Don’t you miss it, don’t you miss it

(This is a post in which I try to save all the things in my GoogleReader subscription that seem worth keeping around. The post title’s reference is to a Talking Heads song, “Born Under Punches,” and the style is nicked from those fun Books and Culture blog things my friend Nathan Bierma used to do.)

A Texas jailer actually sort of got punished after getting caught bartering with prisoners for oral sex. (Usually that’s just a slap on the wrist.) On the other hand, Tazing 72-year-old ladies is still OK. It just got a little harder to lie to immigrants about the consequences of pleading guilty to charges.

This free NRDC report on “Simple and Inexpensive Actions” to reduce greenhouse-gas emissions actually got me to eat a veggie burger: it’s that persuasive. It may actually be possible to “test” the theory that there is a multiverse, thanks to some cool mathematical tricks. Geoengineering to save the climate may or may not be an OK idea. While we’re at it, we might do something about all the plastic in the ocean (which is working its way into the food chain). Maybe plastic-eating microbes could help, though you’ve got to wonder about the byproducts from that. Two percent of humans may enjoy a kind of synesthaesia in which time is perceived as a shape, but the best part may be the pop-culture reference New Scientist uses to explain it.

The UK considers its relationship to the US “profound and vital,” but they don’t want to date exclusively anymore. On the other hand, the UK has some lethal air and a habit of patent secrecy, not to mention possible complicity in US post-9/11 human rights abuses, so maybe a break would be good for us both. As long as I’m criticizing English-speaking nations beloved of liberals, Canada’s hate speech laws are sucktastic, and they don’t mind cozying up to the occasional right-wing Latin American dictator either.

Still, at least they didn’t waterboard a crazy person eighty-five times. Defending US torture is a great way to get a book contract, and a Washington Post column, even if you’re a hack speechwriter with no journalistic credentials, and your book is a tissue of lies (see first link in sentence). The courts have once again condemned NSA eavesdropping. Gotta wonder what will happen to that ruling if it gets to the overdog-loving Roberts Supreme Court, and speaking of which, let’s not replace Justice Stevens with Cass Sunstein, no matter how much it’ll piss off Glenn Beck.

Executions may be increasing in China but abating in, of all places, Texas. US-China relations are chilly as ever, but Chinese willingness to consider sanctions on Iran may make some US policy goals easier to achieve. This must be the kind of nonsense Obama had in mind when he used to talk about “bipartisanship.” Thank God for the knee-jerk obstructionism of the GOP, which may yet kill Obama’s offshore drilling plan.

India declares education a right for all children, volunteers to reprocess US nuclear fuel, and successfully test-fires a nuclear missile named after the Hindu fire god. Japan’s farm policy seems calculated to please locavores. Did you know Ezra Pound used to write for the Japan Times? Activism against the use of child soldiers seems like a no-brainer, but the laws of unintended consequences and Great Power self-interest still apply. Life in Africa’s slums. Everybody’s talking about Netanyahu’s “snub” of Biden, but life-saving charities are being intimidated right out of Gaza, partly as an unintended consequence of US sanctions. The guy who virtually invented marriage counseling was a hilariously creepy, made-in-America eugenicist crank.

New essays

Two new book reviews up at Identity Theory: George Scialabba’s What Are Intellectuals Good For and Declan Kiberd’s Ulysses and Us. Read them both. The books, I mean. They’re very good books.

New essay…

… which basically recapitulates Monday’s post, but I’m still proud of it because it does that thing Hugh Kenner, Gore Vidal, and a few of my other favorite essayists do, and which I’ve been trying to do for several months with no success: It more or less saves topic sentences and thesis statements for the end, and lets storytelling carry the argument.

In just over 350 words, it does a fair amount of work, perhaps at the cost of clarity. We’ll see. The Banner is publishing it in April with some changes (all the cyborg stuff is gone), so here’s the original:

Farewell, Amazon

I first heard of Amazon.com from a crush object, library-science student and sometime correspondent in 1997. At the bottom of her emails ran an automatic signature: “AMAZON.COM: World’s Largest Bookstore.” This was, I soon learned, a bit of cheekiness, as Amazon wasn’t a “bookstore” at all, in the received sense of the word. Rather—and rather revolutionarily—it was a cyber-hub from which books could be ordered anywhere, sent anywhere.

Like every book lover I know, I came for the convenience—and stayed for the prices, the customer reviews, the “So You’d Like To …” guides. Amazon combined the coolness of a great bookstore with the ghost-convenience of Internet shopping. One knew (quaint fact!) that they were headquartered in Seattle, but they seemed to represent an era whose buzzwords were “multinational,” “network,” “globalize.” And if this new era had its dangers—maquiladoras in Juarez, plant closings in the Midwest—hadn’t it also given activists the tools to plan, against those very evils, uprisings like 1999’s in (of all places) Seattle? Cyborgs were a trendy metaphor back then—Marxist academics used them to show how the word “natural” underwrites oppressive gender and class roles, and futurists used them to talk about the “enhancements” that will soon allow us to sidestep bodily limitation entirely—and Amazon was a big, smiley-faced cyborg company.

