It’s been an interesting few of weeks of book reviewing. First, I did a bunch of stuff for the May 1 Mystery Gazetteer: The Museum of Dr. Moses, by Joyce Carol Oates (Harcourt); Mr. Dixon Disappears, by Ian Sansom (Harper); The Follower, by Jason Starr (St. Martin’s); Chain of Evidence, by Gary Disher (Soho), and three freshly reprinted novels by David Goodis. The Oates was awfully good, the Sansom a bit of a letdown, the Starr was hard to finish, and the Disher was hard to put down. The Goodis books, which I incorporated into a feature called “The Dark World of David Goodis,” were a treat.

Then, I read Kurt Wenzel’s Exposure (Little, Brown), which, although it has trace elements of crime fiction–think of a private dick in a Philip K. Dick novel–has more in common with Chuck Palahniuk, Michael Tolkin, and J. G. Ballard. Actually, it had so many elements in it that it was one of the hardest reviews I’ve written. All I needed was twice as many words as we’re usually allowed (175) and it would have been a breeze. Very imaginative, very fun, but ultimately a little bit lightweight.

Then I read Maradona (Skyhorse, dist. by Sterling), the as-told-to autobiography of soccer’s most exciting and most mercurial star. If you think sports biographies are mostly full of cliches and platitudes about good sportsmanship, trust me, this one ain’t. This is more like getting cornered in a bar by a cokehead. But despite that analogy, I liked it a lot.

And now I’m reading Deirdre McNamer’s Red Rover (Viking), a poetic, layered work, half historical fiction, set in Montana. I usually hate comparing books to movies, but in the spirit of the Michael Tolkin reference above, I’m going to go ahead and say that Red Rover is Altmanesque. I’m torn between loving the beauty of the writing and longing for a bit more linear plotting, but it’s really a fine book. If you like impressionism and Ivan Doig, you’ll probably like this, too.

Next up? Robert Walser’s The Assistant (New Directions), first published in 1908 and now available in English for the very first time.

Still catching up. 

The indefatigable award-givers at PEN have inaugurated the PEN/Borders Literary Award, for “a truly distinguished American writer whose critically acclaimed work helps us to understand the human condition in original and powerful ways.” I know, I know: with criteria as specific as that, you’re probably wondering who on earth they could find to give it to.

Fortunately, they found someone: Gore Vidal. (”Gore Vidal to receive PEN/Borders prize,” AP.)

If you’re already a highly honored author, I like your odds of receiving even more honors in 2007.

Speaking of Dickens, I had fully intended to write about Dickens World and Harry Potter World, whose impending existence I only became aware of thanks to Galleycat (”Books into Theme Parks,” by Sarah Weinman):

First is the announcement that Dickens World, a theme park devoted to - you guessed it - the work and life of Charles Dickens, has had its opening delayed to May 25…Then there’s the inevitable theme park for Harry Potter, as the Sun reports Universal Studios is close to finalizing a deal to build Harry Potter World at its amusement park in Orlando, Florida.

I don’t have any problem with people (or even multinational corporations) turning books into theme parks–hey, it promotes reading, right? right?–but I’m holding out for PalahniukWorld before I shell out for a hotel-and-airfare package.

It’s been a busy week behind the scenes, and I’m falling behind. But I liked this article in Sunday’s Guardian (”The great unknown,” by Louise France), about “one of those authors of whom literary editors have never heard, and readers can’t get enough.”

The result is a narrative which might not be elegant or literary; prose which can be clumsy and sentimental. Yet these stories are impossible to put down, and stayed in my mind long after I’d finished them. I was reminded of what Nick Hornby, another commercial author, says is the mark of a really good book: it makes you walk into lampposts because you can’t stop reading it when you’re walking down the street.

Interestingly, Picoult sees herself as a modern Dickens. And if literary editors, as alleged, haven’t heard of her, she believes she provides something edgier than is usually found on the bestseller lists:

To begin with, the novels were by no means an overnight success. ‘Marketing departments struggled with them,’ says Gross. ‘They said they were too clever for the commercial market but weren’t literary fiction either.’ Jodi agrees. ‘Most people in America want an easy read. I call it McFiction - books which pass right through you without you even digesting them. I don’t mean a book that has two-syllable words. I mean chapters you can read in a toilet break. Happy endings. We are more of a TV culture, and that is a hard thing to go up against for any writer.’

Joel Rickett, deputy editor of The Bookseller, seems to see her more as a James Patterson who does all her own writing:

He also points to the fact that British publisher Hodder & Stoughton has been able to market her much like Procter & Gamble would flog toothpaste - Picoult spends three months a year on publicity tours. Big publishers can afford lucrative space at the front of the bookshop and include her in three-for-two deals. They can also offer discounts to supermarkets. By plundering her back-list, they’ve published a new book every four months, each one with a huge ad campaign. ‘They’ve created a brand,’ says Rickett, ‘which is the Holy Grail in book publishing. It’s all about continuity. Who can they sell who will last? If you can find an author who represents a set of values and expectations and can deliver every time, you’ve taken all the uncertainty out of publishing. Jodi Picoult has done just that.’

