbsd.com). But we don’t just take manuscripts over the virtual transom, as I seem to never tire of politely telling writers and agents of said manuscripts: we develop relationships. We’re looking for like-minded writers, people who are passionate about their subject, whatever that might be…and whose subject is some aspect of our main question: why is our cultural default setting the one it is? What would happen if it were different? What would happen if we stepped outside of the seemingly endless circle we are socially churning in, the one that says the free market is the only motor a culture can have, the one that says someone’s always got to be on the top and someone always on the bottom, the one that says someone’s always got to win and someone’s always got to lose. That kind of thing.

We develop these relationships on the online magazine. We’re not just looking for the Next Best Thing…in fact, we have a great distrust of the Next Best Anything. We’re looking for serious but joyful, hard-working but playful, thoughtful but exuberant, creative but practical kinds of people. The ones, as EAP’s incredibly joyful, hard-working, and practical Creative Director Mike Madrid describes this way: “If you ask them which of the Seven Dwarves they most relate to, they always say ‘Doc’.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised when all our guest editors turned out to be ‘Doc’.

And so, no surprise, we’re exploring book ideas with all of them. With Ken Womack, a book about The Beatles, and all the unsung people and events that went in to making them the phenomenon they were (Ken, this year’s Penn State Laureate, is an expert on this; look for him speaking about it at a university campus near you). With Mark Tallman, whose work focuses on international security and disaster management, a book about the limits of what we can achieve in security…and why finding and acting on those limits could possibly be—could they?— a matter for celebration rather than fear.

I can’t wait to see what the collaboration with Pablo Kjolseth brings. Pablo runs the International Film Series at the University of Colorado Boulder, so naturally his chosen theme is “Beer & Movies.” Knowing Pablo, and how he seems to pack 48 hours of work into 24 already, I doubt we’ll come up with a book idea between us. But I know for sure we’ll have fun. And, as I pointed out recently to a very interesting writer whose book we, alas, could not afford to publish, “None of us is making any money, so we might as well consider ourselves free.” And free to have fun is one of the most creative positions I know.

So there.

(And MEANWHILE, speaking of my having fun, my second cookbook/memoir, Jam Today Too: The Revolution Will Not Be Catered comes out in June, and I’ll be meandering around the west to different indie bookstores talking about food and sharing a glass of wine with interested parties. Our kick off is on publication day, Tuesday, June 10, at the wondrous Omnivore Books, in San Francisco, from 6:30 pm to 7:30 pm. Come by, say hi, have a glass, tell me what you’ve been eating lately. I really want to know.)

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Two Encounters

I’m stuck in Ely, Nevada–giant unforeseen snowstorm rose up and blocked the highway west, where I’m heading–although ‘stuck’ is the wrong verb; I’ve always really liked Ely. I highly recommend the La Quinta here, especially if you’re traveling with dogs. And then it’s right next door fro a 24 hour market, in the same parking lot, actually, which is quite handy in a snowstorm. So while the lads at the hotel were digging out my parking space, I went over to the market to try to get some canned dog food, or ‘dog fast food’ as it’s known to my dogs, who really enjoy getting off their normal diet of Tod made stodge once in awhile.

I looked at the dog food on the shelves, and automatically checked the ingredients. Needless to say, they were a mess. No kind of meat was ever the first ingredient, unless it was the ominously named ‘Chicken By Products.’ There was this long list of gluten and corn and etc., all of which was undoubtedly of GMO origin. And then a whole bunch of words I didn’t have the faintest idea what they meant.

Ominous, like I said.

