Salvage Heart

Not exactly hot off the press at this time, but I profiled Taylor Clark, author of Starbucked: A Double Tall Tale of Caffeine, Commerce and Culture in last(!) Sunday's Oregonian. Clark worked for Willamette Week for a couple years before striking out on his own.

We talked about his book and life as a freelancer sitting in the lone Starbucks of Beaumont Village; he drank Earl Grey by Tazo and I, the Grande Americano With Room that I no longer drink twice daily. Two better coffee shops sat nearby, but Clark didn't write books about them.

This piece happened to coincide with another coffee piece that I figured would have run last Thursday (but is instead buried somewhere in the Oregonian's pipes). More on that (and the photos that were too dark to use) maybe Thursday. Hold your collective breath, Reader.

Labels: authors, coffee, Oregonian, Portland, Starbucked, Taylor Clark

It's a minor piece, but a harbinger of things to come: return of Talk of the Book Town in The Oregonian, after a few months hiatus. This past Monday, a writeup of Willy Vlautin (Motel Life) and Jonathan Selwood (Pinball Theory of the Apocalypse). Both debuts, both published by Harper Perennial.

Nice event, with beer and cocktails (no host) prior at The Cleaners at the Ace Hotel, a street-level gallery where young something-somethings ogle as they past at a party to which they feel entitled and to which they lack (yet don't need) an invite.

"Drinking in Authors' Words," The Oregonian, Monday, August27, 2007

There's more where this came from soon enough. One more week as a moonlighter, and then it's freelance writing 24/7. Or 7/5. Whichever comes first.

Labels: authors, Jonathan Selwood, Oregonian, Talk of the Book Town, Willy Vlautin

My profile on Matthew Stadler, man behind Back Room, founder of Clear Cut Press, author, etc., ran in today's Oregonian. It's a piece that I spent a lot of time on, and one that at 1,500 or so words, left a lot on the cutting-room floor. Thanks to those who took time to speak with me, even if you didn't appear in print.

The article can be viewed here>>
http://www.oregonlive.com/oregonian/stories/index.ssf?/base/entertainment/1181163316186660.xml&coll=7

Labels: authors, Clear Cut Press, fiction, journalism, Matthew Stadler, Oregonian

For those of us fortunate enough to around a television set at 4 in the afternoon, Tuesday was that rare moment: an interview with Cormac McCarthy as tie-in to Oprah's surprising pick of The Road as her last book club pick.

The famously reticent writer has, if rumor and hearsay can be trusted, given only two interviews since anyone cared enough to request one. spoke with Oprah from this weird New Mexico think-tank that he hangs out at.

It was curious to see someone so completely out of step with the publicity machine go on to Oprah and swat at her softball questions. McCarthy, hand stuck to his face, delivered brief, halting, reluctant responses, displaying a disregard for audience (thousands? millions? so what?). She lead him with "remember whens" like "remember when you lived in a shack with no electricity, and had no toothpaste?"

Oh, Cormac replied, that's right, but then a free sample showed up in the mailbox, and, well, his whole career has been like that. He got evicted from a $40/month flop in New Orleans because he was too broke, but I don't recall a satisfying conclusion to that story.

Viewers also learned from Oprah that she had interviewed a LOT of authors. She made that point twice. She also struggled to comprehend his lack of interest in sales, and she tiptoed around his personal life, though mentioned his three wives.

Oprah's site has some interesting material on it, but requires registration, which I have been too lazy to do. However, if you are considering her next pick, Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex (announced that same show), might be worth registering. You can join the 14 of us who have yet to read this. Great beach read, she insisted. Nothing like taking a well-read book to the beach. Personally, I like to take an entire year's worth of Atlantic Monthly back-issues.

Also on that day's Oprah: Michael Moore, and her faux-embarrassment at being on two of the 20 Vanity Fair covers for their forthcoming issue on Africa.

Labels: authors, Cormac McCarthy, fiction, magazines, Oprah, television

The biggest disappointment of last night's season debut for the FOX network's "Hell's Kitchen" was the discovery that this was Season 3. It stands to follow, then, that last season was...Season 2?

So I missed an entire run?

"Hell's Kitchen," the reality show in which a dozen would-be chef's compete for the adoration (and restaurant) of Chef Gordon Ramsay, was hands-down the best reason to watch television last summer. And that includes Basic Cable (take THAT! WGN! Hallmark Channel! E!!).

The format: twelve goofs caught in a cross between "The Apprentice" and "America's Next Top Model," with men and women divided into the Blue (bleu?) and Red teams. They compete to prepare and deliver dinner service to cheeseballs in LA that get to ham it up for the camera. "We ordered over an hour ago and don't want any more bread!" one table complained.

