Monthly Archives: July 2006

Operation Homecoming Reading Tour

In June, The New Yorker published, in the words of the website (links added by me):

a selection of letters, journal entries, and personal essays by soldiers, airmen, sailors, and marines who served in the current war in Iraq. The writings are part of a project sponsored by the National Endowment for the Arts called Operation Homecoming. An anthology of the work, edited by the historian Andrew Carroll, will be published this fall by Random House. Here, in an Audio Slide Show produced by Matt Dellinger, five of the servicemen read from their work, accompanied by their photographs.

Here’s the riveting slide show. Now, there’s a nationwide tour of readings. From the San Diego Union-Tribune:

The stylish magazine with the literary bent even devoted its famous cover to this unparalleled explosion of wartime writings.

Last week, the local press reported that Encinitas, thanks largely to the relentless lobbying of former mayor (now councilman) Dan Dalager, would host a free “Operation Homecoming” reading on Sept. 22 at the Encinitas Community Center.

The 40-city tour’s opening venues: New York, Washington and . . . Encinitas. (Fancy that.)

Taken all around, a fair amount of publicity for an anthology you can’t buy in bookstores.

“Operation Homecoming,” conceived and cultivated by the National Endowment for the Arts, won’t be available for sale until Sept. 12.

These hundred or so personal narratives, e-mails, poems and short stories are the distilled result of some 50 workshops conducted by authors the likes of Mark Bowden (“Black Hawk Down”), Tom Clancy (“Clear and Present Danger”), Victor Davis Hanson (“Why the West Has Won”), Bobbie Ann Mason (“In Country”), Tobias Wolff (“In Pharaoh’s Army”) and editor Andrew Carroll (“War Letters”), who edited “Operation Homecoming.”

The Union-Tribune reprints one of the poems in the Random House collection, which, like all the entries, is hard to read without grief and anger:

Now consider this spare poem in the William Carlos Williams vein. It’s by Billie Hill-Hunt, who made an audiotape of her husband sleeping the night before he left for Iraq.

I used to say

“You are cutting down an en-

tire forest with your snoring.”

Now without it

Bedtime seems boring

I recorded you

The last time you were here

Call me crazy

But I play it from time to time

Just to keep you near.

Hath There Been Such a Time—I’d Frayn Know That—That I Have Positively Said “Tis So,” When It Proved Otherwise?

From Christopher Tindall in the Guardian:

Mystery of fictional Fleet Street editor solved

New Yorker’s William Shawn named as model for character in Frayn classic

He was the shadowy, elusive editor who preferred his staff to persecute those he wanted out of the door rather than sack them face to face in the quintessential Fleet Street novel.

But the inspiration behind the “short, rather fat man in a shapeless raincoat and a shapeless trilby hat” in Michael Frayn’s 1967 classic Towards the End of the Morning has remained as mysterious as the man whose only form of communication with the world during office hours was pushing typed notes to his secretary through a serving hatch.

Now, almost 40 years after writing what is still revered as one of the funniest portrayals of the dying days of Fleet Street – before Rupert Murdoch’s flit to Wapping and the scattering of newspaper offices that followed – the author has revealed who he based his editor on. And his inspiration could hardly have lived further away from the narrow lanes and grimy offices that once bore witness to the activities of many legendary journalists.

“It’s based on a real editor, which I can reveal now that he is dead. It was William Shawn, the famous editor of the New Yorker,” Frayn says. “He was somewhat more eccentric than the fictitious version. He was a great and wonderful editor, but he was a very, very strange man.”

Strange, but infinitely courteous and unpresumptuous, according to his New York Times obituary. Shawn was described by JD Salinger as the “most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors”. Continued.

Thanks to Ron Hogan for the swell tip!

Patricia Goedicke, 75, Has Died

The acclaimed poet and iconic University of Montana professor died July 14. Her late husband was the New Yorker writer Leonard Wallace Robinson. Further links to follow; for now, the obituaries from The Missoulian and the Missoula Independent. From the latter:

Goedicke was last mentioned in the Independent almost a year ago (see “A Life Remembered,” Sept. 22, 2005 [link to piece includes wonderfully glamorous photo of Goedicke and Robinson]) when she spoke about Now and Zen: A Life, the posthumously published collection of haikus by her late husband, poet and novelist Leonard Wallace Robinson. Goedicke’s reading of Now and Zen at last year’s Festival of the Book would be the last time many would hear her read. Of her late husband’s haikus, Goedicke once said, “They’re acorns fallen from a rather short but truly giant oak tree. I know, because I have the privilege of living in its shade.” Though Goedicke applied the metaphor to her husband, it’s one that her community, her students and her peers can apply to her: her poems are acorns left to us and her life provided a shade in which we once had the privilege of finding shelter.