I was going to get  a couple of cans, why not? I thought. The same as eating at a Burger King along the road. But something stopped me. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought about the dogs’ normal diet, of a mix of dried food and the Dog Stodge I make from our household vegetable peelings, oatmeal, and whatever is the cheapest decent looking meat on offer (our local butcher makes up packages of ground misc. meat from their cuts, beef, lamb, game in season, all for 99 cents a pound, for which I am profoundly grateful). Their normal food is a lot cheaper, even if (or because) homemade, but that wasn’t the problem. I just couldn’t bring myself to feed them this crap, even for an emergency. So I had a brain wave. I went over to the canned soup/stew aisle to have a look for some human canned stew to give them.  Twice, even three times as expensive as the dog food,  I noticed when I got there. But just this once…

Then I looked at the ingredients. They were, if possible, about as revolting as the list on the dog food cans. And not so very often was the first ingredient listed as meat. There were a lot of by-products, and gluten, and undoubtedly GMO corn, and there was that list of chemicals I’d never heard of. I looked at this and I revolted against how revolting it was. I looked around at all the young families stocking up against the storm, and I thought, “I literally wouldn’t feed this to a dog.”

So my only recourse was to head over to the meat aisle, and eye the ground meat, picking out a package that would feed the dogs. While I was there, I got in a conversation with the butcher. In a low voice I told him what I was doing, and he, looking around him to make sure no one was listening, said, “That’s all right to give them; it’s pretty clean stuff.”

He told me he used to own his own butcher shop in Reno, and he told me it just got too hard to keep it going, people didn’t appreciate what they had. We talked about how young people were thankfully getting back into butchering, and small lots of humanely raised meat, and knowing where the meat was coming from, and he looked around his shoulder again and muttered, “Part of the problem is you can’t sell all the parts of the animal, not legally.” I said (equally low in voice) that again thankfully there were beginning to be informal chains of distribution for that kind of thing, and more activism. He said, “And we gotta educate people about what they’re eating, how there’s great stuff if they’d only give up bad habits, and about how they can be eating better for less money.” And I agreed.

We parted with expressions of mutual esteem, and that warmed me, which was good because I saw a young mother, holding her well wrapped up baby, struggling to figure out what to buy from shelves and shelves of crap, and I just wanted to weep.

That was the first encounter.

The second actually had happened awhile ago, when I was heading into Minneapolis for a sales conference, and hurried, at the airport, to get into the people mover that takes you to the light rail into town. I just made it before the doors closed, jumping on behind a young black man, just a kid I thought at first look, and we both laughed about having just made it, and he said, “Man, I want to get out of here, I just got off my shift, been here since 5 am.” Where do you work? “Chick Fil-A, over in the terminal. 5 am to 1 pm. I used to work 1 pm to 10 pm, but I got two kids, and I never saw them. This way I’m home after they have lunch, and we can have time together.”

I wish now that I’d said what I wanted to. At the time, I choked it back, it seemed so patronizing to me. What I wanted to say was, “Your kids must be so proud of you.”

What’s that got to do with books, you’re thinking if you’re still with me this far. Maybe she should have put this in the cooking blog. But I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with books. Books are our collective memory of what has been, and what can be. Books, at their best, keep alive, at very low cost, in a very effective technology, the idea that we are a community, a web, and that what is done to the least of us is done to all of us (and who said that? oh, yeah…he said a lot of good things, I read it in a book somewhere…).

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Give Us Your F***ing Money, Please! (Or at least some warm wishes.)

Man, have we had some action around EAP world headquarters recently. Getting our Indiegogo quest for support up and running would have been impossible without the incredible wisdom of Molly Mikolowski of A Literary Light, and the spectacular energy of Alison Week, our new Community Outreach Director. Mainly because of two different floods, which editorial (ie me) found…er…distracting. The first one took place at EAP World Headquarters itself (you can see a partial result in the Indiegogo video…that big empty space I’m sitting in before the rebuild..thank you, State Farm), and then, just before the launch, as I was heading out to EAP Operational (as we call it around here), the biggest flood in 500 years struck Boulder, where we’re based a few months out of the year. Impossible to get in until a day ago, and hard to concentrate on anything other than the difficulties being faced all around us.

