Rob Walker's Blog, page 8
October 12, 2010
S.O. Book News
IN THIS POST: Jason Grote, J. Robert Lennon, Helen DeWitt, Greg Rowland, Ed Park.
***
This is the ninth installment in a series of twenty posts announcing — in no particular order — which 100 stories will be collected in the Significant Objects book (forthcoming in 2011 from Fantagraphics).
***
41. Jason Grote's DOME DOLL story. Excerpt:
I cannot recall the specific turn of events that led to my being placed behind this glass. I have memories of walking around, of freshly mown lawns, of friendly dogs licking my hand, and of attending church services and barbecues. However, this could be a trick of memory: it is possible that I have only seen or heard about these things, and not experienced them at all. The only thing I can truly be sure of is the glass, and the dust on the glass, and what little I can see of the world beyond the glass.
***
42. J. Robert Lennon's CHOIRBOY FIGURINE story. Excerpt:
… I wanted to march down the stairs and tell her she had ruined me, that I hated her, to smash my violin against the cracked and disintegrating cement cherub that stood in the center of her flower garden, which my father had bought her in a happier time, or perhaps a time in which unhappiness was still latent, not yet fully expressed — but instead I reached out to the squat and ugly little end table that stood in the corner of the landing and took into my hand the nearest of her china figurines, all of them together a mystery, for they were cheap and tacky and beneath her deluded sense of herself as the wife of a man of wealth and power…
***
43. Helen DeWitt's SARS MASK story. Excerpt:
On a market stall I happened to see, oh how lovely! a SARS mask within a plastic envelope. You needed protection yourself, Bill; you needed your very own personal plastic envelope. And I didn't know. And more to the purpose, because life must go on, here was a chance to practice my Japanese! The label included both English text and an enchanting title for the object incorporating both hiragana and katakana: よyo こko はha マma スsu クku. I didn't know that masuku was Japanese for mask, Bill, did you?
***
44. Greg Rowland's MUSHROOM SHAKER story. Excerpt:
A human female, who carried no malign fungal infections, gave me this Mushroom Shaker. She was attracted to mycologists, and had never knowingly uttered The Joke (op cit.). She was a dilettante mycologist at best, yet her shiny shoes and gadfly, fungal-free demeanor blinded me.Some might see this as a thoughtful gift for a mycologist. They would be wrong. This "gift" is merely an extension of the ritual degradation of our science by the non-mycology community (see above, passim.) This is why its companion piece is now in several pieces in a landfill, having been battered into fragments by a specialized hard-fungal chipping utensil.
***
45. Ed Park's COW VASE story. Excerpt:
This went on for round after round, hour after hour, and should have been the most boring thing in the world. Yet Darren and I soon found ourselves playing Mountains of Moralia to the exclusion of all our other games.When Darren finally emerged triumphant, we jumped to Chapter 8, where we learned that we had just finished waging the Battle of Lavache, and that we could send in a certificate, signed by all players, for a free limited-edition trophy.
We sent it in, waited for six weeks. This is what we got. We never played Mountains of Moralia again. When I found this cow figure last week, stored with the fine china, I e-mailed Darren and asked if he still had the game. He said he didn't know what I was talking about.
***
MORE NEWS: For updates about the Significant Objects project and forthcoming collection, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. For Author Updates, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. Also: Check out the Significant Objects Bookstore!
October 11, 2010
Thank you Lit Crawl attendees!
Support Root Division now!
Big thanks to all who came out to our Litquake / Lit Crawl event at Root Division! Thanks also to all our participating writers, and supsersize thanks to Rob Baedeker for hosting duties, and for wearing a super-suede suit!
We'll have a full report soon — and publish the winning story from our much-awaited Object Slam, too.
Meanwhile, auctions are still open for most of the stories — bid now to support Root Division.
P.S. firsthand reports from the event are welcome in the comments.