Time passed.The world, Amazon, and I all grew more complicated. There were whispers of monopoly, of George Orwell e-books deleted from the Kindles of people who’d paid for them. Then in January, as part of a spat over e-book pricing, Amazon stopped offering new copies of all Macmillan titles. If you want to buy Marilynne Robinson’s next novel, you’ll have to do it from a brick-and-mortar store—if you can find one—or buy a used copy, to neither publisher’s nor author’s profit, from, yes, Amazon.

In a “networked” era, boycotts seem naïve. But those fears about monopoly no longer do. So I’m saying farewell to Amazon. The world’s largest bookstore will do fine without me, and for the sake of my blood pressure, I will learn to do fine without them.

New Essay: “The Truth About Fiction”

I hesitated over whether to post a link to this or not, frankly, because when I saw it in its published form it seemed choppy as hell. (I could complain about the difficulty of cutting a 1000-word draft to 300, but that would be bad form. It’s still choppy, and that’s still my fault.) But why not? As I learned from some beloved friends the other night, my article got somebody to write an angry letter to The Banner that wasn’t about any of these three things: President Obama (pure evil), Harry Potter (gateway drug), or hommashekuals (just guess).

I love writing for this magazine. My continued byline in it is one of those little incongruencies that arises from being a politically liberal, artsy, and foul-mouthed fellow who believes.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Klassy Kwanzaa, Blessed Boxing Day to any and all. May you enjoy better health care in 2010. (Well, or 2014, if the Democrats don’t smarten up enough to change the implementation dates.)

New (old) essay on Gary Lutz

My review of Gary Lutz’s Stories in the Worst Way was the Review-A-Day pick yesterday at Powells.com.

Lutz’s piece in The Believer last spring is what put him on my map. It’s the kind of thing I wish someone had made me read the first time I said, “I want to be a writer when I grow up.”

New (old) story: “The Library”

I wrote this short-short in my first year of MFA school, and am half-embarrassed by it, but at the time it was the first fiction I’d written that struck me as worth even trying to publish. Lo and behold, here it is: “The Library.”

It appears in/on the second issue of The Mercy Review, which some old comrades from my Minnesota years are involved with. The journal (online-only, at the moment) looks terrific. The current issue (theme: “The Midwest”) features a bunch of stories, essays, poems, and artworks grouped by region: Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, the Dakotas. Lord, I’m homesick just typing those names.

As the name indicates, The Mercy Review is tangentially associated with House of Mercy, which sounds like a drug rehab center, or a Dylan album from his Pentacostal phase, but is actually one of the two finest churches I’ve ever set foot inside. (Well, and “rehab center” is actually not a terrible metaphor for what good churches do.) Attending House was a primary step in my learning to read the Bible in such a way that it represented either or both of the following things: Good; News. This education had not a little to do with the exegetical and imaginative brilliance of the place’s three pastors, Debbie Blue, Russell Rathbun, and (though he’s since moved on, all the way to Minneapolis) Mark Stenberg. They all wore black the week Johnny Cash died. It was that kind of place. There are many people who serve as models for the kind of writer I hope to be, but they’re not the last three people on the list.

Work in Progress

Brief exchange from “Negotiations,” a story I’m trying very hard to put to bed this month. It’s a piece of speculative-fiction—or so I hope it proves to be—about a woman who retires from paying attention to public life after health care reform fails.

“Eleanor,” the fundraiser said, “we understand you were a valuable contributor to change during the recent election. Tonight we’re asking you to continue that commitment to bringing change to our country by supporting us in our efforts to bring change to our country’s health care status quo.” The man paused. “Will you join us, Eleanor, in sending a message that we cannot go on accepting the same old broken status quo?”

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve said ‘change,’” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Look. I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but I’m retired from ‘change,’ first of all, and secondly—you guys badly need an editor. No offense.”

Silence.

“I’m retired from ‘status quo,’ too. And ‘reform.’ In fact, I’m just retired. Please take me off your list. Good night.”

“What if you get sick?” the man said, suddenly truculent.

“I’m retired from getting sick!” she said, slamming the phone.

Guest-blogging for the Arts Institute

I have a new guest post at the SC Arts Institute blog.

New story: “The Enormous St. Blog”

Annalemma (etymologically, it’s related to “dilemma”) was kind enough to publish this.

They even paired it up with a photo that’s nicer than the story deserves, by a photographer named Ricarda Klinkow. Annalemma‘s editor, Christopher Heavener, runs a pretty good book blog here as well.

I was painfully obviously influenced by this classic John Cheever story, if anyone’s wondering.