Fiction is often a conduit to the underlying forces driving the chaos of unfolding events. While watching the turmoil over the contested presidential election in Iran, I keep thinking about the first novel to be published in English by the Iranian writer Shahriar Mandanipour,

 Censoring an Iranian Love Story, which received a starred review in Booklist in the April 15, 2009 issue.  Mandanipour won numerous awards in Iran, yet his fiction was censored, hence unpublished, between 1992 and 1997. Mandanipour came to the U.S. in 2006 as an International Writers Project Fellow at Brown University, and is currently a visiting scholar at Harvard University. His novel about two young, thwarted lovers, and a censored writer attempting to outsmart the authorities, is an ironic, funny, and incisive journey through the labyrinth of paradoxes and power plays that shape Iran today.

In their first post-election 60 Minutes interview, the President- and First Lady-elect said they’d like to open the White House up to the people. They mentioned poetry and jazz.

I knew that Michelle Obama had seen spoken word and poetry slam poets while in Chicago, so I called them. I reminded myself that their house, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, is our house, too. I’m Dutch (my middle name is Roelof) and it has been ingrained in me since I was a wee child: be responsible for your dollar. If someone is taking your money, they owe you. That is how I called the White House—my cash pays for the food there so why wouldn’t I call? At least that’s what I told myself. And the Obama’s are Chi and I’m Chi. I love Hyde Park . . . I’m finishing up a degree at the University of Chicago . . . I have met Barack Obama before when he was working a fund-raiser in Will County. It would almost be stupid not to call them. Right? Right? A poetry slam at the White House; a certain je ne sais quoi, no? I called in late March.

An early conversation went from, “Mail us a letter,” to “Poetry Month is when?” to “Wait while I get so and so on the phone,” to “Here are some cell phone numbers . . . let’s do this.” This statement is not my ego speaking: First Lady Michelle Obama and her staff should be commended for giving me the opportunity to work with them on bringing poetry slam poets to the White House. That is to say, the policy of CHANGE has been thrown around so long for two years that to have this small show come from a high school English teacher, a poetry enthusiast of modest means—I think this says something positive about the new climate at the White House. The White House could have easily invited academically titled poets for a poetry night. Instead, they dug from the roots of the poetry slam world created by a former construction worker from the southeast side of Chicago. The everyman is one of the underlying guides to the poetry slam. Marc Smith is “For the Little Guy.” (Audio sample on Amazon.)

And here it is, poetry slam at the White House, er, kinda.

Read the rest of this entry �

Book awards are usually time sensitive, covering the best books of the year, so I was surprised to see that a first novel I reviewed way back in 2007 received a very generous today in Dublin, Ireland. The book is Man Gone Down by Michael Thompson, and the award is the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. Michael Thompson’s prize is 100, 000 Euros.  ( Photo of Michael Thomas by Ben Russell.)

It’s been awhile since Bill Ott has offered a quiz on the Back Page of Booklist, but his latest installment includes a doozy: in honor of ALA’s upcoming annual conference, he’s concocted a three-column challenge called ”Literary Chicago” (PDF) where you’re called upon to match 26 authors with their respective book titles and Windy City settings.

We don’t have a good quiz app on Booklist Online yet–so print out the PDF and sharpen your pencils!

Here’s some video of poetry slam founder Marc Kelly Smith, who I wrote about yesterday. The first link (excuse the lighting) is a show I put together for the Society of Midland Authors April program in the beautiful Cliff Dwellers Club on Michigan Avenue. The room is all windows, high in the air, with a terrific view of Grant Park and Lake Michigan. I borrowed from New York poet Taylor Mali to create a “Page vs. Stage” poetry show, an event in which one poet writes primarily for the page and one poet writes primarily for the stage. Near the end of the show, each poet reads a poem by the other poet. This show featured Marc Kelly Smith vs. Illinois Poet Laureate Kevin Stein. Stein is a good, good guy, and a wonderful writer. It was a great evening.

This next video shows Smith performing his poem “Something” at his home base, the Green Mill Jazz Lounge. The video is part of a 30-minute documentary about Smith and slam poetry, called “Sunday Night Poets,” directed by David Rori. I think both videos represent Smith at his best as a poet and performer.

Looking back, what I should have added to my post yesterday are the rules for the slam part of the show. I suppose anyone can call a poetry slam an event in which poets get up, read poems for about three minutes, and then are evaluated by random judges 0-10, 10 being high. The poet with the highest score wins. What I was trying to get at, at least here in Chicago, is that the competition is only a part of the show—and, in fact, it is my least favorite part. Not the poems, and not the scoring, but people thinking that the scoring means anything. It doesn’t. It is a theatrical gimmick devised to use elements of competition to allow the audience a bit more fun. That’s it. Read the rest of this entry �

I first met poet and poetry slam founder Marc Kelly Smith in a class that he taught at Lewis University in Romeoville, Illinois, way back in 1991. An enthusiast of poetry and fiction in all of their personalities for a long while, I can say with pride that I am but one of a legion of readers re-energized by what words can do by watching and being around Marc Smith. What I mean to say, and I think this holds true for many definitions of the slam world, is that I was captivated by the person Marc Smith: his passion, his writing, his show, his performances and his philosophies on art. To this day I am still fascinated with Smith. If not a slam still a Marc Smith would I follow and enjoy being around. But there is a slam. And this blog post was directly requested by Keir Graff because slam is making some news again.

