Trial novel meets
screenplay. Young black man, called a
monster by the law.
Trial novel meets
Trial novel meets
screenplay. Young black man, called a
monster by the law.
I love zines. Dreaming them up, physically constructing them, and bringing them to the post office all snug in their packages makes me feel whole in a way not much else does. … The medium of zines reminds me of the point of the work: the deep and sincere need to be heard, the yearning for communion. I sign most of my zines "love, Katie" as though they're letters because they feel a lot like letters. I mean, I wouldn't bother saying something if I didn't think there was someone to say it to. … The connection people make with each other through writing and reading is as human as we get, and zinesters know this, they live it. I'm writing this now and you're reading it in another now, which means we're here together in a way; wherever we are, we're both crackling with the same kind of life. --Katie Haegele, Introduction, p.1
Zines were how we learned to exist outside ourselves when the world told us to disappear. …
It was the hand touching hand as the zine was passed between you. …
It was about creating real physical connection in the face of nothingness. It was folded well loved pages falling apart and holding you together, kept safe in your pocket as you rode the train under the bay from Oakland to San Francisco, and knowing that there was someone else out there, someone you met in passing for a second who had given you this gift who had secrets like your own. And that you weren't alone. –Cindy Crabb, Introduction, p.1-2.
It's hard not to acknowledge that zines are best for their immediate, ephemeral qualities. That feeling that you've found something truly unique and special, from a seemingly unlikely source. For these reasons, putting zines in a mass—produced book is seemingly contradictory. …
Every day we are told that print is dying, but as our co-worker Chris says, "If print is dead, it's another reason to like zombies." –Joe Biel, p.6
I am happy to have this book to point to whenever anyone asks me, "But are people still making zines?" The answer, with about 100 zines published in the last year excerpted and another 75 or so listed as honorable mentions, is an emphatic "Yes!" I loved seeing the zines, reproduced as closely as possible to how they originally appeared, but even more, I was inspired by Katie Haegele and Cindy Crabb's loving introductions. And I gotta say the Zine Libraries Index Julie Turley and I contributed is also pretty hot.
It was obvious that Judy would never be idle until she was downed by old age or a terrible disease. And as for rich, she didn't have it in her. No matter how much money she had invested in AT&T or Eastman Kodak, no matter how large her bank balance, she thought poor. She didn't have the flair to throw away bread crusts and socks worn at the heels. She couldn't buy a ring for herself merely because she liked the look of the gem. She could never have owned thirty pairs of shoes, the way my mother did, nor spend $45 on a cotton dress to wear in the city in August when everyone was away. Judy thought in terms of saving, not spending, which I discovered was the big difference. Almost, in fact, as big as the difference between your German Jew and your Russian Jew. My mother was a spender, and she had such fun--oh she had an absolutely lovely time spending oodles of fresh, sticky bills tucked away in their Mark Cross wallet until she was ready to snap them out. p.205-206
This is essentially a poor little rich girl story, about a plump, socially awkward half an orphan, half-Jewish teenager in NYC and Boston in the late 1940s. The book surprised me, as I was expecting a more hateable heroine. In fact, one of the things that saves her, is that she is not brilliant, not beautiful, and not particularly sensitive or insightful. She is just a troubled teenager, who happens to be worth a ton of dough but is basically emotionally isolated while having to navigate the death of one parent and realizing the other will never be there for her either.
This is A.j. Michel's log of her year's reading (books, comics, and zines), listening, and television and movie watching. I've thought of trying to chronicle more than just my reading, but have been too daunted. A.j., who I believe is a card-carrying but non-practicing librarian, is geekarifically organized and precise, and she provides a fair use statement to justify her inclusion of the occasional zine excerpt.
I recommend this zine to anyone looking for things to read, listen to, and watch, but it's especially appropriate if you have a serious comics jones and like your science fiction okay. Since I'm seriously challenged when it comes to music, I can't be trusted to characterize her taste, but I think indie would cover it, though perhaps too broadly.
Much like WALL*E debating where to place the spork he collected (With forks? With spoons?*), deciding how to arrange this consumption log was fraught with struggle. Should it be arranged by type of media consumed or by date it was consumed? If by type, where do graphic novels go - books or comics? What about graphic novels that are collections of previously published comic issues? Is watching a movie on DVD the same as watching it in a movie theater? What about movies on broadcast television or cable? Are television episodes on DVD still television? --inside cover
*After some deliberation, WALL*E placed the spork between the individual containers holding the fork and spoon collections.
(You can tell it's not "chick lit" because the cover does not feature a disembodied female body part, and isn't a pink hue.) p.16-17
If you love books and/or zines and/or fashion analysis and/or fancy binding and/or letter press and/or library search results and/or math theory and/or French films and literature and/or Red Pandas and/or original illustrations and/or cookie recipes and/or whatever other crazy things are competing to get out of book artist Emily K. Larned's head and fingers, then you will find something to go gaga over in her zine series Parfait.
I must warn you that the following review is as gushy a thing as I have ever written. If the idea of my blasé self losing control like that makes you uncomfortable, do not read on!
When we're not ambivalent, how staggeringly particular we can be. #2, 2005, p. 76.
At the very same booksale you also bought Madame Bovary. You love this book. It is due for a reread. But then upon close inspection later, you find that this edition was "edited" by the translator! Jesus. There's five critical essays tacked onto the end in addition to the lengthy introduction and yet the translator actually took AWAY from the original text? Oh, I'm sorry, did YOU Mr. Translator labour seven hours a day on one paragraph like our pal Gustave? You didn't? Then don't fucking EDIT his work.