Not sure what the oddsmakers make of this season's crew, but few appear to have any real cooking chops. Early sentimental favorite for me: Julia, 28, Short-Order Cook, roundly dismissed by the others with, "She cooks at the Waffle House."

You ever eat at the Waffle House? If you had, you wouldn't say something stupid like that. Instead, you'd say, "God DAMN, get Tiffany, 27, Kitchen Manager, off that station and let this girl fry them quail eggs!"

And then the producers would cut that part out to make it look like Julia STILL didn't have a friend in the world. Hey, that's life in the real (TV) world.

What's the appeal of the show, anyway? Well, swearing, for one (it works for HBO). Lots of bleeping, blurring, and things that are "ucking" this and "ucking" that (nice glottal stop at work there). But also, it's action packed, and the tasks seem more gerund than the jackassery that Trump puts his apprenticii through (though by the end of the season we know who could best organize a car wash...it's always the cheerleaders, isn't it?). And I think it's safe to say that this batch has been selected for something besides looks...or talent...geographic distribution maybe?

The real question: how long before Ramsay calls some befuddled greaseburner "Donkey!"? Not long.

Two literary-related notes:
Bill Buford's excellent April 2, 2007, New Yorker article ("The Taming of the Chef") on Ramsay shows that the act is either real or at least consistent. (Worth reading online here...although most Salvage Heart readers probably still have the April 2 New Yorker piled at the foot of the bed as they doggedly make their way through back issues...is it March yet?)

Ramsay's goal was to land three stars in the Guide Michelin for his new New York restaurant, Gordon Ramsay at The London. A native of Glasgow, his own cooking (rarely reflected in "Hell's Kitchen") celebrates English cuisine, "for two centuries the most mocked cuisine in the world," writes Buford.

Ramsay came to cooking after discovering Marco Pierre White (or a photo of him). And it just so happens that White has a new book out this May, The Devil in the Kitchen: Sex, Pain, Madness and the Making of a Great Chef. The relevance of White, according to Buford, is that it gave Ramsay something no other top British chefs had had: a Brit as a mentor rather than a Frenchman.

But back to the business at hand. Melissa, 28, Line Cook? Wow, if she was a skillet she could fry both sides of the egg at the same time...told Tiffany to her face that she wouldn't get kicked out, then put her up as a weak link. Tiffany, I think you're alone now...there' doesn't seem to be anyone around.

*************
Hell's Kitchen, FOX, Mondays at 9pm (check local listings)

Labels: authors, food, Gordon Ramsay, Hell's Kitchen, journalism, television

I reviewed Miranda July's collection of short stories in today's Oregonian. Liked it.

Advance copy actually came in three (slim) volumes, one pink, one yellow, one orange, and bound with a thick yellow rubber band. Or "gumband" as I understand they say up Pittsburgh-way.



These stories won't be for everyone. In fact, a decent litmus test might be whether or not you like the site July put together for the book.

She's in Portland on Friday, May 18. The event is a benefit for PICA.

Labels: authors, fiction, Miranda July, Oregonian, Portland, review, short stories, writing

New "Talk of the Book Town" posted today (and printed for that matter), here.

I'd figured there'd be a good-sized crowd at this event and I could go around and interview other writers in attendance who didn't make Granta's Best of Young American Novelists list.

Maile Meloy and Anthony Doerr made the list, and were good sports about talking to the few faces and empty chair backs. Doerr is an excellent reader, very animated.

My one question turned out to be an ignorant one (go figure): how did this best-of collection differ from other potential lists, and was there a Britishness to the lineup on account of it being a British magazine's line-up? Of the half-dozen or so judges, a majority were American (I suppose you could make the case that the judges were selected based on what a British magazine's expectation of an American judge would be, but why bother).

Somewhat surprisingly though, neither Doerr or Meloy seemed comfortable with the query, particularly as it gave a close shave to "what's wrong with this list" territory: both started hemming and hawing and backing away from each other and twisting their hands and looking generally awkward (in contrast, they looked like BookTV interviewees when responding to "talk about your process" queries). The general response, however, was that the list reflected New York, big publishing houses, and didn't dig very deep. Not exactly usual suspects, but....

Doerr said he didn't expect to win, but then again he didn't know they were doing the list. "It's not like, 'ooh, now the decade has passed'" and an update was due. Not like Young Lions, which writers in the know evidently can expect to be awarded (or to be ignored) in March.

The piece that each submitted is new, and from what they read, worth tracking Granta 97 down for.