Poems by Goedicke reprinted online (please alert me if any of these poems contain errors, and if you know of any others):

The Reading Club [Academy of American Poets]
Cousins [Ploughshares]
What the Skin Knows [Ploughshares]
Big Top [Ploughshares]
In the Middle of the Worst Sickness [Ploughshares]
Without Looking [Poemhunter]

***

I hope it isn’t too crass to be gently (and tangentially) critical of an obituary writer in a memorial note—I know well how hard it is to write obituaries, since you’re usually working against the clock with editors literally panting with agitation around you—but I don’t think Post staff writer Patricia Sullivan has it quite right here: “Unlike the two-fisted [Richard] Hugo’s paeans to the working-class life and nature in the Northwest, Ms. Goedicke’s work reaches out, open-handed, to those around her.” In fact, Hugo reached out constantly, if not always successfully. Branded as a regional poet, he spoke for everyone with a heart and a treacherous memory. Fish too, of course. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to assign two poets exaggerately opposite qualities, and goodness knows we have enough troubles without that.

Capote in Botswana, Shawn in Disguise

The movie (it “may be coming soon to the New Capitol Cinemas”) is discussed today in Mmegi, which according to its site is “the only daily independent newspaper in Botswana”:

The story of Truman Capote (a.k.a Truman Strekfus Persons), the great American writer, novelist, and his endeavours to create the first “non-fiction novel”, which was published as “In Cold Blood” (1966, the movie came out in 1967), is both a fascinating and upsetting film. Truman Capote was not a pleasant man (acted with unusual flair by Philip Seymour Hoffman, who captures Truman’s mannerisms and way of speaking perfectly, and who was awarded an Oscar as Best Actor, 2006).

Truman loved being the centre of attention and knew how to hold an audience. The story of the prolonged agony involved in writing is also not the normal content of a good movie, but director Bennett Miller and scriptwriter Dan Futterman manage to pull it off (using Gerald Clarke’s 1988 biography of Capote – he died from alcoholism at sixty in 1984). Truman, who was born in New Orleans on 30 September 1924, was in a state of limbo on November 15, 1959, when he read about the murders in Kansas and decided to change his life most dramatically. He was a young man of 35, basking in the success of his short story, “Shut a final door” (1946), his first novel, “Other Voices, Other Rooms” (1948), “House of Flowers” (a musical in 1954), and most recently, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (1958, not yet made into a movie).

Fascinating (and in some instances upsetting) indeed. There is actually a movie of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but clearly it hasn’t made it to the New Capitol Cinemas yet. (The writer also notes that Cary Grant starred in To Kill a Mockingbird, which was news to me.) All this reminds me of a meditation about the depiction of William Shawn in the movie, after previous protests from, for instance, Roger Angell and Ken Auletta. The meditation, by Levi Asher in LitKicks, goes like this:

Now that I’ve watched the DVD, I can make sense out of a controversy that’s been brewing in the New Yorker magazine for the past few weeks. One of the main characters in Capote is the legendary New Yorker editor-in-chief William Shawn, and the magazine has now published several complaints that the film’s portrayal of this legendary publishing figure is an insult and a throwaway.

David Denby, Wallace Shawn (the editor’s son, and a notable writer/actor) and the other objectors are probably correct. William Shawn is played by Bob Balaban, the nerdy character actor who played the NBC television executive (based on Warren Littlefield) in Seinfeld, then varied the persona only slightly in Waiting for Guffman and A Mighty Wind. The latter two movies are excellent comedies, and Balaban may be a good actor for all anybody knows, but he shows up in Capote with the same mannerisms, the same expressions, the same voice and the same posture he used in every other movie or tv show, and I don’t blame the friends and family of the late William Shawn for feeling shortchanged.

A quick look at William Shawn’s life makes clear that he is nothing like the fussy, business-minded bureaucrat Balaban plays. In Cold Blood is only one of many important books this editor nurtured; Hiroshima and Catcher in the Rye are two others. One can only imagine how the filmmakers made this casting decision. “Who’s this character?” “Some magazine editor.” “Call Balaban.”

