Review: The Lives of Things

Read 3/24/12 - 3/28/12
4.5 Stars - Highly Recommended to fans of Jose Saramago's previous work / a great intro to Jose Saramago
Pgs: 142
Publisher: Verso Books
Release Date: April 25, 2012

Oh god, how I love reading Jose Saramago. Picking up a book by this man is like slipping into a pleasure-coma. I wish I could remain buried within his books forever. Just cover me with his words and never move me again. Deal?

Words cannot explain how excited I was when I heard that Verso Books picked up his short story collection The Lives of Things, which was first published in its original language back in 1978. This edition, translated by Giovanni Pontiero, drops on April 25th and I highly recommend finding a place for it on your bookshelves.

If you are at all familiar with him, you know that only Saramago can write a 25 page story about a falling chair. Yes, you heard me right... a story detailing the act of a chair falling. True to the stream of consciousness, mind wandering style that I have come to know and love, Saramago dissects every conceivable possibility as the chair begins to fall in slow motion, continuously freezing it in mid-fall, like those stop-action screen shots that are employed in films - where everyone is suddenly locked in a moment in time while one person is left free to roam the scene and snatch things out of the air. Listen to the opening of The Chair ... "The chair started to fall, to come crashing down, to topple, but not, strictly speaking, to come to bits. Strictly speaking, to come to bits means bits fall off. Now no one speaks of the chair having bits, and if it had bits, such as arms on each side, then you would refer to the arms of the chair falling off rather than coming to bits. But now that I remember, it has to be said that heavy rain comes down in buckets, so why should chairs not be able to come to bits? .. therefore accept the fact that chairs come to bits, although preferably they should simply fall, topple, or come crashing down." How can you not fall in love with his circular thinking?!

The Chair, the first of 6 short stories, is by far my favorite. While I appreciate the story as it is, it's also incredibly allegorical (a writing technique that is very common in Saramago's novels). This particular story was influenced by the event that triggered the end of Salazar's terrifying reign in Portugal. Can you guess what ended his reign? That's right. His beach chair collapsed. The falling chair caused the brain hemorrhage that would bring about his death. That's the trick with translations and international fiction, isn't it, though? The fact that, for most of us, we are practically clueless as to what is (or has) taken place in other countries, and typically these allegorical spoofs and political satires tends to fly completely over our heads.


The Chair also contains what I believe to be one of the best lines within the book.. "Fall, old man, fall. See how your feet are higher than your head." If nothing else, The Lives of Things contains little pockets of humor hidden beneath the otherwise dark fictional stories contained within its covers.

Now, that isn't to say that the rest of the stories pale in comparison. Each tale brings something new to the table. Take Embargo, for example. It's the story of a man who just wants to get to work on a day when his town's gas stations are running out of gas. Filling up his car at the very first station, he happily heads out on his way but his car has other ideas. Reflux details a town that decides to dig up all of its dead and buried, moving them into one centralized cemetery, creating what essentially becomes a giant city of dead surrounded by four small cities of the living.  Things tells the tale of a town that is plagued by objects, utensils, machines, and installations (OUMI's for short) that suddenly stop working and then begin disappearing altogether. And The Centaur is a twisted fairy tale that introduces us to the ageless creature whose two halves are in constant turmoil with each other.

This collection is an excellent way to introduce yourself to Samarago. His unique writing style - run on sentences, paragraphs that go on and on for pages without a break, and lack of identifying marks when characters are speaking - can take some time getting used to. These stories will give the hesitant newbie an opportunity to dip their toes in the water and prepare you for taking the greater plunge into one of his full length novels.

Sadly, Jose Saramago passed away in 2010, so I am left at the mercy of our american publishers, anxiously awaiting their decisions to pick up his older literature and have them translated for my eager consumption. Just to put my worries to bed, I snagged this bibliography off of Wikipedia and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw how many novels were still out there, waiting patiently to be published.... I have issues. I know. I simply can't imagine a world without new Saramago stories to read, and thankfully, it will be quite a few more years before I have to start. (I've already read the ones in bold)