Really, the most important thing is that everyone be safe and warm and dry and well fed. Which, come to think of it, is one of the founding principles of EAP. Why, we always are passionately curious to know, why ISN’T every person safe and warm and dry and well fed? And how can we finally get to such a sensible place?

Anyway, have a look at the Indiegogo video (especially if you want to see me lose it asking for money–didn’t matter how many takes, I kept flubbing it), and please don’t feel you have to donate to us (especially not if it’s a choice between us and the flood victims), but it would be great if you would spread the word. That’s what we’re in it for, anyway. Trying to connect with people who agree–why DON’T we have a world where everyone is safe and warm and dry and well fed? Well, why not?

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Rebuilding Culture from the Ground Up.

One of my most cherished possessions is a 1911 edition of the Encylopedia Brittanica—in fact, I have two sets, one in my own home base, in the woods of Oregon, and one borrowed from the university library, in Boulder. Cherished not just for the humane, clear learning that leaps out of every article, but for the long lost world view underlying it. These writers were late Victorians, men and (all too rarely) women writing at the start of the last century, and their confidence in agreed upon truths is breathtaking. Every word shows an absolute belief that most of the Truths of the Universe had been uncovered, codified, integrated into a harmonious view of what Man (although not, significantly, Woman) could, should, and would be. Any mysteries, these writers clearly felt, would inevitably be solved in what amounted to no more than a mopping up exercise.Civilization and its move forward was assured.

That was 1911. Right before the outbreak of the First World War. That war, and the unprecedented  barbarity of both sides in the Second World War, shattered that enviable illusion into a million pieces.

After World War II, there was no belief any longer that the culture was built out of agreed and time-tested truths. Instead the structure had fallen into pieces, and each specialty now stood on its own: science, art, literature, economics, history, politics, religion. Each was split from what had been a whole, and each began the work of developing itself in isolation. Those wars had shattered the self-confidence on which Western Thought was built, and a good thing, too, since that thought had arrogantly assumed that the tiny, admittedly exquisite structure it had built in a small corner of a vast, unknowable universe was the whole of knowledge. It was as if the two Great Wars—reallly, just one interrupted war that lasted fifty years—were a tsunami that washed away the little fortress of Western civilization perched so precariously on the edge of a rock, washed it away and left it in fragments on the beach.

So that’s us now, rebuilding in the flotsam and jetsum. And it wouldn’t be such a bad thing except that, for the last sixty years, we’ve maintained the arrogance without the structure to back it up. We’ve acted as if the little bits left after the destruction of that beautiful world view were still of absolute value, and we’ve tried to rebuild what we had with those old, wrecked materials. Here we have an opportunity to get creative, to think of new ways, new ideas, new stories, and we’re clinging to old, discredited techniques and materials.

But that looks to be changing. As usual after any disaster, it’s the individuals, and the communities made up of individuals, the people on the ground who are seeing that in order to build up a new, flexible, workable whole world, all the different categories kept artifically apart now need to come together to exchange information.

Physicists need to talk to plumbers Urban planners need to watch farmers. Doctors need to listen to poets. Historians need to read fairy tales.

This cheers us up here at EAP, this general rolling up of shirtsleeves and mucking in together. All the different specialties are getting together, increasingly, to share in the really big work of developing human values: of figuring out how it’s best for all of us, together, to live.

It’s not the work of experts. They got us those two huge wars, remember? No, it’s the work of all of us, down here on the ground. It’s a big job, of course, but we’re all up to it. At least, I hope we are. The alternative, after all, isn’t to be thought of.

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Mother Hubbard and EAP’s Raison d’être.

The whole purpose of Exterminating Angel Press is to find, develop, and publish stories that have been overlooked in the mad dash for competition to get to the top of…of what? We’re thinking about that too. What is it we’re all in this mad dash for? And what happens when one of us gets to the top and gets to dance on all the corpses down below?

Well, maybe that’s a bit extreme. Let’s dial back. It does seem to me that monoculture in any form is unhealthy, that it does, as they say, take all kinds to make a world. At least any kind of world that’s going to be worth living in.