October 10, 2010
Significant Tweets for Week Ending 2010-10-10
Our first ever live event TONIGHT, part of @litquake. Details: http://bit.ly/dtAM6f #litquake #
"4" Angel + Story by Katie Williams. Delightful. http://bit.ly/d2T31j #
Rachael Ashe's "Altered Books" series, art made of books. http://tumblr.com/xr4kzj6cf #
"Imaginary book covers designed for real authors." http://hypolib.typepad.com/ #
"Grandpa Mug" + Chris Colin Story. Highly entertaining. Give it a read, and a bid. Part of our @Litquake series. http://bit.ly/dizDKd #
A free book of "best short online fic"? Why Wouldn't You! sez @theawl http://t.co/i0ICnq5 Well OK but is S.O. repped? Seems not. Hm. #
Candle Holder + Miranda Mellis Story. Our countdown to @litquake begins! Check it out: http://bit.ly/9LzXas #
Powered by Twitter Tools
October 9, 2010
Our Litquake/Lit Crawl event in San Francisco is TONIGHT
You must attend the first-ever S.O. live event! Reading live (in alphabetical order): Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Beth Lisick, Miranda Mellis, and Katie Williams. Followed by the first-ever Object slam, your chance to invent Significance for an object to be revealed!
Rob Baedeker will also serve as your charming and irresistible Master of Ceremonies & Host.
Auction proceeds to benefit Root Division, a community arts and education organization in San Francisco.
Confirm your attendance at this Facebook event page. Details:
Saturday, October 9, 2010 6-7p.m.
ROOT DIVISION
3175 17th Street (at South Van Ness)
San Francisco, CA 94110
[Map to Venue.]
Part of the Litquake Litcrawl.
Can't go? Well at least bid on an object, here.
October 8, 2010
Horse Bust + Beth Lisick Story
Significant Objects at Litquake: 5 of 5
[Bid on this Significant Object, with story by Beth Lisick, here. Come and hear Lisick read this story at Significant Objects' first-ever live event, part of San Francisco's Litquake Litcrawl; details here. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Root Division.]
My father was more or less a garden variety drunk. He got neither mean nor gloomy when he'd had a lot of wine, just generally loose followed by a major case of the sleepies. When he and Mom first met, during a year abroad at the Sorbonne in the early '70s, she found his habit of heavy drinking adorable. She liked the way he was often confused and befuddled. Like Mr. Magoo, she said. Like a guy who steps out of the way of a falling piano because he just noticed a cigarette butt in a flower pot. It was pretty sweet. But who falls in love in Paris in the '70s and isn't in some way completely amazing?
The culture of hazing at the Sorbonne was legendary, especially toward the foreign exchange students. My mother had already been hung upside down by her ankles from a statue of Philippe Pinel, the father of modern psychiatry, while wearing a pink trapeze dress no less, so she knew she was probably safe for the rest of the semester. My dad, however, hadn't gotten his yet. Only minor things here and there, like getting locked out of his dorm all night or that thing people do with the cellophane on the toilet. But he was starting to think maybe this was his lot. He would rack up a bunch of petit harcelement throughout the year instead of being the victim of one major prank like everybody else. But it turns out this was not the case.
He and Mom weren't even together yet, she was actually dating someone else, but she was put in charge of making sure his wine glass was never empty that night. Then, when he was good and drunk, she finished him off with one of her killer blowjobs. It's weird because my family isn't that open about sex at all, but my mom's BJ prowess is one of those things we've always known about. Like the fact that she's half Polish or is scared of spiders. It was always just like, Mom loves board games, makes a mean loaf of pumpernickel, and can suck a cock like a champ.
With Dad out cold, they carried him down to the basement of the lab where they kept all the animals. This is gross, but they opened up a horse's stomach, folded Dad's limp little limbs into his chest, heaved him into the cavity, and sewed him up inside with a heavy twine. And then everybody stayed there all night, sleeping intermittently, waiting for him to come to. Finally, just after dawn, they heard his muffled screaming and let him out.
