the Newis Glad:

Things to keep in mind:
The secret of the technically impressive and theoretically laudable.

The book established Whitehead’s intelligence and originality as a novelist, but I wasn’t too excited by the world of elevator inspection, and I was frankly irritated by the author’s choice of Lila Mae as the protagonist. Although it’s technically impressive and theoretically laudable when a male novelist succeeds in inhabiting a female persona, something about the actual practice makes me uneasy. Is the heroine doing double duty as the novelist’s fantasy sex object? Is the writer trying to colonize fictional territory that rightfully belongs to women? Or does the young literato, lacking the perks of power and feeling generally smallened by the culture, perhaps believe himself to be, at some deep level, not male at all?

Things to keep in mind:
A secret of the internet.

I think “solidarity” is what Freaky Tales would call it, a movie which, believe it or not, I’m actually going to talk about. But again: I’ve given myself permission to write the longest essay anyone will write about Freaky Tales, as an exercise, experiment, statement, and/or self-indulgence; I like writing, and I am enjoying writing this, so I am. But the more I write, the more that length gives permission to anyone who doesn’t want to read it—even encourages them—to close the browser and move on. You’re not stuck with me, after all, the way you have no choice but to see a mural as you drive past it each day. You can go find something you like better and leave me to my fun.

Changing channels.

A sharp eye might’ve noticed some changes to the various outlets listed on the Books page, as other places where: Spectator Books in Oakland has been added, there’s a selection of zines on the shelves there now, so if you find yourself on that side of the Bay, head on over, say hi; and but also, Smashwords has been removed.

Things to keep in mind:
The secret of the room.

Boots Riley

So for me, the question isn’t “Is the public ready?” I start from: the public already knows things are messed up. The public is more open than we’re told. The question I ask myself is: how do I move people emotionally towards imagining something they can do? Not “the” solution, but a solution—something that shifts them from “It’s all hopeless” to “Maybe we can try this.” That’s what I’m after.

the most Recent installment:

the Shoe in Her hand– Kaffeeklatsch– Far be it– delicate Matters–

The shoe in her hand a soft-cuffed slip-on printed with checks of white and primary colors. Gordon nods. A piano boogies softly to itself somewhere under a chugging bass. She watches him looking over the cubbies, drumming her fingertips on the countertop in time. A dented cash register hulks at one end, a label freshly pasted at an angle to the back of it, The Order of American Mechanicals United, it says, Local 235. Gordon sets a pair before her, one a double-buckled pump in scuffed blue pseudo-alligator, the other a checkerboarded slip-on. “So,” she says. “These are mine?”

“Welcome to Portland,” says Gordon.

“They won’t fit,” she says.

“You’ll figure it out.” He sets the pump atop the mound of mismatched shoes on the worktable. The bell jingles as she leaves.

Through the pattering beaded curtain, into a cramped kitchen all scarred linoleum and darkly looming cabinets. Filling a kettle at the red tub of a sink, he sets it on a burner, cranks the knob to high, absently scratching the back of his head, where white curls ring his dark bald pate. “Too blasted many,” he mutters. Opening a cabinet, he rummages for a thick-walled mug, a red plastic jar that says Folgers ½ Caff. The bell jingles, out in the shop.

He shuts the drawer he’s opened, sets a spoon by the mug, “Better not,” he mutters, pushing out through the beaded curtain, “if that’s you, boy–”

It’s the Marquess of Northeast, the Helm Linesse, stood in the middle of the shop, gunmetal hair cropped close, her two arms pale and bare the length of them. “Porter,” she says.