So when Mike Madrid, EAP’s creative director and resident popular culture expert, discovered a whole treasure trove of comics from the 40’s and 50’s, all that had fallen into public domain out of lack of interest, lack of belief that there was anything interesting in them, and when he described one or two of them to me, I knew immediately this was an EAP sort of a thing. These are stories that reveal possibilities other than the usual ones we’re seeing now, the more stultified, endlessly repeated muscle bound superheroes who save a couple of worlds and then go on to have their own line of toys. These are stories about superheroines who didn’t make the cut. They were too out there to catch a mass market eye. A debutante who makes herself ugly to fight crime. A sexy pussy cat who beats up criminals without letting her dog boyfriend know what she’s doing. A queen of the jungle who refuses to let anyone exploit her territory, and the people and animals that live there.

Then there’s the postmenopausal superheroine, Mother Hubbard. I always find it interesting that when I tell people about her, the first reaction is stunned laughter. Then I usually say something like, “See, you laughed. Why did you laugh? What is is about the superhero story that we’ve all agreed on that makes that funny?”

It’s interesting. It tells us something about ourselves. And, as we say around here, until we know a little bit about ourselves, fuck all is going to change.

The main thing about these stories, though, is that, being so out there, so unexpected, so unlike any story lines that hardened and calcified afterwards, they are supremely entertaining. And we’ve got 28 of them, the whole stories, coming out with Mike’s commentary, in October. We’re working on it now. And if you want to get a look at his introduction, you can have a look here…

 

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On Having Fun.

I had fun giving a screenwriting seminar at the Boulder International Film Festival recently. It’s always fun to talk about story, and structure, and how they go together, with other people who are thinking about that too. There was this one moment, though, where the whole room kind of froze, like in a movie, come to think of it, ‘time stood still’, when someone in the back complained, “But what about when it’s time to stop having fun and actually sell the screenplay?”

I looked at him blankly. Who knows for how long. Then time started up again, and I said flatly, “It’s never time to stop having fun.”

Now I did wonder later if I had answered that one correctly. I mean, I could have gone off into a riff about the usual ways to try to sell your work, rather than pointing out (as I did) that the system is so rigged it’s like winning the lottery to sell anything if you’re outside of the system, let alone unknown and outside the system. And that the single best solution is to join together with talented people you know and make the script yourself. But my answer had been absolutely spontaneous. From my heart, actually. Because if there is one thing I have learned in my fifty odd years here, it’s that if you’re not having fun, you might as well pack up and go back to your home planet. Because that is the only real reward there is. All other rewards spring from that.

The whole exchange made me giggle later. For some reason, it reminded me of something I’d forgotten long ago. Years and years ago, when I was a struggling screenwriter starting out in Los Angeles, my fellow strugglers and I had a joke. You could ask a producer, any producer, a money guy, what kind of stories they wanted, what kind of stories would sell, and what they would answer, always, was “GOOD stories.” But the joke was they would never tell you what ‘GOOD’ was.

Then I became a producer (long story, but yes, indeed I did). And wearing that costume, one day, on the set of a Mexican film financed by an American company where my Dear Husband was working as an actor, I found myself sitting next to one of those money guys. One of those guys who would never ever tell me, the bohemian untrustworthy artist, what the secret was of getting ahead as a screenwriter. He was young, and expensively and casually well dressed, and smug as hell, and because I was an ‘American producer’, the Cornell Business School educated (he told me that immediately) self-contented stuffed suit from the parent company decided I was likely to be one of the few civilized folk around. He was Mexican born, but it was clear he didn’t think too much of the smarts of his homeland. Unlike those of an American producer.  He assumed my husband, being an Anglo actor, would be similarly in the know.

This gripped me with excitement. For the first time, I was undercover with one of these guys. He would tell me the secret to why they always would say, so evasively, “GOOD stories.” So I cautiously began.

