July 2009 Archives

After coming across the Hold Steady's cover of it, Kelly asked me to download Bruce Springsteen's "Atlantic City" for her, and whenever I'm loose on the mp3 section of Amazon, trouble results.  Here's the mix I've assembled:

Mott the Hoople/"All the Young Dudes"
The J Geils Band/"Love Stinks"
Gerry Rafferty/"Home and Dry"
Santana/"She's Not There"
The Knickerbockers/"Lies"
The Equators/"Rescue Me"
Toots Hibbert/"Hard to Handle"
The Stranglers/"Peaches"
Kings of Leon/"Molly's Chambers"
Bob Brozman/"12th Street Rag"
Dire Straits/"Twisting by the Pool"
The Dixie Dregs/"The Bash"
Sixpence None the Richer/"Kiss Me"
Dido/"White Flag"
Human Sexual Response/"Jackie Onassis"
Brewer & Shipley/"One Toke Over the Line"
Gordon Lightfoot/"The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"
Bruce Springsteen/"Atlantic City"
Heart/"Dog and Butterfly"

It's a little heavy on the old stuff, perhaps, but I was so happy to find the Equators and HSR available online that I really don't care.  (If only they'd put the latter's second album on Amazon so that I could finally own "Land of the Glass Pinecones," I'd be in hog heaven.)


5:10 PM

Yes, I've been away from the keyboard for a few days. I'm sorry if I've fallen down on the job of providing content for y'all, but I must admit it's helped my wrists feel somewhat less overworked, what with all the typing and retyping of the novel over the last month or so.  (I mean, plunking out 135,000 words hurts.)

On the plus side, when I stop pounding words out, I'm also able to do more about pouring words in, and over the last week, I've been working my way through a variety of books I had already read, with varying results.

First was a nonfiction piece, Richard Ellis's The Search for the Giant Squid. It's a thorough examination of the facts we have about the world's largest invertebrate, as well as a reiteration of the crucial point that we don't actually have most of the facts about it. At the time of publication, no living giant squid had ever been observed or photographed in the wild (though since that time Japanese teuthologists have managed both to film one AND to retrieve a severed tentacle still fresh enough to grasp with its suckers.) With so little hard data, Ellis can either speculate (which he is not, I'm happy to say, willing to do much) or talk at great length about the hard data we do have, even if that data doesn't directly reference the giant squid. Though on first reading I didn't find it a problem, on this occasion it was painfully apparent to me that Ellis had a not-inconsiderable challenge in filling up 250 pages with this semi-relevant data. I rather liked his lengthy discussion of the giant squid's place in literature, film, and TV, but the chapter on squid taxonomy was dry in the extreme, and I'm one of those rare freaks of nature who actually finds the issue of naming organisms interesting; it also didn't help that it came so early in the book, threatening to derail Ellis's momentum completely. The final chapter, which deals with the various life-size models of giant squids that have been mounted in museums and elsewhere, was more interesting, but ultimately trivial in the discussion of the squid itself. All in all, though I learned a great deal about the subject (or at least as much as there was to learn) on my first reading, the book's flaws were distractingly obvious on the second go.

Such was not the case with Neil Gaiman's American Gods. I've been a fan of Gaiman's for two decades now, and I've gleefully re-read both Good Omens (his collaboration with Terry Pratchett) and his Sandman comics. This was my first repeat of AG, however, and I wasn't sure how it would hold up. I can remember upon first reading it that I was completely engaged, not even realizing that it's 600 pages long, but I was also occasionally unsure of where the book was going. (Admittedly, I was sometimes reading so fast that I missed some obvious information; for example, while I knew at once who Wednesday and Mr. Nancy were, I was not so quick on the uptake about "Low Key" Lyesmith. Duh.) This time, with the destination clear, I was able to examine the details of the journey with more care, and I must say the book holds up beautifully. Whereas on the first reading I felt as though the final chapters had a tacked-on feeling, what with the big hullabaloo being over, this time I felt they were completely in line with the rest of the narrative. I also got a much better feeling for Shadow as a character and had a more enjoyable time being in his head. It shouldn't have surprised me, given how much I love going back over Sandman, but I've got to say I have more appreciation for Gaiman's skills as a novelist, not just as a storyteller, now that I've had the chance to look over American Gods for a second time.