We never heard about this until their 32nd anniversary, a few years before Dad died. Mom had gone to one of those places at the mall called Color Me Mine! where you can paint a ceramic coffee cup or a plate for your loved one, and she made this bust for him. When Dad opened it up, he laughed so hard that no sound was coming out. Then he started crying for awhile, with tears and a sort of choking noise, but soon he went back to laughing again. Then we all sat down for cake and ice cream at the kitchen table and they told us this story about their early courtship.
———
COME TO OUR EVENT:
October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the
first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!
October 7, 2010
4-Angel + Katie Williams Story
Significant Objects X Litquake: No. 4 of 5.
[Bid on this Significant Object, with story by Katie Williams, here. Come and hear Williams read this story at Significant Objects' first-ever live event, part of San Francisco's Litquake Litcrawl; details here. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Root Division.]
During our break between lessons, the girls gather round and ask what I did to deserve it.
"'Deserve'?" I repeat. "What does 'deserve' have to do with it?"
They blink at me, their eyelids making chiming noises with each lower and lift. Their mouths pucker into ohs so perfectly round that I have the impulse to stick something in them—a tarnished coin, the end of a bendy straw, or the tip of my finger.
Then, Thecla steps forward with a firm smile. She is so good. The bubbles blown by all the children in all the yards float up here and drift around her head, a crown of soap and breath. That's how good Thecla is.
"But you must have done something," Thecla says. "And only weeks away from your fourth year — from your time in the kiln."
The others all nod, loosing identical puffs of cinnamon from their curls.
"No." I shake my head, and it is not cinnamon, but sand that whips from my hair, spraying my classmates who flinch and rub their eyes. "I didn't do anything. I'm pretty sure."
The girls exchange puzzled looks. For some, the strength of their confusion is so great that they flutter a few inches up off the ground, until, realizing how rude this is to do in front of me, they sink back down, shamefaced.
"Maybe you talked back," Esme suggests.
"I didn't," I say.
"Well then, you slept in?"
"Didn't write in cursive?"
"Ate two desserts?"
"Told someone about your nightmares?"
I shake my head emphatically, making more and more sand, a dust devil that whips around us in a lopsided circle.
"I don't understand," Thecla says. "When you behave, you're rewarded. And when you're bad, you're punished. Everyone knows that."
I shrug. I don't know that.
My classmates reach back and grasp their own wings, pulling them forward to wrap around their bodies like cloaks or to fondle like hanks of long hair. They are frustrated with me. Lessons will start again any moment now.
"I know!" Josephine shouts, and the canaries that nest in her dress pockets poke their heads out and chirrup a tinny song of triumph. "Maybe you didn't do something bad, so much as think something bad!"
"I bet you're right, Jo," Thecla announces, and the canaries re-launch their tune. "You must have thought something very bad to deserve this," she says to me with little tsks at the backs of her words. "Probably about one of us."
Esme tilts her head. "It wasn't about me, was it?"
"A shame," Thecla murmurs. "Customers will think you're broken now. You'll be left on the sale shelf for sure. At least you've learned your lesson about thinking bad thoughts."
"But…." I say, looking from one of them to the next. "How do I know if a thought is a bad thought?"
"See! That sounds like a bad thought right there!" Thecla says. "I knew there was a reason for this."
The teacher calls, and, relieved, the girls hurry back to class, Thecla's bubbles gleaming smartly.
I linger and pat a hand over my back. My fingers stroke the sleek and waxy feathers of my right wing, but then fumble at the left—a jagged, tufted stub. I ask myself the question that I'd hoped one of them might ask me: Did it hurt when he'd snapped it off? It'd made a loud noise, that's for sure. But I wouldn't say hurt. No, I'd say it felt more strange than painful, like something was being lifted away, something I'd only thought I'd needed.
———
COME TO OUR EVENT:
October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the
first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!
October 6, 2010
Grandpa Mug + Story by Chris Colin
Significant Objects X Litquake: No. 3 of 5
[Bid on this Significant Object, with story by Chris Colin, here. Come and hear Colin read this story at Significant Objects' first-ever live event, part of San Francisco's Litquake Litcrawl; details here. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Root Division.]