What kind of material was his parent company looking for?

“Oh, you know–GOOD stories.”

I could feel Alex tensing up, halfway between hilarity and rage, next to me. I clamped a warning hand down on his knee.

“Oh yeah, I know…that’s what we always say. But what do you guys mean by ‘good’?”

He laughed. I held my breath. Here it comes, I thought.

“Well,” he said confidingly. “You know. Nothing ironic. The public won’t go for that, too complicated. Simple stuff. Nothing downer.”

Oh yes, I nodded sagely. Of course.

He expanded under the attention.

“Well,” he continued. “For example. We had a choice between bringing two different musicals to tour Mexico–‘Les Mis’ or ‘The Lion King’. It was a no brainer, of course. ‘The Lion King’, hands down. ‘Les Mis’ has got all that downer social content.”

At that, Alex began to leap out of his chair. I clamped down harder with my hand.

“Oh yes,” I said nodding again. “Good choice.”

Then, thankfully, someone called the money guy to the other side of the set, and he got up, waving a friendly goodbye as he went.

The two of us waved back.

“It’s the end,” Alex said through his teeth as he smiled a wide, fake smile. “It’s the end of the fucking world.”

But of course it wasn’t, you know. And Alex knew it wasn’t. We had a good laugh about it over a drink after the shoot. Because, like all artists, we have our own secret, which we’ll willingly share with whoever wants it. Any artist knows the world–our world, the human world–will only keep going as long as there are people operating out of joy to power it. What else is all of this but a dance? And if you start treating a dance like some kind of profit making goal machine, it stops being a dance immediately, and becomes something else entirely–something grim, something deadening, something ultimately dead.  And while I know someday I’ll definitely be dead, I’ll be damned if I’ll be grim and deadening along the way. I’ll be damned if I’ll leave death behind me for others. I’ll be damned if I’ll ever stop having fun.

 

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Wonder Women of All Kinds, and a Wonder Man, too…

The documentary Wonder Women! The Untold Story of the American Superheroine is a smashing look at how the story of superheroines has helped form, and continues to form our culture, and EAP’s Mike Madrid, author of “The Supergirls: Fashion, Feminism, Fantasy, and the History of Comic Book Heroines,” is one of the great interview subjects, along with Lynda Carter, Gloria Steinem, and Kathleen Hanna–so I think that makes him an honorary fabulous chick.

Anyway, I loved the doc so much, that when I heard my pal, the legendary independent film producer Margaret Matheson was coming to Boulder, I nudged the International Film Series director here, Pablo Kjolseth, into slotting Wonder Women! into their new Tuesday night documentary series, this Tuesday, Feb. 5, at 7 pm, in Muenzinger Auditorium, on the University of Colorado campus, in Boulder.

Then, since all of Margaret’s many choices of films over an incredibly productive ongoing career are made based on the story told, and since all of EAP’s point is that stories form culture, and how has that happened, and how can that make our world a better place, anyway? And since both Margaret and I are always interested in what’s going on in other people’s heads, Pablo is letting us use the screening as a way to find out.

So Margaret and I will introduce the documentary, and lead a conversation afterward about just that. How stories interact with culture, and what that means for us, and what that means for how we can go on.

And as a matter of fact, I happen to have inside knowledge that a lot of Wonder Women are coming to the screening, creatives and strong wills of all kinds, and so I’m wondering what will happen next…

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Whirling Winter Words.

The Winter issue of EAP: The Magazine is up, and we had an avalanche of contributions this time. (Special thanks to Marissa Bell Toffoli, our ace poetry editor, for so graciously and competently working with all the poets who contacted us–and see her contribution, “Would, Will.”) What we particularly like is hearing from all the generations, from a grandfather (“It’s Da Shooz”) to a teenager (“On Epigrams: A Postive Note”) to nine year old Asia, whose tribute to BOOKS is one with which we heartily agree.