So predictable. Just like Geoffrey Rush, who they’ve been squeezing into feathery leotards for every historical epic about Elizabethean England made in the last fifteen years. Or poor Jim Broadbent, who was so absolutely brilliant as W. S. Gilbert in Topsy-Turvy, but who’s since allowed himself to be cast in every movie ever made that needed a chubby old bearded guy with a funny accent (British, French, who the hell cares?). Balaban has become the latest of this type, and it really is a shame that a subtle and powerful literary giant like William Shawn should get played by a character actor so dull he couldn’t even be funny on Seinfeld.

But at the same time, it would also be a shame if the filmmakers’ one casting misstep were to reflect badly on the entire film. Maybe there’s even something appropriate about the fact that Truman Capote, who was never known for willfully sharing a spotlight, should crowd all the other characters out of the movie that bears his name.

Call me crazy—you wouldn’t be the first—but I’m pretty positive I saw Balaban in Carroll Gardens last week, buying yogurt at the health food store where Heath and Michelle also shop (this is not my neighborhood but the neighborhood of my far more elegant friends). Balaban, for I’m certain it was he, was wearing white and looked very good, and of course short. Anyone have a Gawker Stalker cross-confirmation? As for his Shawn portrayal, it was unnecessarily prurient, a la Terry Gross, and many agree that he wouldn’t have just up and flown to Kansas like that in the middle of a production cycle (Jonathan Rosenbaum mentions this detail as well), but I loved the movie anyway. One of LitKicks’ commenters suggests that Wallace Shawn would have been better for the part, but that would have been strange indeed. Not that I’m not a fan; I am, despite his finding my own cinematic behavior a little unhinged.

A Haiku About a Talk of the Town About Haiku About Cardboard Boxes

New York sweltering
Sweet and cool relief arrives:
Zesty fall-themed Talk

Haiku leave so little room for exposition! Also, too much like ad copy, too iambic in the 7, and not strictly accurate. Besides, who ever heard of the third line of a haiku being a hyperlink, except maybe at Brown? How about:

Trees lose last few leaves
Free boxes for poetry?
Turn toward Craigslist

I couldn’t let this week pass without pointing out that in the current issue there’s a Talk of the Town about poems written on—not on as in with a permanent marker on, but in the sense of “about”—moving boxes. (Moving-boxes, that is, not gerund object.) And that Talk is written by Tom Bartlett, a pal whose Minor Tweaks is a consistent source of amusement, reassurance in the occasional sanity of man, and the backs of strangers’ heads. I love this story; public poetry is going around, I think. Remember that mathematical puzzle-formula that inspired a poetical internet explosion? (Don’t make me say meme.)

Only semi-unrelated: The History Boys! Go see it!

Good Circ Numbers, Canada-Style

Report from the Toronto Globe and Mail:

As a counterpoise to the success of Cosmo’s unrelenting diet of “passion polls” and “hot sex workout tips,” the purchase of more serious U.S. periodicals appears to be on the rise here, although not astronomically so. Harper’s, for example, had paid circulation of 26,406 in 2005, up more than 10,000, or 60 per cent, from 2000. Similarly, The New Yorker weekly gained more than 4,000 subscribers and single-copy buyers in that same period, to report a 2005 circulation of almost 20,000. The influential newsweekly The Economist, its North American edition also published out of New York, has experienced even more impressive and steadier growth, seeing its Canadian circulation of 43,123 in 2000 climb to 55,538 in 2005.

Now if only those subscribers could submit to the caption contest! Speaking of Canada, in case you missed it, you know about the gay Mounties who got married last month, right? There’s a reason I’m proud to be half-Canadian: It’s a great country, despite its flaws. As the Arrogant Worms sing, “We won’t say that we’re better, it’s just that we’re less worse.”

Ask the Librarians: The Debut

A column in which Jon Michaud and Erin Overbey, The New Yorker’s head librarians, answer your questions about the magazine’s past and present. E-mail your own questions for Jon and Erin; the column has now moved to The New Yorker‘s Back Issues blog. Illustration for Emdashes by Lara Tomlin.
Q. How and when did A.J. Liebling start writing for The New Yorker? Was it under his own name, or was it as an anonymous Talk of the Town reporter? Can one recognize his style from his early work in the magazine?

Jon writes: Liebling was hired by The New Yorker in 1935, when he was thirty years old. Prior to joining the magazine, he had worked as a newspaper reporter, most recently for The New York World-Telegram (where Joseph Mitchell was a colleague). During his last two years at the World-Telegram, Liebling had begun contributing freelance Talk of the Town stories to The New Yorker. His first (unbylined) story in the magazine was “Prosperity Pens,” in the January 7, 1933 issue, about a pyramid scheme involving the sale of fountain pens, wallets, and flashlights.