Just because your employer happens to be a billionaire doesn't mean you aren't still a regular person, who might enjoy talking about his commute. Or the totally interesting things Rodney down the hall reports back from the food blogs he reads all day, every day. Or how these souvenir company mugs under your desk might sometimes get in the way of you stretching your legs, but mostly they remind you of the five great years you've spent here, with a salary that hasn't changed, which is a totally handy fact at tax time.
But people only want to hear about the billionaire stuff. I'm happy to get it out of the way up front:
Yes, Obama calls on his birthday.
No, no security lines when he flies on his private jet.
Yes, he once brought a bunch of those black rhinos to his private island, but only once.
No, it's not like that Harper's thing you read, where it's not worth his time to bend down and pick up a hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk. Billionaires don't really use the sidewalk much in the first place.
Yes, if you have enough money, you can have Beyoncé pop out of a cake on your birthday if you want, with Justin Bieber on her shoulders, singing in a Scottish accent about gerbils with alopecia, if that's your particular interest. You could have them do it every day. Billionaires aren't like millionaires, even though it rhymes. Try out one of those compound interest calculators online — it's pretty much impossible for billionaires to run out of money.
But still, I wonder if their employees should really Google fava crostini all day? Years ago, before either of us worked here, Rodney was my college roommate. He had deep-set, scheming eyes, like a possum. I mean that in a totally good way. When we ran into each other years later, he said he liked my shoes, and asked if I'd help him get a job like me at the billionaire's company. On his first day he wore sunglasses indoors and informed us no offense but he wasn't made to be a peon — he was going to convince our employer to open a 2,000-acre theme park dedicated to the two beloved American institutions, baseball and grandparents. Okay! I said. There's no such thing as a bad idea, my mother always told me.
She was right! The week Double Awesome World eclipsed Disneyland, Rodney made VP, and was sent to Dubai for two weeks to celebrate. The camel's milk chocolate was amazing, I hear. Was there an equally generous billionaire-ish thank-you for the person who got Rodney hired in the first place? Forty Double Awesome World souvenir mugs showed up on my desk just before he got back. People ask how I managed to accidentally break most of them that first night. That's not the point, though. The point is I have one left, and if I'm totally honest, I don't see myself using it.
———
COME TO OUR EVENT:
October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the
first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!
October 5, 2010
Monster Toy + Rob Baedeker Story
Significant Objects X Litquake: No. 2 of 5
[Bid on this Significant Object, with story by Rob Baedeker, here. Come and hear Baedeker read this story at Significant Objects' first-ever live event, part of San Francisco's Litquake Litcrawl; details here. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Root Division.]
Long ago, Flakumas, a stegosaurus, lay with Bardouf, a basset hound, and they begat Glumphakel, a bulbous-beaked baby, their first and only child. Although Glumphakel would go on to found our nation, his parents banished him at birth to waddle throughout the world alone, because of his back-warts.
And so Glumphakel roamed, plodding through wars and famines, feasts and coronations, oblivious to ceremony or circumstance—flopping one legless foot in front of the other with a gulpy cheer.
Legend says Glumphakel even trampled, unawares, straight through the middle of Emperor Wu's wedding and unknowingly brained a guest with his spiked tail-stub. When confronted, the burnt-umber beast made such a show of contrition that Wu's baffled courtiers not only let him go, but sent him on his way with a goodwill goatskin of yak-milk.
In the Tenth Moon of the Blue Age, Glumphakel was accosted in a marsh by the reptilian sorcerer Chrisyflas, a twig-limbed wastrel.
"I want to be inside you," said Chrisyflas to the podgy father of our nation.
Glumphakel shrugged and said he didn't mind, and so the saggy pterodactyl parted Glumphakel's backfolds and sunk himself in for the long haul.
"My friend Lemp will ride along, too," said Chrisyflas. "She is a dumb and broke-beaked albatross who won't trouble you at all."
"It's just fine with me," said Glumphakel, happy to fuse his flesh with a couple of kindred, googly-eyed pariahs.