Deb Baker muses on the responsibility of a mother to explain to her children the value of words in WORK…we heartily agree with that, too…

Kelsey Liu continues to make us happy with her beautifully crafted stories from high school, in this case, a tale of aspirant parents treating their child like an entrant in a dog show: “The Koi Pond,” I bet there are a lot of young people out there who can relate.

There are so many great pieces in this issue, but there are two brand new contributors I have to call attention to here. Alexandra Kitty has conjured up the most enchanting, and effective, new detective we’ve seen since Victoria’s reign: Miss Magnus Lyme. She’s the Sherlock Holmes for the 21st century, or, rather, Sherlock’s older, smarter brother, Mycroft. Follow her special brand of clear sighted aid to those in distress in “Let Them Howl.”

And we’re tinkering over here with the idea of a new branch on the EAP tree: one made up of “How To” books that tend toward supporting “How To Take Control of Your Own Life.” (There’s a gardening book in the works, written by a poet…more on that soon….) This issue, EAP welcomes Matt Stone, who writes about nutrition, about eating, about the way you already know what to do without leaning on ‘expert’ knowledge that may be more about separating you from your money than your calories. Have a look at “Nutrition in Three Words,” and see what you think. Let us know, too.

Finally, two EAP authors are already busy working on new projects–we’re eagerly watching their progress–and we’re delighted to have a peek here. Anarchist fairy tale author and punk rocker Danbert Nobacon on “First Words.” And our favorite independent historian, Brian Griffith, from his new book on how animal stories interact with culture: “Using the Evil Word on Animals.”

Welcome back, All.

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Books, EBooks, Minneapolis, and Kale with Brown Rice (for Claudia).

It was sales conference time, with Consortium Book Sales and Distribution, the winter version at their Minneapolis headquarters, someplace I always love to visit. Killer airport, Minneapolis, the only one in the world where you can get brown rice and kale as an entree at an airport cafe. And I LIKE brown rice and kale. For breakfast, on my way home, I had a big plate of fruit with two slices of toast, organic peanut butter and little mounds of sunflower seeds and raisins on the side. This may sound like a small thing, but it almost makes me weep with gratitude and pleasure to get real food at a normal price inside of TSA security gates.

Minneapolis 4ever, is what I say.

One of the things I like to do, going back and forth to both the fall/winter and spring/summer conferences, is check out what people are reading on the plane. This is always quite enlightening. Last year, flying back from MSP, every single person who was reading on the plane, with the sole exception of me, was reading on an electronic device of some kind. I, of course, was deep into not only an actual book, but a LIBRARY book. Some kind of Luddite nut, I could hear them all thinking around me.

But things have changed.

This year, I noticed the guy next to me was reading a book. An actual book. And when I looked across the aisle, the woman sitting there was reading a book, too. True, it was a book by Bill O’Reilly. But it was still a book.

Fascinated, I got up to walk to the back of the plane. I did a quick head count. And it was half and half. Half eDevices. Half books.

I sat back down, and thought about that, and about how at sales conference the dynamic Katie Khatib, of the anarchist AK Press, had put in a courteous and eloquent plea for us to talk at these things a little less about the future of the eBook, and a little more about the actual Book. The Book we all know and love.

Here’s the thing about Books. As objects, they are more than simple conveyers of information or pleasure. They have lives of their own. Holding them, you feel through to all the work that went into not just their writing and editing, but their design and manufacture, their sale, their passing from hand to hand. They are, I must repeat, alive in a way that the simple abstraction of their content is not. The difference here is analogous to the difference between homemade split pea soup, and Lipton Cup ‘O Soup. Both are soup. But one has a history and a living meaning that has been leached, for convenience’s sake, from the other.

They both have their place. And any platform for ideas is a good platform–at EAP we put ’em up on every platform going. But I, in my own personal private reading time,  prefer a little less convenience and a little more life. I’ll always prefer the real thing to the abstraction. In just about every part of life.

 

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