The 2007 Orange Prize shortlist has been announced:

Half of a Yellow Sun, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Knopf)

Arlington Park, by Rachel Cusk (Farrar)

The Inheritance of Loss, by Kiran Desai (Grove/Atlantic)

A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, by Xiaolu Guo (Doubleday/Nan A. Talese)

The Observations, by Jane Harris (Viking)

Digging to America, by Anne Tyler (Knopf)

I haven’t consulted Ladbrokes, but I wouldn’t bet against Kiran Desai.

The 2007 Pulitzer Prize winners have been announced, and clearly the judges have been watching Oprah. Here are the winners for Letters, Drama, and Music:

Fiction

The Road, by Cormac McCarthy (Knopf)

Drama

Rabbit Hole, by David Lindsay-Abaire

History

The Race Beat: The Press, the Civil Rights Struggle, and the Awakening of a Nation, by Gene Roberts and Hank Klibanoff (Knopf)

Biography

The Most Famous Man in America: The Biography of Henry Ward Beecher, by Debby Applegate (Doubleday)

Poetry

Native Guard, by Natasha Trethewey (Houghton Mifflin)

General Nonfiction

The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11, by Lawrence Wright (Knopf)

Music

Sound Grammar, by Ornette Coleman

Oh, and the quote in my headline? I made it up. Because the Pulitzers honor both journalism and fiction.

Also from GalleyCat, the shortlist for the New York Public Library’s Young Lions Fiction Award (”For Five Young Writers, a Library’s Lions Roar,” by Ron Hogan):

The Children’s Hospital, by Chris Adrian (McSweeney’s)

The Brief History of the Dead, by Kevin Brockmeier (Pantheon)

Whiteman, by Tony D’Souza (Harcourt)

The Dream Life of Sukhanov, by Olga Grushin (Putnam/Marian Wood)

St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves, by Karen Russell (Knopf)

Man-of-letters Ethan Hawke was instrumental in the founding of this award, but you won’t catch me making any Ethan Hawke jokes here.

Dr. Howard V. Hendrix, vice-president of the Science Fiction Writers of America, thinks some of his peers are selling themselves short — by giving away their work. From Galleycat (”Who Gives Away Books Online? ‘Scabs,’ Says Prominent Sci-Fi Writer,” by Ron Hogan):

Dr. Howard V. Hendrix (left), currently winding down his term as the vice-president of the Science Fiction Writers of America, really, really hates it when his peers in the sci-fi community publish their works online and distribute them for free. So much so that he recently issued a short statement on the subject which was published on the SFWA LiveJournal, in which he referred to such writers as “webscabs,” and accused them of “rotting our organization from within.” He got more specific: “Webscabs claim they’re just posting their books for free in an attempt to market and publicize them, but to my mind they’re undercutting those of us who aren’t giving it away for free and are trying to get publishers to pay a better wage for our hard work.” 

As you can imagine, the writers in question embraced the state-of-the art term “webscabs.” I’m guessing that Hendrix is just trying to make sure he doesn’t get nominated to serve on the SFWA board again. (He probably needs more time to market his writing.)

It’s fun to rubberneck on this debate — well, “debate” would presume that more SF writers shared Hendrix’s position — but my real question is this: why the heck does the site of a science-fiction writers association look like something from the age of dial-up modems?

Maybe the first time a Web site has been built on a refrigerator: Miranda July’s No one belongs here more than you. Clearly she’s creative at more than just writing short stories.

Ms. July cites another interesting site promoting another book with an interesting title (even if that title isn’t a complete sentence): Then We Came to the End, by Joshua Ferris.

(Thanks, Ben!)

My brother, Sean, sends me hilarious family updates via e-mail. The photos are great — he’s a professional photographer – and the dialog, recorded by both Sean and his wife, Kirstin, is better than most Off-Loop theater. (The thoughts of their tiny geniuses, Wilhelmina and Oscar, make me think of the Royal Tenenbaums minus the dysfunction.) Anyway, Wilhelmina, at seven years old, has already discovered a secret of the book-reviewing trade:

Wilhelmina, carrying a new favorite book: Mom, I have a new way to tell if I’m going to like a book. Know what it is?
Kirstin: No; what’s your method?
Wilhelmina: Just look at the cover. Works every time. 

That’s why so many books are shipped to us in plain paper jackets.

And two more, not because they have anything to do with book reviewing, but because I’m a proud uncle:

In the car, again. From the backseat:
Wilhelmina: Lily likes George W. Bush, and she says she knows his website. And she said she’s going to email him and tell him what I’ve been saying about him.
Kirstin: (!!!?)
Wilhelmina: Well, too bad, right? Because this is a free country, and I can say whatever I want! And I can think whatever I want!
Kirstin: Right! Did you say that to Lily??
Wilhelmina: No. Lily also said if I don’t shut up about George W. Bush, she’s going to tell Mrs. Pizarro (her first grade teacher)….

O: I want a band-aid (so I give him one and get into the shower).
O: I want a bloody area.  I want a bloody area (which I couldn’t understand so well being in the shower..)
S: You want me to cut you?
O: I want a cut.

Geez, dad, how else am I going to be able to wear a band-aid?