Monthly Archives: March 2008

Christie Malry’s Own Double-Entry
by B.S. Johnson

I overwhelmed myself when it came to keeping up on blog postings about what I had been reading when I finished three books last Wednesday. I didn’t read all the books on one days, I just finished them all in one day. Actually I didn’t start and finish any of those three books on that day. But that is kind of normal for me, I usually have a few books going at a time.
This is one of the books that I finished last Wednesday. To be specific the second book finished.
B.S. Johnson is someone I had never read before, but had been on my radar to read for quite sometime. I think at some point I read that DFW really liked him, and then a few years ago Jonathan Coe wrote a very interesting looking biography on him. I don’t know what took me so long to finally try to read him, his books that are still in print aren’t too big, this one is only about two hundred pages, and a lot of those pages are filled with lots of white space. Yes his books are kind of expensive, I’ve yet to come across one in my used book scouring, and the new copies of the three books in print are a bit more expensive than the normal book, as they are print on demand copies. The real reason I think I avoided him was that he is English, and considered an experimental, or avant garde writer. I’ve read a few British avant garde writers before and none of them turned out to be pleasant experiences.
B.S. Johnson turned out to be an exception to the rule that British and experimental literature don’t mix. Instead of being the obtuse and near-impossible to find a hole in the text to get inside and figure out exactly what the author is even attempting to do, Johnson made it quite easy to at least get engaged in the book. His writing was more akin to early John Barth or DFW than to someone like Ann Quinn, and his sense of humor moved in what could now be classified as standard meta-fiction antics.
The book is about a man of no particular importance who realizes that the world as it relates to him is out of balance. Being a book-keeper, he understands the importance of keeping balanced books and with this knowledge sets out to even the debits and credits in his life. As I said the book is at turns quite humorous, and Johnson gets humor from both his post-modern playing with the text, and from the well regarded tradition of British humor (a genre the British are vastly superior in general to their American couterparts). The book in the end is an absurd look at modern day life, in an almost Monty Python sort of way.
Good stuff.

For an inexplicable reason I have crossed over from finding Johanna Newsom as grating and annoying to catchy and wonderful. I thought I’d share that little piece of knowledge.
Here’s a cute little video someone made of one of her songs thats stuck in my head constantly the last two days.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUyeKOGsoZo&hl=en">

And here’s another song that’s been stuck in my head for the past month or so.

Before Knut Hamsun became a novelist his dream had been to be a boxing champion. This is a little known fact about the famous novelist, but in his twenties he sailed to America and tried make his living as a pugilist. Going under the moniker Handsome Hamsun, the dour Norwegian unsuccessfully lost his first three professional fights and resorted to fighting in illegal basement brawls in New York City’s notorious Bowery. Irish hooligans soon started calling the future Noble Prize winner “Knut the Galoot”, a name that would drive Hamsun into irrational rages and temper tantrums. The crowd loved this, but it did little to help him win his fights. Finally after a few years of losing basement fights and being outraged at the suggestion that he might be better suited in the role of a geek, who would fight a live chicken and finish his opponent by biting off it’s head, he left the shores of America for his home in Norway. There Hamsun would write through the pain of his failure in America by extolling the virtues of the land and the existential nature of man.

The word blog comes up as misspelled on this here blog composer / editor. This is either a) a mistake of some kind or b) an attempt to not discourage self-referential posts. Meta-posts if you will. I find it amusing.
Want to know what else I find amusing? When the on-off button goes on my computer and I’m left with a pretty plastic box with all my stuff in it, but with no way to get at it. Sniff, sniff.
One more comment? I was wrong. Not one person asked me for an Arthur C. Clarke book last week.

She Reads What I’ve Written.

Did you really write that?
Did I write what? – I asked.
That, about me, I sound like a self-centered bitch.
Huh?
God, you’re so infuriating, is it too hard to figure out what I’m talking about? That stuff on your blog, about me and tv and thinking blogs are a dumb idea.
Well, I take it you read it.
Yes, did you write it?
Who else would have wrote it?
What.
You don’t have to scream, are you mad or something?
I don’t want to be made to look like an asshole in front of your whole class.
But they don’t know you.
You know what I mean. This is so humiliating.
Don’t be so melodramatic, no one cares.

Please stop crying, really. What? Oh, no I didn’t mean no one cares about you, I meant no one cares about the blog. Ok, ok, I’m sorry for writing about you like that, I won’t do it again. Ok?