Wednesday, January 30
Three books:
Last Night at the Lobster, Stewart O'Nan. A fairly short workplace novella which takes place at a New England Red Lobster, over the span of the last day before closing forever. I wouldn't've minded more shoptalk, because I'm into that kind of thing, but it's definitely worth reading. (Gossip: this is probably my second-favorite book with 'lobster' in its name.)
The Final Country, James Crumley.
Lately, I've been interested in genre-as-ghetto. Crumley's one of those authors, like Neal Stephenson or Kurt Vonnegut or somebody, who falls into a sort of limbo--too literary for genre fiction, too genre for literary fiction. It's an interesting spot. Like dub reggae or 12-bar blues, part of the appeal of genre writing is in its conventions. But part of the appeal of art is the way it comments on these conventions, and stretches and strains against them and whatnot. Tension. That's something crime-fiction readers like, right?
Patterns of the Earth, Bernard Edmaier
Too beautiful to be a science book, too scientific to be an art book. I love books like this.
Last Night at the Lobster, Stewart O'Nan. A fairly short workplace novella which takes place at a New England Red Lobster, over the span of the last day before closing forever. I wouldn't've minded more shoptalk, because I'm into that kind of thing, but it's definitely worth reading. (Gossip: this is probably my second-favorite book with 'lobster' in its name.)
The Final Country, James Crumley.
Lately, I've been interested in genre-as-ghetto. Crumley's one of those authors, like Neal Stephenson or Kurt Vonnegut or somebody, who falls into a sort of limbo--too literary for genre fiction, too genre for literary fiction. It's an interesting spot. Like dub reggae or 12-bar blues, part of the appeal of genre writing is in its conventions. But part of the appeal of art is the way it comments on these conventions, and stretches and strains against them and whatnot. Tension. That's something crime-fiction readers like, right?
Patterns of the Earth, Bernard Edmaier
Too beautiful to be a science book, too scientific to be an art book. I love books like this.