The newest wave of stories hit for two days straight last week. On Wednesday the New York Times did a nice, historical summation with oppositional views (as if there are but two) on the slam via Chicago via via Marc Kelly Smith. The article even included a wonderful, wacky picture of Smith. Likewise, our own Chicago Tribune  did a nice piece and the Sun-Times had a blurb (although they had a full wonderful article a month or two prior). These pieces centered around Marc, the creator, and his mission. While the pieces were wonderful, the missing element is always the man himself. He is where some of the conundrum lies: Marc Smith wears many hats. He wears them all well. Smith celebrates the drama of the poetry slam—the inventive, artistic renewal is always at the forefront. It is rare that at any other poetry slam in the country you will find dueling poet swordsmen in full regalia; transvestite lounge singing poets; tap dancers moving to free verse; Iron Chef Poets; the list goes on. At the poetry slam in Chicago, so many different art forms make their way onto the Green Mill stage.

Read the rest of this entry �

Last week, the New York Times asked, “Is Slam Poetry Going Soft?” I was intrigued by the question, but I didn’t think they answered it. So I asked Mark Eleveld, a Booklist reviewer, the author of The Spoken Word Revolution Redux, and a poetry publisher himself, to take a crack at it. Mark’s credentials and involvement in the Chicago slam poetry scene give him a unique perspective — and I’m really looking forward to hearing his behind-the-scenes take on the recent White House poetry jam, which he helped organize. (Mark, help me out: what’s the difference between a jam and a slam?)

Stay tuned!

Craig Johnson, riding high on the acclaim for the latest book in the Walt Longmire series, The Dark Horse, was in Chicago last Saturday for an appearance at the Printers Row Lit Fest. After his panel, he could be seen enjoying a beer at the Dark Horse Tap and Grille, appropriately enough. While we talked, he sold his very last copy of the book — his reading copy — to the delighted waitress.

What’s the story behind The Dark Horse?

I always try and do something different with each book, and with this one I was attempting a little “high plains noir.” I got the gist of the story from a murder that took place in Nebraska where everybody in town claimed to be under a pool table when the guy got shot. One of the investigators commented, “That must’ve been the biggest pool table in Nebraska.” I used it as an exploration into finding out what community was like out in some of those little outlaw towns on the Powder River where I drink . . . purely for research purposes, of course.

So far in the series, the biggest beast of burden has been Henry Standing Bear’s long-suffering truck, Rezdawg. What gave you the idea to write about actual horses in this book?

Well, Walt’s a Wyoming sheriff and grew up on a ranch so he’s liable to have some experience. It was just another opportunity to show another layer of the west and to write honestly about the relationship between people and horses.

Rumor has it that, although you now live in Ucross, Wyoming, you’ve done some time in big cities. Were you able to write about horses from personal experience — or did you have to do research?

My grandfather was a blacksmith and I grew up riding. I did some rough-stock rodeo events back when I was young and stupid, as opposed to being older and stupid like I am now. I’ve got a ranch and am pretty well versed, but then I’ve got guys like Buck Brannaman, the real horse whisperer, in the neighborhood if I get stuck.

Have you been able to visit any other Dark Horse bars or taverns on this book tour?

There’s one in Philadelphia and another in Los Angeles that I’m headed to — then again, I’ve always wanted to own my own bar.

Where are you headed next — and where is Walt headed in the next book?

I’m bad, I’m nationwide and probably babbling in a bookstore near you. Check out my website [http://www.craigallenjohnson.com/] and hit the “Tour of Duty” to see where I am from day to day.

The next book in the series is a kind of a modern-day range war called Among the Ruins. It’s an examination of the economy of the contemporary west, and might be the funniest book I’ve written.

The £30,000 Orange Prize is the FUBU of awards: an all-female judges’ panel picks a winner from a roster of books by female authors including the likes of Toni Morrison. The panel picked Home, by Marilynne Robinson as this year’s winner.

Of course, a gender-driven prize could not exist without some controversy. In 2001, an all-male shadow panel was set up to hedge criticism of the ladies’ only award. The men picked their winner and the women picked theirs, with the men’s choice bearing no weight on the actual award. This year, there’s been a lot of focus on youth reading and the meaning of  Young Adult fiction. While some authors think it’s slight be called a  YA author, others earn acclaim for and revel in the title (*cough* John Green *cough*). So another shadow panel was set up, this time with teens ages 16-19—male and female—to judge the books on the Orange longlist. Again, their choice would not impact the actual winner. The kids chose Blonde Roots, by Bernadine Evaristo.

According to The Guardian, both shadow panels had the same complaint about the “legitimate” shortlists, with the men saying the judges favored “worthy books about issues which we found anathema,” and the teens, putting it more bluntly, “don’t like the shortlist. It just looks like a bunch of books women would read.” Which is, indeed, the point.

The 2009 Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards for Excellence in Children’s Literature were announced yesterday. The winners are:

Fiction and Poetry

Nation, by Terry Pratchett

Nonfiction

The Lincolns: A Scrapbook Look at Abraham and Mary, by Candace Fleming
 
Picture Book

Bubble Trouble, by Margaret Mahy, illustrated by Polly Dunbar

Read the rest of this entry �