Title	Year	English title	Year	ISBN
Terra do Pecado	1947	Land of Sin		ISBN 972-21-1145-0
Os Poemas Possíveis	1966	Possible Poems
Provavelmente Alegria	1970	Probably Joy
Deste Mundo e do Outro	1971	This World and the Other
A Bagagem do Viajante	1973	The Traveller's Baggage
As Opiniões que o DL teve	1974	Opinions that DL had
O Ano de 1993	1975	The Year of 1993
Os Apontamentos	1976	The Notes
Manual de Pintura e Caligrafia	1977	Manual of Painting and Calligraphy	1993	ISBN 1-85754-043-3
Objecto Quase	1978	Quasi Object (The Lives of Things)	2012	ISBN 1-84467-878-4
Levantado do Chão	1980	Raised from the Ground	2011
Viagem a Portugal	1981	Journey to Portugal	2000	ISBN 0-15-100587-7
Memorial do Convento	1982	Baltasar and Blimunda	1987	ISBN 0-15-110555-3
O Ano da Morte de Ricardo Reis	1986	The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis	1991	ISBN 0-15-199735-7
A Jangada de Pedra	1986	The Stone Raft	1994	ISBN 0-15-185198-0
História do Cerco de Lisboa	1989	The History of the Siege of Lisbon	1996	ISBN 0-15-100238-X
O Evangelho Segundo Jesus Cristo	1991	The Gospel According to Jesus Christ	1993	ISBN 0-15-136700-0
Ensaio sobre a Cegueira	1995	Blindness	1997	ISBN 0-15-100251-7
Todos os Nomes	1997	All the Names	1999	ISBN 0-15-100421-8
O Conto da Ilha Desconhecida	1997	The Tale of the Unknown Island	1999	ISBN 0-15-100595-8
A Caverna	2000	The Cave	2002	ISBN 0-15-100414-5
A Maior Flor do Mundo	2001	Children's Picture Book
O Homem Duplicado	2003	The Double	2004	ISBN 0-15-101040-4
Ensaio sobre a Lucidez	2004	Seeing	2006	ISBN 0-15-101238-5
Don Giovanni ou o Dissoluto Absolvido	2005	Don Giovanni, or, Dissolute Acquitted
As Intermitências da Morte	2005	Death with Interruptions	2008	ISBN 1-84655-020-3
As Pequenas Memórias	2006	Small Memories	2010	ISBN 978-0-15-101508-5
A Viagem do Elefante	2008	The Elephant's Journey	2010	ISBN 978-972-21-2017-3
Caim	2009	Cain	2011	ISBN 978-6071103161

* Lifted from Wikipedia

Tell Me a Story : Thor Garcia

Welcome to another addition of TNBBC's Tell Me A Story. 

Tell Me a Story is a monthly series that features previously unpublished short stories from debut and Indie authors. The request was simple: Stories can be any format, any genre, and any length. And many amazing writers signed up for the challenge. 

This month's story comes from Thor Garcia, author of the upcoming novel The News Clown, which is being released this spring by Equus Press. Born in Long Beach, California, Thor has worked as a journalist in Los Angeles, San Francisco, New YorkCity and Prague, Czech Republic, where he continues to live. His story collection TUNDwas published in 2011 by Litteraria Pragensia. Garcia’s stories have been published online in Dogmatika and The Drill Press, and in VLAK and GRASP, among others. 


The News Clown was a finalist in the 2009 Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award. Today, Thor shares an excerpt from it:

The News Clown

Victory!

It was warm and sunny the day Joyce and Jerry showed up to move Jerry out. They drove up in a white rental van.

Joyce, according to Jerry, had a “degree in brain surgery” and was enrolled in a work-experience program at Bay City Medical University. What they did there, apparently, was experimental surgeries on rats. According to Jerry, Joyce’s job was to knock out the mouse, lock him into a contraption, then use a laser and scalpel to remove the top of his skull. Later, other experts would come in to work on the brain.

Jerry had met Joyce at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Shortly thereafter, Jerry had also joined Alcoholics Anonymous.

“You should go too,” he had said to me.

“Forget it, not a chance. . . .”

“O.K., but you’re only fooling yourself. . . . I feel for you, bro. I know how it is to be lost in your pain. You just need to know there’s a way out. People are there for you.”

“Thanks for caring so much.”

“I am sincerely trying to help you.”

Joyce was a big girl, nearly six feet tall, four or five inches taller than Jerry. She wore a purple sweater, her bulky thighs covered with loose blue jeans. She was light-haired and full-faced, with a look to her eyes that seemed to combine wholesomeness and insanity.

After his first date with her, Jerry told me she had been a practicing lesbian for several years. But the lesbianism was several years in the past now.

After the second date, he told me that she believed I was a big part of his problems.

“You’re not the cause, but more of a symptom that reinforces all the reasons why I’m unhappy. . . .”

“You think so?”

Jerry shrugged. “There might be something to it. . . . I don’t want to dog you, bro, we’ve been through too much. . . . Her thing was, she said I can’t ever be my real self around you, around people like you. . . . To be honest, I see what she means. I don’t want to be harsh on you, man, it’s not you – you know? I’m in charge of who my friends are. Do you see what I mean?”

