Saturday Miscellany

The New York Times Book Review‘s Web site excerpts the first chapter of Charles Bock‘s Beautiful Children.

Financial Times profiles James Wood. The critic was no fan of D.C., which was home to his long-time outlet, the New Republic, before he recently jumped to the New Yorker:

“It’s a dead place,” says Wood. “Unless you are going to conquer it like something out of a Balzac novel, or climb the political world, it’s dead, totally dead.”

The article also includes some of Wood’s more pointed assessments, like his take on Tom Wolfe‘s A Man in Full:

Unfortunately, Wolfe’s characters only feel one emotion at a time; their inner lives are like jingles for the self. As Picasso had his Blue Period, so Wolfe’s characters have their Angry Period, or their Horny Period, or their Sad Period. But they never have them at the same time, and so the potential flexibility of the stream of consciousness, precisely its lifelike randomness, is nullified.

Theodora Keogh’s stepdaughter notes in the comments of my brief item on Keogh’s death that the Charlotte Observer piece I pointed to wasn’t an obit. True enough: What I linked to was an appreciation. The Observer‘s obituary was published on Jan. 8. Clearly, I’m not the Keogh expert. Brooks Peters, however, very much seems to be.

Annals of Quixotic Ventures

Toby Barlow, author of the new novel Sharp Teeth, apparently still wants to get a statue of George Plimpton placed somewhere in Manhattan; an article in Crain’s Detroit Business notes he’s still pursuing the project in an article about his day job as an ad exec.

Barlow announced his ambition in 2005 in the Huffington Post, and while the having-a-larf, Jib-Jabby design of the official Web site suggests he’s doing all this in jest, I do think that design idea number two–showing Plimpton walking with a sheaf of papers–should seriously be avoided at all costs if the project ever moves beyond the brainstorm phase. When I was working in downtown Chicago a few years back, I’d take daily head-clearing walks down Wacker Dr., where I passed a statue of much-loved columnist and TV host Irv Kupcinet. Scott Marks‘ Emulsion Compulsion has a few photos of it, which show Kup benevolently reaching out with one arm while holding a newspaper under the other.

It’s not a bad statue. But whenever I’d walk by it I couldn’t but help but imagine a child strolling down Wacker with the parents, seeing it, and asking, “Daddy, what’s that man holding under his arm?”

News and Notes

Jonathan Franzen wrings his hands about the God thing.

Sara Paretsky is suing an Indiana man in the wake of a traffic accident that she argues impaired her earning power.

David Morrell, author of First Blood, is quite happy with the Rambo films.

(And a quick Dept. of Self-Promotion note: I have a short review of Marc Masters‘ fine book on New York’s No Wave scene in this week’s Washington City Paper. An interview with Masters is now up on CP‘s music blog, Black Plastic Bag.)