The trio journeyed on, headed nowhere, and a century passed before Chrisyflas said, "Glumphakel, do you not see who I am?"
Glumphakel said he did not—that he could not see his own back—and besides it didn't matter, all were welcome aboard.
"It's me, your father!" said the scaly freeloader. "My real name is Flakumas. I tricked an elephant into giving me his ears, from which I fashioned these wings. Your mother was revolted, banished me and, in spite, took the earless elephant as her lover. The wings never worked, and I'm become an emaciated scavenger, with dumb Lemp here my only companion until you."
A tear dropped from Glumphakel's eye onto his warty beak, and then dripped here, in this parched desert, where it evaporated in an instant.
And from this invisible tear-spot sprung our nation—a landless nation of two, you and me. Take this statue: it shows our droopy forefathers frozen in their never-ending migration—eyes upturned in scared hope, creatures too small for their sagging skins.
———
COME TO OUR EVENT:
October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the
first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!
October 4, 2010
Candle Holder + Miranda Mellis Story
Significant Objects X Litquake No. 1 of 5.
[Bid on this Significant Object, with story by Miranda Mellis, here. Come and hear Mellis read this story at Significant Objects' first-ever live event, part of San Francisco's Litquake Lit Crawl; details here. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Root Division.]
Candra was raised by chance operators. Later, rejecting the coin tosses and water-damaged ceiling readings by which her mothers navigated, yet unable to put her faith in any non-arbitrary criteria, she agonized over decisions.
She went to her siblings for advice. Her sister, an eschatologist said, "No worthy decision is easy. That said, at this historical juncture it's impossible to make the right decisions; just try to make good mistakes." Candra yearned for more noble counsel. Her brother said, "You become spiritual or go crazy: these are the options. The goal of doubt is belief – if you can't bind yourself to a set of those, then you will go nuts." She went to a pungent occult shop. She waited until nobody else was lurking, then poked and glanced around cautiously. The proprietor watched her, an owl with a tremendous brown beard, baldly moving his head. She saw a book called Say Yes. Instantly she decided to adopt that program.
She bought the next thing she saw, an object being sold as a candleholder that was actually a defunct project of the store owner: an unfinished astrolabe. She also bought a candle. Her building was going through lead remediation at the time. The landlord showed up with a lead tester and patrolled the rooms, her device chirping. The landlord saw the astrolabe for what it was. An amateur astronomer, she asked if Candra wanted to go to the beach. Candra thought say yes and said yes. The landlord pointed to the astrolabe and asked Can we bring that? Candra said yes. At the ocean Candra's landlord positioned the astrolabe. "It's one in the morning," she said, though it was four in the afternoon. "Yes," said Candra. The landlord offered Candra a pill: she swallowed.
Several friends of the landlord turned up and they all took pills. Cresting waves washed up mysteries. They parleyed with talking clouds. Sudden animals gave warnings and instructions. Part of the group disappeared and the others went looking for them; then the first group reappeared and the second group was lost. Candra got separated and walked seventy blocks home. A bobbing, disembodied head accompanied her most of the way incessantly talking, just to her right, before finally dissolving. She recognized it; it was her life, that noise.
Exhausted when she arrived home, she lit her new candle, stuck it into the astrolabe, and ran the tub. Moments later she heard a thunderous flooding sound from below. She ran down to the caged stoop at the front of her building and saw a man with bright red eyes peering through a gap in the sidewall where he had wrenched out a board. Behind him she saw a shattered window. Coincidentally, a pipe as thick as his torso had burst, just as he had been breaking in.
Candra was startled: the disembodied head! The head was also alarmed – he was up to his knees in water. He urged her, crafty-faced, to come down into the basement. Why? She countered, you should get out of the basement. But I need you to come down here and see all this water, he said. She refused, backing away. Her sister was right: she should make good mistakes. By no criteria, fixed or random, could Candra rationalize crawling through a broken wall into a flooded basement with the red-eyed man.
———
COME TO OUR EVENT:
October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the
first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!
