Ron Rosenbaum does his 'couple thousand words with ancient Greek references' thing on The Underminer, the soon to be published comic novel from Mike Albo and Times TV critic Virginia Heffernan in this week's New York Observer:
Remember Generation X? You know, Slackers? The thirteenth gen? The first generation of Americans to do worse than their parents? Gosh, this was way back in the early nineties, around the time of a Gulf War, a Bush presidency, and widespread joblessness: A time completely unlike our own.
Sure, it's great working with Jude Law, Naomi Watts, and George Clooney, but apparently I ♥ Huckabees writer/director/semi-nudist David O. Russell aspires to write short magazine pieces. Probably because it's more rewarding than the whole highly-acclaimed filmmaker racket.
Remember a few years ago when Karyn Bosnak, that endearing Holly Golightly of the digital age, launched a website called savekaryn.com to help you help her pay off her credit card bills? Sure you do! At the time, newspapers and magazines fell all over themselves to write articles about her and her digital panhandling scheme. You might've even donated some money to the scrappy New York gal so she could reach her projected $20,000 because she's "really nice, and... asking for your help!"
In this week's coverage of the New York Times Book Review, Alexis the Intern discovers that David Foster Wallace still loves footnotes more than he loves his own mother or, say, the book he's supposed to be reviewing. Meanwhile, Jay McInerney doles out some sass and a Bush clansman comes forth to tackle the NYTBR liberal juggernaut. After the jump, our weekly guide to acting like you're well-read.
We really have to get moving on the long-form writing thing: New York magazine's Deborah Schoeneman has sold a book to Crown's new fiction imprint. The novel will focus on the dark underbelly of the NYC gossip scene (as far as we know, this dark side involves morning vomit after a night of "reporting") and Schoeneman has kindly given us some insight:
The NYTBR this week was low on the interesting and high on the boring. Indicative of this extreme dullness (which discernibly oozed through the pages of the Review) was Jonathan Rosen s opening line to his "John James Audubon" review: "Let s face it. Pictures of birds are boring." Are the editors actually TRYING to make us to go straight the Sunday Styles section? Actually, not exactly—we do get some "vaginal texture" action. Intern Alexis endures in our weekly feature.
Tom Wolfe, the journo/novelist best known for the tome-ish Bonfire of the Vanities, has deigned to reveal his theory of life to the Sunday Times magazine:
We're all a bunch of fucking dilettantes, so let's just openly admit to not actually reading much of anything. We do, however, read the book reviews, and in order to ensure you are as unjustifiably verbose on such matters as we are, we present the return of our weekly Reading About Reading series. Back from a brief hiatus (cough, cough, Bellevue), Intern Alexis sifts through the crap of the New York Times Book Review to present you with pearls of wisdom sure to propell you through the boring, bookish chit-chat.
Now that the leaves are turning, we KNOW you're all prepping your Chrismukkah lists for the lucky bastards who have to buy you presents. What better item to go at the top of those lists than former Gucci head whore Tom Ford's new book, complete with a white leather case? Put a big star by it, so your loved one knows it's worth the retail price of $350. For the poor white trash, there's a non-leather version for $125. Both go for less at Amazon, natch. But would Tom want you to buy discount?
Tom Ford Channels Matthew Barney [Greg.org via Towleroad]
If we see another Philip Roth plug in the Times, we're seriously going to claw out our eyes. Naturally, we're quite grateful when a reader does the legwork of assembling the Roth extravaganza:
If she didn't cash in on this whole 5-month incarceration thing, she wouldn't be Martha Stewart, now would she? Lawyers on behalf of the domestic mogul have been quietly shopping around a "prison diary" to be written by Martha during her lock-up, which would hit the stands by summer. No deal has been closed yet, but Crown seems to be in the lead for somewhere around $5 million. After she gets past writing the obligatory text on her boring feelings, we're hoping for a special chapter on something useful, like how to bake a shiv into delicate kiwi tarts.
Martha Stewart's Prison Diaries [NY Metro]
In our continuing efforts to ensure that everyone is reduced to the same level of illiteracy as that which we embrace, we present you with our weekly guide to sounding like you actually know about books. Gawker Intern Alexis weeds her way through the suffocating Sunday New York Times Book Review (now in week 2 of its Flashy Redesign That Looks Vaguely Familiar) to give you the best and worst of the reviews, all to further your success as a total and complete dilettante.
Brace yourselves: our favorite homophobic writer Stanley Crouch just might be back and up to his old anger-management tricks. Beatrice writer Ron Hogan points out Crouch's fondness for stereotypes and name-dropping, which leads to a lengthy, slap-worthy comment, supposedly posted by the man himself, in response:
Anyone knows that you don't have to actually read to sound well-read—you just have to read book reviews. But what of these book reviews, so lengthy and boring and multitudinous? Allow us to help. In honor of the Times' newly-rehashed Book Review (font changes! Editor's picks!), Gawker intern Alexis proudly reviews the reviews for you. After the jump, her hot picks on the best and worst reviews of the week, plus choice quotes worth regurgitating at the even the most dreadful cocktail parties.