Labels: authors, books, fiction, Oregonian, Powell's, readings, Talk of the Book Town

My review of Michael Chabon's long-delayed The Yiddish Policemen's Union ran today in The Oregonian. I liked it. I think I'll probably like it more over time.

Sammy Clay: "I didn't know they were making detectives out of Jews."

Detective Lieber: "They just started. I'm kind of the prototype."
--from The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
Lots of coverage of this one, which I have studiously avoided, first to avoid polluting my own limited faculties with other people's ideas, then to avoid highlighting the errant ways of my own writing. Help yourself, however:
http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/05/01/arts/bookmer.php (Kakutani in the International Herald Tribune)
http://www.latimes.com/features/printedition/books/la-bk-ulin29apr29,1,6103230.story?coll=la-headlines-bookreview (LA Times)
http://www.esquire.com/fiction/book-review/jew0507 (Esquire...for the articles, I tell ya)
and this one that I did read, the Wall Street Journal:
http://online.wsj.com/public/article/SB117763122648184171-b9edIOKICZmr0eOnlVX5XtVvH3I_20070526.html?mod=tff_main_tff_top

A quick look shows critics getting their yids in, dropping Philip Marlowe mentions, and pondering where Chabon has been since K&C.

My theory? Check Chabon's Web site, on which he was do his own coding, which he taught himself. You can't check it b/c it's gone. But the fact that he was teaching himself PHP or whatever, while committing himself to research, while ostensibly writing a book suggests that there were too many cooks in the creative kitchen. Just a hunch.

I had hoped to get to a quick review of David Simon's Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets, which I recently read for the first time. It is outstanding (regardless of whatever Chabon's claims to research are, none of his homicide investigations approach that which David Simon renders). But hope, mon frere, gives way to paint fumes on this Sunday evening. Some other time, perhaps.

Labels: authors, books, crime, fiction, Michael Chabon, Oregonian, review, Yiddish Policemen's Union

Worth noting that I finally updated the links to the left to reflect those articles for which I wrote and later found links to online: William Vollmann at Powell's, Debby Applegate's exciting Pulitzer-grab, Robert Pinsky on the death of art, and more.

Also, not a single post in April.

HOWEVER, Salvage Heart is thrilled to announce an exciting new feature, so big it'll be a DOUBLE-SCOOP. First post sometime in the next few days, so check back.

Good times are here again (tell it to the bees).

Labels: authors, Oregonian, Portland, Powell's, readings, Talk of the Book Town

A few "Talk of the Book Town" pieces, and scrapple from the notebooks, since last posting.

Today, a write-up of Shannon O'Leary's Pet Noir appearance at Portland's The Press Club. I asked O'Leary after her reading/multimedia show whether she was on speed-dial for every animal disaster that turns up in the media. She laughed and said yes, though she'd never been asked that before. I refrained from sharing any personal animal disaster stories, although I would imagine few do. Also on hand: MariNaomi and Alixopulos. Both read. Both had good stories to tell.

The Press Club owner Kevin plans to host more readings, contacting publishers like Akashic, Manic D, and other smaller indies to let them know that if they ever get sick of Powell's, he's got a little space for them.

Last week, Suzan-Lori Parks proved that you can say m8therf8cker at a Portland Arts & Lectures event without the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall expelling you. However, that brief profanity barely registered in a motivating hour-plus talk that exhorted those in the audience to just do it/have it their way. The talk paralleled last fall's New Yorker profile, which was more interesting after having seen Parks. Plans are for Portland Center Stage to stage her "365 Days/365 Plays" next July.

The day after Parks' reading, I laid out $50 for Ted Conover, Erik Larson, Mary Roach, and Lauren Kessler. The talk had something to do with journalism and narrative. To sum up, Kessler said she could lie, and no one would ever know, but she doesn't. Larson said old libraries are full of lots of great detail about the lives of the dead. Roach said to find the most interesting person related to a topic and then follow them around. Conover, who I was most interested in seeing, seemed the least comfortable. It's been a long time since Rolling Nowhere. He is now at work on a piece about Nigeria, in his continued ambition to immerse himself in situations that most people would spend effort extracting themselves from. Afterwards, Jack Hart (managing editor at The Oregonian and narrative enthusiast) opened the panel up to questions, including several from himself.

Take away? Don't waste time with a sit-down Q&A (they are boring, and I've got the links, posted at your left, to prove it).

One other write-up, a reading by Timothy Zahn, author of many Star Wars books. My son has enjoyed his newest, Allegiance. I learned what a "Chiss" is, from a (very) female in said costume and blue paint. Perhaps that is what Tobias was going for?

Labels: authors, Oregonian, Portland, readings, Shannon O'Leary, Suzan-Lori Parks, Talk of the Book Town