Finally, there was Max Brooks's World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, which I first read last summer and quite enjoyed. The bit of genius here is the approach; by letting the story of the ten-year war against the living dead into a Studs Terkel-style mosaic, rather than a single narrative, Brooks makes the story more plausible even as he gainst enormous amounts of control over it through his multiple narrators. He's free to discuss everything from the initial outbreak to the military response to the emotional attachments formed by soldiers to their canine zombie-detecting companions; he can tell complete short stories (such as the one about the downed pilot aided by a radio operator named "Mets Fan"), paint several pictures of the same character (the Indian military hero General Raj-Singh), or provide basic exposition in the voice of a character far more interesting than an omniscient narrator. It's a great bit of world-building. The actual zombies here are much the same as they'd be in anything from Night of the Living dead to the lastest horror comic, but Brooks's approach gives them a far more memorable presence here than elsewhere. You could almost say it brings them to life.

I've still got some new books to read this summer, including Tony Earley's The Blue Star (our school's community-wide summer reading book) and Dave Cullen's Columbine, but I have to say I've learned a lot from taking a second look at some old favorites.



11:27 AM

1) After much studying and practicing and stress and paperwork, Ian passed his driving test on Monday. Drive defensively.

2) This afternoon, I cleaned off my desk at work.  This may not sound impressive until you realize how many years it had been since I did it last.  (I won't provide details, but I will say I found at least a couple of documents from the fall of 2004.)

3) This weekend we went to the Fringe Festival in Washington to take in The Fall of the House of Usher, a new musical by my colleague Brent Cirves (book) and our former student Mike Johnson (music), who are interviewed about the play here.  A dark take on Poe's works, with intense performances and intriguing period music, it's well worth catching if you're in the nation's capital anytime soon.  Both the debut performances sold out, and one reviewer called it "a captivating musical--a must-see for any fans of dark musical theatre," which is pretty darned positive from where I sit.  You can also visit the official show website at www.UsherTheMusical.com to get more info on the remaining performances in DC (July 18th, 22nd, and 24th).  If you can't see it there, you can always catch it at the New York City Fringe Festival the week of August 14th.

4) And last but not least, I have finally finished the manuscript of A Raven for Doves, a book I've been working on for two decades.

Well, sort of. I had the idea nearly twenty years ago, but I thought it was a short story then, and spent a number of years trying to get it to act like one. When it didn't and I was forced to turn it into a novel, it took me several years to get it going, and several more to get it written, and even then, when I "finished" it (which I did in 2004, I believe) I could tell it wasn't really done yet, so I didn't even bother sending it out.  I left it to ferment, and this summer I finally sat down with it, cut a bunch of stuff, added some new stuff, rearranged it, tightened it up, and am now ready to call it DONE.

Any editors, publishers, or agents who are interested in throwing money at me can reach me at cashwell@petercashwell.com

The rest of you, alas, may have to wait a little while.


4:44 PM

Today's entry is brought to you live from beautiful downtown Culpeper, where I'm waiting out Ian's driving lesson with a visit to the Raven's Nest Coffee House.  There's free wi-fi, lemon poppyseed scones, and big brightly-colored mugs of my favorite liquid indulgence, so I'm happy. I generally like the ambience of coffee houses, but I enjoy this one because of such things as the exposed brickwork, the hardwood floors, the wrought-iron furniture, and the various Putuyamo CDs punctuating the air. I have no doubt that much of this was carefully chosen by corporate consultants to produce feelings of bonhomie in over-educated middle-class customers like yrs. truly, but hey, we need love too.

