We don t envy writers who have to scribble away in the shadows of their superstar parents. (See: Amis, Martin; Bellow, Adam.) Actually, we re lying. They get book deals! We're so sick with envy we can t even finish our own "works in progress." Which takes us to Brooklyn-resident Owen King, son of Stephen. Owen s book — "a novella and other stories" — comes out in July. We assume it's really good, accepted on merit alone. 'Cause as the press release notes:

Here
s a meta-mind trip for you: Bret Easton Ellis, author of the celebrity-obsessed tomes Glamorama and American Psycho, is now the subject of a novel himself. Pop your Xanax, people. The plot: a young writer crazily obsesses about celebrity novelist Bret Easton Ellis. Woah. The book
tentatively titled Vernon Downs
hasn
t been published, nor is there a book deal. However, a copy "accidentally" popped up in PDF form on Bret
s Yahoo fansite. And the author, Jamie Clarke, is apparently giving interviews:

While we tend to focus our love and attention on extremely publicized young novelist Jonathan Safran Foer, we also realize that by doing so, we cause great injustice to his wife, poet Nicole Krauss. We apologize for this oversight and, to make it up to you all, we'd like to direct your ears to Ms. Krauss' reading of a few old poems over at The Paris Review. The venerable Old Hag sums up the recording quite nicely:

Good news for all you parents out there with preternaturally greedy children: Apprentice winner Bill Rancic has signed a deal with Penguin to write a children's book! According to the press release, Beyond the Lemonade Stand is an advice book for children ages 8-12 who are looking to get ahead. It will offer guidelines on how to be successful, ethical, and profitable in business. The book will also contain anecdotes from business leaders, 'Apprentice' cast members, and business-savvy kids who all lend guidance to business-minded children already thinking of how to make 'money, money, money, money'

After eight months of quasi-genius insight into the life of a wannabe rockstar, The Morning News Williamsburg correspondent Paul Ford Gary Benchley has called it quits, and it's not because Paul Gary's become a major rock star (although he does insist that he's on the precipice of fame). Rather, Paul Ford Gary Benchley has done what any internerdy writer would: He's abandoned the column so that it can be used to fluff up his book deal with Penguin's Plume Books. This sort of move, you realize, is dictated by the rules of the internet.

And now it's time for your morning seizure:

While I was off picking the sand out of my ladyflower, FishbowlNY found an excuse to swelter in the Gobi tent at this weekend's Coachella festival. When faced with the chance to accost Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst, things immediately turn to Oberst's biggest fan, Jonathan Safran Foer:

Though the sequel to his revenge memoir How To Lose Friends and Alienate People doesn't come out until November, British hack and self-promoting publicity whore supreme Toby Young is already partying, dude. He's having a no-book-yet fete on June 4 at Lotus for The Sound of No Hands Clapping. —MG

New York Times Mag contributor Benoit Denizet-Lewis is trawling for interview subjects for the upcoming book he now admits will be titled America Anonymous.

Keith Kelly reports that Glamour cartoonist Marisa Acocella Marchetto, wife of restaurateur Silvano Marchetto of Da Silvano, has snagged a $250,000 advance from Sonny Mehta at Knopf for a cartoon memoir of her win over the big C. "Some of the moments were not funny when they were actually happening to me,'' Mrs. Marchetto recalled last week to New York Times reporter Lola Ogunnaike. ''But my mom would be, like, 'Material, material!''' Across Manhattan, doctors bracing for a rush of patients from what Kelly calls "the media elite who frequent the restaurant," worry about how to explain that schadenfreude isn't an actual disease. —MG
Media City[New York Post]
Marisa Acocella [Comiclopedia]

Next Sunday's New York Times Book Review jumps on the shelter-porn bandwagon:

No, we don t mean that the world s unhappiest divorcee, Kerik-bonker and porn promoter has been reduced to abusing herself. We mean that in yesterday s Los Angeles Times, she s admitted to being a woman of a certain age (Vassar Class of 1975) while abusing New York and announcing that she s discovered this really new-fangled thingie called the Internet.

What better way to round out our Jonathan Safrantastic week with a larger look at the family Foer? It seems that Jonathan isn't the only one with a burning passion for indie cover boy Bright Eyes; younger brother Joshua Foer is also a loquacious fan. From the Yale Herald, September 2002:

So many festivals, so little time. All offer a taste of the profound, a refreshing window to the world beyond New York, perhaps a chance to escape our manic days, if only for a few hours.

Are literary blogs poised to reinvigorate book sales? Seems like a lot to ask from a few erudite folks who happen to like getting drunk together, but, hey, whatever works. The Voice's Joy Press looks at the power of lit blogs to move merchandise, calling out the Litblog Co-Op, a book blogger collective that aims to elevate four otherwise-obscure books a year above the remainder bin.

After yesterday's item about author Jonathan Safran Foer's meta-interview with the Morning News, the emails rolling into Gawker HQ confirmed one thing: there's no such thing as too much JSF. In the momentary absence of a new JSF interview this morning, it will have to suffice to return to the faux-Foer blog, where faux-Foer lashes back at Steve Almond's recent takedown of the vrai-Foer's new novel:

Behold the tools of literary genius.
We interrupt today's PopeWatch to bring you the latest in our ongoing coverage of the Power Potties of the rich and famous. Today a daring correspondent delves into the 69th Street powder room/crapper of famed writer Erica Jong, author of the erotic classic Fear of Flying. The only fear in Jong's bathroom, our spy discovers, is that of having more than two square inches of available counter space. After the jump, our unauthorized documentation of the hygenic habits of the rich and famous.

Readers have been quick to defend Margaret Atwood after her recent literary blackout: she was only admiring her shoes, she likes listening with her eyes closed, she huffs copious amounts of paint thinner, she's Canadian — of course she's going to be boring. (Sorry, Ottawa!) But an astute member of the literati offered the best excuse on Atwood's behalf: the author is exhausted because she hasn't yet perfected her wacky virtual-autograph-signing robot. Per the New Yorker:

At The Morning News, Robert Birnbaum catches up with w nderkind literary recluse Jonathan Safran Foer in the first extensive JSF interview we've seen since at least Saturday. In the course of 15,000-odd words, the duo embark on an increasingly bizarre meditation on the future of the written word. It begins:

Sorting through the charges over whether author Michael Chabon unfairly makes shit up in one of his oft-delivered lectures, that lately rarest of media beasts surfaces: NYT reportage of an intra-McSweeney's feud. Says Dave Eggers of former staffer (and described serial fabricator) Paul Maliszewski,