According to Raymond Sokolov’s biography, Wayward Reporter (Harper & Row; 1980), Liebling initially had some difficulty making the transition from newspaper journalism to the longer-form reporting practiced at The New Yorker. His first bylined piece was a three-part profile of the preacher Father Divine (June 13, 20, and 27, 1936), co-written with St. Clair McKelway. By then, Liebling had published more than twenty-five unbylined Talk stories. Because the Talk section was so heavily rewritten and edited at that time, it is difficult to make a comparison between Liebling’s mature style and his writing in these early pieces. It is not difficult, however, to notice that, from the beginning, Liebling was an omnivorous reporter. Among those early Talk stories are pieces on subjects as diverse as the Bronx County Motor Vehicle Bureau, the Ethiopian Consul General, a retired fireman who had become a parrot merchant, and the bell-ringer at Riverside Church. There were also several pieces about boxing, one of the numerous subjects Liebling would go on to write about with distinction during his thirty-year career at the magazine.

Q. Who does those little line drawings found throughout the magazine, and why is no credit ever given them? Have “spots” always been listed in the table of contents?

Erin writes: The “spot” drawings that run throughout the magazine have appeared in The New Yorker since the very first issue, in 1925. Initially, there were just a few spots in each issue. The drawings were small and often playful, and many were unsigned. From the 1940s onward, the spot illustrations appeared more frequently. Early spot illustrators included Victor De Pauw, Roger Duvoisin, H. O. Hofman, George Shellhase, Virginia Snedeker, Beatrice Tobias, Edward Umansky, and Garth Williams. Several artists known for their cartoons and covers–such as Constantin Alajalov and Abe Birnbaum–also contributed spot drawings.

From the 1950s to the 1980s, artists like Raymond Davidson, Pierre Le-Tan, Kenneth Mahood, Jenni Oliver, and Gretchen Dow Simpson all published spots in the magazine. During the 1900s and early 2000s, a stable of illustrators was used, and spots were sometimes rerun after six months or so. These artists include Laurent Cilluffo, Jacques De Loustal, Philippe Petit-Roulet, Emmanuel Pierre, Robert Risko, and Benoit Van Innis. Beginning with the February 14 & 21, 2005 issue, the magazine began running credited spots by a single artist. In April 2005, spots started being listed in the Table of Contents.

Q. When was the last typewriter spotted in the office?

Jon writes: Today. There are three typewriters in the library (two IBM Wheelwriters and a Brother ML 300). Though the majority of our work is done on computers–and has been for some time now–there are still a few archival resources we maintain with typewriters. We’re the only department in the office that still uses typewriters on a regular basis.

Q. When did Calvin Trillin start writing food pieces? How many different kinds of cuisine has he covered?

Erin writes: Calvin Trillin has had a long career at The New Yorker, writing about subjects as diverse as the civil rights movement (“An Education in Georgia,” 7/13/63), female coal miners in Pennsylvania (“Called at Rushton,” 11/12/79), a tick-tack-toe-playing chicken in Chinatown (“The Chicken Vanishes,” 2/8/99), and the death of a U.S. soldier in Iraq (“Lost Son,” 3/14/05). The first lengthy food piece he wrote for the magazine was a U.S. Journal article, “Eating Crawfish” (5/20/72), about the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. He has contributed a total of forty-four food pieces to the magazine. Many of these pieces ran as U.S. Journals and focused on regional American cuisines, such as New England clambakes (1978), Little Italy’s San Gennaro festival (1981), catfish eating in Florida (1982), and barbecue contests in Memphis (1985). Trillin published twenty-one of these food-centered U.S. Journals from 1972 to 1982.

Beginning in 1982, Trillin also published seven pieces on foreign cuisines, including those from Hong Kong, Ecuador, and France. From the 1980s to the present, many of his food pieces have run under the department headings of Our Far-Flung Correspondents, American Chronicles, and Annals of Gastronomy. Other culinary topics he has covered include pizza baron Larry (Fats) Goldberg (1971 and 1987), oyster eating in Delaware (1980), Arthur Bryant’s restaurant in Kansas City (1983), Haagen-Dazs’s and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (1985), Chinatown restaurants (1986), Manhattan bagels (2000), Cajun boudin sausage (2002), Shopsin’s café in Greenwich Village (2002), and San Francisco takeout (2003).