The other thing I love about this kind of place, though, is that it's one of the few places where American business demonstrates any kind of creativity. Detroit's decline can be seen in a lot of places, but one way is in the deterioration of the American car's name.  Back in my youth, we made cars with powerful symbolism behind them: the Mustang. The Charger. The Duster. The Cougar. The Falcon. Oh, there were imports with pizzazz, certainly--the Fiat Spider, the Triumph Spitfire--but so many European models merely seemed like strings of letters and numbers. Who'd want to drive a 451F when you could drive an Impala?

But nowadays, the names seem contrived--what the heck is a Sunbird?--or too alphanumeric. The only cars with interesting names are SUVs, and most of them are little more than rolling gazetteers: the Montana. The Dakota. The Tacoma. Soon everyone will be driving a GM Passaic, a Chevy Maryland, or a Ford Skokie, and it won't be pretty.

One thing stands against this trend, however: beverages. Whether it's beer, wine, or coffee, makers of liquid refreshments are ready to turn their muses loose in an attempt to capture the spirit of their drinks. Raven's Nest sells a variety of coffees, all with names redolent with suggestion: Resurrection Blend. Wicked Wolf. Deadman's Reach ("Served in Bed/Raises the Dead"). And of course the legendary Three-Peckered Billy Goat. By gum, if you're not intrigued at the possibilities there, you're not fit for caffeination.

And of course there are breweries aplenty coming up with clever, unexpected, provocative, or even somewhat disturbing names: Dead Guy Ale. Edmund Fitzgerald Porter, which is, surprisingly, not the name of an American minimalist short-story writer. Arrogant Bastard Ale.

Oddly, this tradition in beers is one that began before microbrews had any commercial significance and has continued unabated. My old buddy Si used to brew up various beers, all of which he named in consultation with the legendary Waffle O'Cheeseman. These were brews with name evoking drinking experiences far beyond the norm: Air Canada. Bat Country Ale. Lizard Milk. You knew when you sampled one of those not only that you weren't getting a Pabst, but that what you were getting was probably not anything even remotely familiar.

It's a shame that our breweries, vineyards, and roasters have not inspired the rest of our culture to new heights of creativity, but as long as they're here, we can at least count on being buzzed enough to put up with the Tauruses and the Marquises of the world. Drink up!


1:24 PM

I was reminded this weekend of something I discovered quite by accident some years back, but which still gives me a certain delight.

When Ian and Dixon were small, putting them to bed involved playing one of two roles: Reader or Stayer. Either you could be the one who read them a bedtime story, or you could be the one who stayed in the room after the story was over until they fell asleep.  Kelly has a very animated style of reading, but the kids soon made it clear that they wanted her nearby for comfort as they nodded off, which meant that I ended up as the more-or-less-regular Reader.

This is okay with me. I have a lot of practice reading (and extemporizing) aloud, and partly because I'm an auditory processor, I'm a pretty good mimic. Thus, when reading aloud, I would almost always pick a voice for each character, often one based on a movie or record, so that I could keep them straight more easily. I used a lot of comedy albums for this purpose, making various characters from literature talk like Mr. Praline or the 2000 Year Old Man or Al Sleet (Your Hippy-Dippy Weatherman), but for some books, these voices just didn't work.

The Wind in the Willows was such a book. How does one properly voice a rat, a mole, a badger, and a toad?

Luckily, I realized, I already had an answer for that:


Yes, thanks to the immortal production team of Cosgrove and Hall, and a few too many afternoons watching Nickelodeon after classes at UNC were over, I knew exactly what a brash, bold rat (or mouse), a naive, awkward mole (or hamster), a brusque badger, and an egomaniacal toad ought to sound like, and I spent the entirety of the book using the voices of DangerMouse, Penfold, Colonel K and Baron Greenback to bring Kenneth Grahame's book to life and put the boys to sleep.

But until now, I've never publicly thanked the Cosgrove-Hall team for their bedtime assistance. It's well past time.

Cheers, lads! You're terrific! You're magnific!


8:14 PM

Cap says:


10:07 AM