You become really rather irrationally upset about this. Like it was morally wrong of these books to be donated to the library booksale so some poor soul such as yourself would buy these lousy editions, ignorant of their inauthenticity. Like, no doubt the person who originally owned these books was duped by them too, and so got rid of them by donation. When in fact you kind of feel like they should have been THROWN OUT. They're broken. They're malfunctioning books. So you're going to throw them out, right? If that is what you think their deserved fate to be? Trash? Book in trash? Um, gosh. Of course not. You'll just donate them... to the Salvation Army. What sort of horrible person would throw out a book? #3, 2007, p. 67
Danny didn't know a soul who had taken the Prohibition bills seriously, even when they'd made it to the floor of the House. It seemed impossible, with all the other shifts going on in the country's fabric, that these prim, self-righteous "don't dos" had a chance. But one morning the whole country woke up to realize that not only did the idiots have a chance, they had a foothold. Gained while everyone else paid attention to what had seemed more important. p.72
"Have you ever noticed that when they need us, they talk about duty, but when we need them, they talk about budgets?" p.75
"The preliminary suspicions that the molasses tank explosion was a terrorist act have been a boon for us. Simply put, this country is sick of terror."
"But the explosion wasn't a terrorist act."
"The rage remains." Finch chuckled. "No one is more surprised than us. We thought the rush to judgment over the molasses flood had killed us. Quite the opposite. People don't want truth, they want certainty." He shrugged. "Or the illusion of it." p.491
This book was recommended to me by a friend who got so absorbed in reading it, that she called in sick to work to finish it. Since it's 702 pages long, I might have appreciated some more concentrated reading time, as well. I liked the book, where the central plot element is the labor dispute between the Boston Police Department and the city in 1919, pretty well, but was not quite as in love with it as my friend.
...I asked the woman who worked there about the music she was playing. She said it was "women's music"--music by, for, and about lesbians--and played me a couple of songs from the most popular records. I didn't like anything. I kept waiting for it to start. It wasn't punk, and I was depressed about my chances of ever achieving real lesbian consciousness. Finally, I bought a Holly Near record just to stop feeling stupid.
There were T-shirts on the wall behind the desk, like a Dykes on Bikes shirt which, I swear, almost weep right there in the store. At the last minute, I asked the woman to throw in a purple Fesbian-Leminist T-shirt. I clutched the paper bag between my knees on the motorcycle seat in front of me.
I put on my T-shirt when I got home and wandered around the apartment listening to Holly Near. Todd wasn't there, and I turned it way up, hoping to make it sound better. I played it at 78rpm and tried to pogo to it. It just didn't work. p. 33-34
The book starts out with Melany, a seventeen-year-old punk sleeping with a woman for the first time. You travel with her as she overcomes her shyness about her sexuality, her trying to reconcile punk with the hippie and new age lesbian scene, getting dumped, sleeping with her roommate, doing civil disobedience in an ACT UP era protest, and finally falling in love with the right person.
Teen girl angst, wanting
the boy, the in crowd, not her
destined werewolf king.
btw Don't read the book because you liked the movie, or vice-versa. They are nothing alike, having in common only character names.
This is the first book in a trilogy about Joanne Baldwin, who has the power to control the weather. It's a completely absorbing book with a lusty heroine and an ending that genuinely surprised me. She's a little too into cars for my taste, but most people are.
"I reckon we all invent our own Supreme Beings. It's the point of life. You invent your own religion complete with an afterlife, a Supreme Being if you want one and anything else you want, and then you pretty much get whatever you expect after you die. People who don't believe in anything or who don't bother to come up with their own belief system really don't go anywhere after they die. People who believe in some complex system of reincarnation and cycles of life get that. People who belong to organised religions get whatever that offers, although it usually isn't very good..." spoken by a friend of the narrator. p.409 (This was my afterlife philosophy when I was 13. It might still be if I thought about it.)
This book about a geeky toy company "creative" has a lot going for it: likeable protagonist, good politics, code making and breaking, and a British sense of humor. I liked it quite a bit, but didn't quite love it as much as I wanted to. I'll definitely read it again though, in a year or two.
Earlier this week I read a memoir by a 35-year-old, and a friend was like "Can someone in their 30s really write an autobiography?" So next up, I grabbed one by a 34-year-old. Barack Obama's Dreams from My Father was commissioned by Random House after Obama was made the first black president of the Harvard Law Review. As I've said here before, I'm not drinking the Obama Kool-Aid, but I do kind of wish I was. I want to believe. I want things to be different with him as the U.S. president.
Tori Spelling bio.
Not bad, actu'ly, given
So yeah, this is an autobiography by a 35-year-old TV star, but it knows it. Spelling doesn't pretend she didn't grow up rich or that she got her acting breaks on her own. She cops to her part of the responsibility for her troubled relationship with her mother and her divorce from her first husband. Maybe I'm a sucker, but I more or less bought it. There's not as much behind the scenes dirt about Beverly Hills 90210 and whatnot as I'm sure some readers will be after, but she hints at things so that you get an idea.
Cousins, babies, war.
The Hand Family women--
Whose husband will die?
Sci-fi girl geek learns
to be herself, and how to
be a friend, but trig...
Tedious tale of
lesbian crush on straight girl,
father issues too.
He seemed always to have liked scribes, archivists, librarians, historians -- anyone who handled the past through books. p. 630
This was a longish book, 640 pages, but it felt longer. In contrast, here's a short haiku review:
and undead librarians.
Quest for Dracula.