Q. What’s the first movie The New Yorker ever reviewed? How many movie critics have there been at the magazine, and who are they?

Jon writes: The first movie reviewed by The New Yorker was F.W. Murnau’s silent The Last Laugh (Der Letzte Mann), starring Emil Jannings. The review, by Will Hays, Jr., appeared in the first issue of the magazine–February 21, 1925–in a column of criticism and celebrity gossip called “Moving Pictures.” Hays deemed the movie “a superb adventure into new phases of film direction…a splendid production.”

Hays wrote only three more movie columns for the magazine. Over the next few years, the column was written by Theodore Shane (signed T.S.) and Oliver Claxton (O.C.). It also sometimes ran unsigned. The first long-term reviewer, John C. Mosher, took over in 1928 and held the post until 1942. Thereafter, the magazine’s movie critics were: David Lardner (1942-44), John McCarten (1945-1960), Brendan Gill (1960-68), Roger Angell (1960-61 and 1979-80), Penelope Gilliatt (1967-1979), Pauline Kael (1967-1991), Terrence Rafferty (1988-1997), Anthony Lane (1993-present), Daphne Merkin (1997-1998) and David Denby (1998-present).

When the regulars were away, or when the magazine was between longer-tenured reviewers, a great variety of writers filled in. The list includes E.B. White, Wolcott Gibbs, John Lardner, Philip Hamburger, Edith Oliver, Whitney Balliett, Susan Lardner, Renata Adler, Veronica Geng, and Michael Sragow.

Q. Are cartoons fact-checked? What’s the
sort of thing that checkers ask to be changed in a drawing or caption?

Erin writes: Every cartoon is fact-checked for accuracy and also checked against the library’s archive to make sure that a similar cartoon has not run previously in the magazine. The New Yorker fact-checking department verifies both visual and text accuracy of a particular cartoon: If a drawing of the White House has the wrong number of columns on it or if a man’s coat is buttoned on the wrong side, then the fact-checking department informs the cartoon department of the discrepancy. The cartoon department will then either make the change or not depending on whether the discrepancy is intentional or not. In addition, if a cartoon caption gets a proper name wrong or, say, locates the Nôtre Dame in Bangkok, the fact-checking department will point out these inaccuracies. The cartoonists have learned that even a detail as small as the number on a taxicab will be checked to make sure it does not represent an actual cab number.
Addressed elsewhere in Ask the Librarians: VII: Who were the fiction editors?, Shouts & Murmurs history, Sloan Wilson, international beats; VI: Letters to the editor, On and Off the Avenue, is the cartoon editor the same as the cover editor and the art editor?, audio versions of the magazine, Lois Long and Tables for Two, the cover strap; V: E. B. White’s newsbreaks, Garrison Keillor and the Grand Ole Opry, Harold Ross remembrances, whimsical pseudonyms, the classic boardroom cartoon; IV: Terrence Malick, Pierre Le-Tan, TV criticism, the magazine’s indexes, tiny drawings, Fantasticks follies; III: Early editors, short-story rankings, Audax Minor, Talk’s political stance; II: Robert Day cartoons, where New Yorker readers are, obscure departments, The Complete New Yorker, the birth of the TOC, the Second World War “pony edition”; I: A. J. Liebling, Spots, office typewriters, Trillin on food, the magazine’s first movie review, cartoon fact checking.

Cherchez Le Guy Noir

Having bookmarked it when it appeared, I finally read Sam Anderson’s very good meditation on Garrison Keillor, which includes this interesting gloss on Keillor’s New Yorker career:

Though Keillor is associated with the Midwest, his sensibility comes largely out of New York City. He began his career in the early ’70s writing short humorous essays for The New Yorker (he later became a staff writer then left, on a very high horse, when Tina Brown took over as editor in 1992). He is probably the purest living specimen of the magazine’s Golden Age aesthetic: sophisticated plainness, light sentimentality, significant trivia. He was inspired to create A Prairie Home Companion, in fact, while researching a New Yorker essay about the Grand Ole Opry, and we might think of the radio show as his own private version of the magazine, transposed into a different medium. The “News From Lake Wobegon” is basically an old-style Talk of the Town piece about the Midwest.

I also love this line, which is as subtly evocative as one of Keillor’s own: “When he speaks, blood pressures drop across the country, wild horses accept the saddle, family dogs that have been hanging on at the end of chronic illnesses close their eyes and drift away.”

Speaking of which, R.I.P., Dakota, you good, good dog.