“No. Yeah. No. Yeah. Absolutely not. Sounds like crap, bro. C’mon, wake up! What is all this?”

“Listen to me, bro – I smoked heroin with Candace. I smoked heroin with the girl that killed my baby. Think about that.”

“Shit. . . . I don’t want to think about it. That sucks, man.”

“Think about that. . . . I murdered my baby, man. Or at least I let Candace murder it. It’s nearly the same thing, bro. It’s something I’ll always have to live with. I can be forgiven, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. . . . You know what I mean? There’s no excuse for people who kill babies as a birth-control method for their personal convenience. There was a baby moving around in there, man! My baby. And she sucked its brain out and they threw it in the trash.”

“I’m sorry, man. . . .”

“Who knows what it would have become? Even if it had lived a shitty life, it still would have been worth it. Just to be like me and you, talking, that’s worth everything, isn’t it? Could have been a guy like me and you. Why would she want to take that away?”

“It hurts, Jerry, I know it hurts. . . . I don’t have an answer. . . .”

“I mean, doesn’t it feel great to be alive? Even if it feels bad sometimes, doesn’t it feel great?”

“Yeah, it feels all right, Jerry.”

Jerry had cut his hair short and grown out his goatee. He had kept the earrings, but got rid of the contact lenses. He wore glasses everywhere now.

The latest thing was Joyce had converted him to Christianity. They went several times per week to a church where the priests and other high honchos were nearly all homosexuals and lesbians. They held barbecues and ping-pong nights. Church of the New Christ Savior Risen, it was called.

“You did what?” I remember saying.

“See, that’s part of the problem,” said Jerry. “No one ever listens to what Jesus really says. Jesus offers the way out, bro. . . . He says we don’t need all this craziness, this garbage. We don’t need to destroy ourselves. He says ‘Let it be, because I am the truth and the light.’ He doesn’t lay all these trips on you – that’s not Jesus. That’s other churches and people that abuse him. Jesus just shows . . . how easy it is to be a good person, to cast your troubles away and try to help others, to forgive and go on. . . . That’s why, like – I forgive you, Thor. . . . I apologize to you, and I forgive you.”

“Well, shit. . . . I forgive you, too, pal.”

“You don’t really mean it. You’re just saying it. Or do you?”

“Sure, I mean it. I don’t hold anything against you. . . . You’re my best pal.”

He came forward and we had a hug.

“This world’s coming to an end,” said Jerry. “I want you to be ready, bro. Nobody knows how or when, but we know it’s coming. This whole place is gonna go up in flames, man. It’ll be a question of who’s ready and who’s not. I hope you’ll be ready.”

“I’m ready, Jerry. I’m waiting for it like everybody else. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

It took about 45 minutes for the three of us to load Jerry’s things into the van. Joyce seemed very bothered by the worms in the apartment, she recommended that I move out and that the city health authorities be called in. She offered to call them herself. She claimed to be worried about my health.

“It’s all right, Joyce,” I said. “They’re not really bothering anybody. . . .”

When we were done, I offered to take them out for a drink and a hot dog. They agreed, but added they only had “about an hour.”

I climbed into a crawl space in the back of the van, and Joyce drove us the mile or so to The Hacienda. I ordered a pitcher of beer and three shots of tequila, despite their protestations. They insisted that they would not and could not drink, under any circumstances – and they did not. Joyce had a green tea. Jerry had an O’Doul’s non-alcoholic, then settled for a tea himself.

I drank their shots and the beer pitcher. I went out for a smoke, came back and ordered another pitcher and two more tequila shots.

“We said we don’t drink. . . .”

“Don’t worry . . . they’re for me.”

We sat there.

Jerry went off to the toilet and Joyce asked, “So what are you going to do, Thor?”

“Not much.” I took a slurp, raised my glass. “You’re looking at it. Continue until victory.”

“What do you call ‘Victory’?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

I slugged a tequila, gulped beer.

“Maybe there is no victory, Joyce. . . .” I took more drinks. “Maybe this is the victory right here. Bottoms up, baby. . . .”

She looked at me, shook her head. She sipped tea, smiled sadly.

“Living healthily is the only victory,” she said.

“Joyce,” I said, “do you know what they used to call syphilis?”

“Oh, come on. . . . What’s that supposed to mean? You’re projecting. . . .”

“They called it the Frenchman’s disease. Except in France, where they called it the Italian disease. . . .”

“Boy, you’ve really got a problem. . . .”

“Hey, Joyce – when did the fly fly?”

“What?”

“When the spider spied her. . . .”

