Beginner’s Greek
$Beginner\'s Greek$ If I ever inaugurate an unintentionally dirty-sounding e-review series called “Straight to the author’s inbox,” the first one will be to James Collins, and it will read, “Hey James, how’s it going? LOVED THE FIRST HALF OF YOUR NOVEL! xo talk soon L.” (Note to all the publications who’ve cut their book reviews of late: I will provide these under your institutional umbrella for a reasonable fee.) Because while Beginner’s Greek contains some of the most devastating, vivid characterizations (and character assassinations) I’ve read in the past few years, its lovely prose is marred by the fact that the central characters, Holly and Peter–who meet on a flight, lose contact, and spend the next few years (and remainder of the novel) seeking the lost soulmate–are, compared to the surrounding cast, relatively anodyne constructions. While a bullying husband speculates about his ex-wife, visualizing the clotted hairbrush left out for guests that sums up her pitiable circumstances, Peter chases a veritable ghost, a lovely cipher with whom everyone is immediately enchanted, although all we know about Holly is that when Peter met her, she was reading The Magic Mountain. (“She’s a dead ringer for Garbo. She always beats me at chess. She’s first on every punchline. Her drink is Absolut.”) One of the things I love about Larry McMurtry is that he’s one of the few male writers who can portray difficult, irritating women whom men still manage to like. Collins crushes the women in his novel admirably, but his satire can’t hold up against someone who only gives other people crushes. James: EVERYONE is worthy of crushing. Leave the bewitching, blank siren for Roth. He’s probably trademarked her by now, anyway.
Eat, Pray, Love
A sad truth for those of you out there seeking greater ones: Nothing is more boring than your epiphanies. (Even worse, sojourners–the more particular they are to you, the more they sound exactly like everyone else’s.) Such is the problem with Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey through the particulars of her digestive, spiritual and moral humors–located, for your corporeal information, in the regions of Italy, India and Indonesia, respectively. It’s a bit of a punt to say the book is self-aggrandizing–how could a book focused on one’s spiritual well-being not be?–but it’s the grand the Richard Bachian strokes that provoke the reader beyond speech: “Simply put, I got pulled through the wormhole of the Absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the workings of the universe completely.” (Simply put.) However, we’re a girl! Fish-in-barrel elements aside, of course we loved that someone would eat pasta, meditate and tool around Indonesia for a year to get over a broken heart. There’s a lot to be said for pasta in general. P.S. we leave the 16th.
Never Let Me Go
If all butlers from England sound robotic and all English clones sound like butlers, does Kazuo Ishiguro need to stop giving characters affects flatter than a freshly ironed newspaper? These and other points of information plagued me upon my “completion” — you’ll get it — of the author’s sixth novel, wherein a prep-school love triangle worthy of a great piece of teen chick-lit is inexplicably ruined by the fact that the characters all have to give up their organs afterwards. Much has been made of this great “secret” — and, oops, spoiler alert and all — but it’s no more a secret than the fact that, if a girl tells you her boyfriend thinks you’re a slut, it’s a sure bet he has a huge crush on you. HUGE, Kathy, HUGE. Even a butler could see it.

“I think it’s clocks.” [The Bat Segundo Show, mp3]

“Has done just about everything you can and should do to remain gainfully employed” [WYPR's The Signal, 88.1 in Baltimore, MP3]

“A very busy person” [MBToolbox]

We enjoy it. You can reach Old Hag for any good goddamn reason at all at theoldhag AT theoldhag DOT com.

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Old Hag is the work of Lizzie Skurnick, critic, blogger, writer, teacher. Don't talk about Jersey. more...

That Should Be a Word (The New York Times Magazine)
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State of Wonder (Barnes & Noble Review, 6/14/2011)
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Vulgar, vulnerable, wise and neurotic, Bethenny Frankel, Bravo’s last-minute addition to its blockbuster series The Real Housewives of New York City, was a poor mans Housewife from the first. Not a wife (single Frankel was expanding her catering business) nor a homeowner (she rented her Upper East Side one-bedroom), she weathered patronizing barbs from older, wealthier castmates for these and other deficiencies with a captivating mix of insouciance and insecurity.

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Radio killed the novelist star

Posted by Lizzie on 10/05/05

One of our pet peeves is having to sit through people talking about how No One Reads Anymore Because of the XBox and By The Way Literature is Dead. (Not only do they haul that tired shit out every year, if our experience at various book festivals this summer is any indication, the army of readers who want to know if you researched that and what chair you sit in how many hours you have to write every day will be needing the kudzu treatment any day now.) Anyway, Old Hag has company in the persons of Christian Bauman (at TEV last week) author of Voodoo Lounge and The Ice Beneath You, Damian McNicholl, author of A Son Called Gabriel, and Kevin Smokler, editor of the anthology Bookmark Now: Writing in Unreaderly Times, who all sat around on this enemy of literature called the “radio” discussing why people aren’t reading less, writers are allowed to use XBoxes because we work our brains so hard all day, and blogs are CHANGING THE WORLD.

All we know is, they have them some newfangled websites.

Filed under: Lit-ish |

Commentary

You can have your Xbox playing time and I’ll have my reading and writing time. There is a profound reason why I uninstalled all games on my PC about two years: time management.

Comment by ed — 10/5/2005 @ 12:20 pm
And yes it’s “Xbox,” not “XBox.” That’s what I get for writing professionally for a short time for some gaming mags. Becoming inured to Microsoft’s maligning of nouns.

Comment by ed — 10/5/2005 @ 12:21 pm
Aw, shit, I just changed them both to the WRONG thing.

I am not the quickest living of the non-dead.

Comment by Old Hagg — 10/5/2005 @ 3:17 pm

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