I work in book publishing.
You're my favorite.
Sounds right to me.

Sounds right to me.

Keats was unimpressed by the food on their trip. He wrote in a letter: “We dined yesterday on dirty bacon dirtier eggs and dirtiest Potatoes with a slice of Salmon.” In Scotland they subsisted almost entirely on oatcakes and whiskey — Keats hated the oatcakes but enjoyed the whiskey.

— A delightful report on the walking tours of John Keats, in today’s Writer’s Alamanac.

Something else to do with your English major.

Something else to do with your English major.

Consider the Dinner

Consider the Dinner

West Sussex recognizes resident David Sedaris for tireless road-side litter removal, names garbage truck after him, publishes "local man" story about him, doesn't realize he is also a best-selling author in his spare time. →

Choice quote:

This is simultaneously the most David Sedaris and most small English town thing to happen ever.

The picture is pretty great as well:

The history of authors and dump trucks is a long and illustrious one. When I worked at Sterling Publishing, I briefly worked on a campaign that included a rented and wrapped garbage truck. Here’s what it looked like:

Unfortunately, I do not believe that Little Brown UK was involved in the maiden voyage of the Pig Pen Sedaris. 

In Memoriam

In the early afternoon my mother
was doing the dishes. I climbed
onto the kitchen table, I suppose
to play, and fell asleep there.
I was drowsy and awake, though,
as she lifted me up, carried me
on her arms into the living room,
and placed me on the davenport,
but I pretended to be asleep
the whole time, enjoying the luxury—
was too big for such a privilege
and just old enough to form
my only memory of her carrying me.
She’s still moving me to a softer place.

Leo Dangel, in today’s Writer’s Almanac

He was too drunk to be interviewed," police told the local Sydsvenskan newspaper . "When he was arrested, he not only had comments about the author’s qualities, but also about the establishment in general, to say the very least.

— Serious literary criticism alive and well, “Man Seized For Setting Fire to Knausgård Book


New Kindle Helps Readers Show Off By Shouting Title Of Book Loudly And Repeatedly 

We lost a lot of good people in that war. A lot. Our book clubs were decimated.

World War G by John Flowers

The mailroom delivered me a copy of “www.TheMeetingMagazines.com Corporate & Incentive Travel” magazine and this is one of its real full page ads.

The mailroom delivered me a copy of “www.TheMeetingMagazines.com Corporate & Incentive Travel” magazine and this is one of its real full page ads.

Why Do Americans Stink at Math? →

This excellent article misses a real opportunity midway through, when Green states that ”[Lambert is] instructing educators on how to train teachers” when she could have said “She’s a teacher who teaches teachers to teach teachers”

Time to shine.

Time to shine.

It’s the birthday of editor Ernest Percival Rhys, born in London (1859). He worked as a mining engineer, and he set up a makeshift library with his own books and led book discussions for the coal miners. Then a publisher got him confused with a scholar named John Rhys and approached him about editing a series of books called Camelot Classics. Ernest Rhys turned out to be a good editor, and he moved on from Camelot Classics to work for the publishing house J.M. Dent and Company. Dent and Rhys conceived of a series of inexpensive works of classic literature, 1,000 titles in all. Rhys came up with the name: “Everyman’s Library,” from the medieval morality play Everyman. In the play, the character Knowledge says to Everyman: “Everyman, I will go with thee / and be thy guide, / In thy most need to go / by thy side.” When Rhys died in 1946, 952 volumes of the Everyman’s Library had been published.

— from the Publishing, You Can Do It Too! files, in today’s Writers Almanac, which also has a great Charles Simic poem. 

Read Gabriel García Márquez with his longtime translator, Edith Grossman →

Well this is interesting: The Center for Fiction has posted their Fall reading groups, and one of them is an opportunity to discuss the late great García Márquez with his finest translator, Edith Grossman.

The Center for Fiction, by the bye, is a* literary nonprofit dedicated to celebrating fiction. If you’re not a member, you can still receive their newsletter missives here. They’re short, non-intrusive, and can make you feel better about all the bookish goings on about town that you’re not attending, but could, if you were that sort of person. 



I see Snoopy who do you guys see?


I see Snoopy who do you guys see?

Left Hand of Darkness