“You’re crazy. . . .”

“Hey, Joyce, listen . . . what weighs more – 100 pounds of iron, or 100 pounds of feathers?”

She looked off.

“Joyce, I’m waiting. . . .”

Jerry came back.

“C’mon, I don’t want you guys to fight. You’re important people to me. . . . Can’t I even leave you alone for a second?”

“We’re not fighting. . . .”

Joyce stood up. She had started crying.

“We’re gonna go, Thor,” Jerry said.

“O.K., man. Let’s get together real soon. . . .”

“Yeah. . . . You should go to a meeting, Thor.”

“Sure, man. . . .”

I licked the bottom of the tequila glass. I sat there and downed the last of the beer from the pitcher.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want to thank Thor for participating in TNBBC's Tell Me a Story. If you like what you've read, please support Thor by checking out his book.  Help spread the word by sharing this post through your blog, tumblr page, twitter and facebook accounts. Every link counts! And be sure to check back with us next month for the next installment....

If you are interested in submitting your short story for consideration for this series, please contact me mescorn@ptd.net.

Review: Three Ways of the Saw

Read 3/13/12 - 3/24/12
3 Stars - Recommended to fans of short stories
216 pages
Publisher: Atticus Books

Quite a few years ago, you would have found me turning my head at short story collections.  There was something about the start/stop/start rhythm of the story lines that irked me... but when pressed for a reason why, it's always been hard for me to put a finger on it... a lack of connection maybe, some missing ingredient that seemed to keep me at arms length. No sooner would I get used to the new characters and gain some insight into their current situation than I was ripped out of that story and thrust into another...

Over the past couple of years, however, with my focus shifting more and more towards independent literature, I find myself  accepting more and more short story collections for review. I don't intentionally seek them out but they do appear to have become more common in the independent world. Remember all of those authors and publishers who complained that short story collections don't sell? I'd like to sit them down and hear their defense on that one now...

So why do I bring this up? Well, because I have just finished reading Matt Mullin's debut Three Ways of the Saw, which released on Leap Day. It contains an interesting mix of flash fiction and short stories.. some of which are connected by characters and others that are connected by theme. One of the things that finally sucked me into the realm of short story reviewing, back when I still skeptical, was the interconnectedness or intertwining of characters and story lines within a collection. Why should that make a difference? Well, simply because it felt more like a novel. The characters, though fluid and glimpsed at different periods in their lives, remained constant... or the location and settings would remain constant... so the time I was investing into these stories no longer seemed wasted. There was a commonality that I could hold onto.

Black Sheep Missives, the first section of Three Ways of the Saw, revolves around the antics and guilt-ridden  self consciousness of an Irish Catholic son. Each story delved a little bit deeper into his psyche. Over the course of its 9 stories and 59 pages, you come to understand Dan and the inner-workings of his family life much in the same way you would watch a character unfold across the 2-- pages of a novel.

Discords and Ghost Limbs, the second and third sections, on the other hand, are more or less a mishmash of strange stories. Unfortunately, these stories more or less blended together for me. As I flipped through the book, preparing to write this review, I had a hard time distinguishing one story from another. Only a few jumped out at me while reading through the collection, rising above the pack: The Dog In Me - in which a man's German Shepard starts taking on human qualities while he begins to take on those of the dog - and The Braid - about the dangers of riding an ATV while wearing your hair in a glorious braid. And the title story, Three Ways of the Saw, which can be read in its entirety here. It's the story of a dying tree told in three perspectives - the tree's owner, the owner of the tree service company, and his teenage assistant. The only thing that could have made this story any better would have been a fourth perspective - that of the dying tree.... and yes, I realize that would have screwed up the whole symbolism thing....  Three Ways of the Saw, three sections of the collection... but it would have totally been worth it.

I think the back cover of the arc says it best ... "...this jagged chain of vignettes is for readers who try to hold their thoughts together with duct tape while never quite grasping the things they just can't seem to name". 

Indie Book Buzz: Coffee House Press

It's a great day for some Indie Book Buzz here at TNBBC. Over the next few weeks, we will be inviting members of the indie publishing houses to share which of their upcoming 2012 releases they are most excited about!

This week's pick comes from Anitra Budd, 

Managing Editor of Coffee House Press

The Last Warner Woman by Kei Miller

(Available now)

What it’s about

Adamine Bustamante spends the first part of her life in a Jamaican leper colony. Raised by the lepers and their caretaker after her mother died in childbirth, Adamine possesses the gift of “warning,” or prophesy. After a short and fairly idyllic time spent living with a revivalist church group, Adamine is married off to a church member who’s living in England. Upon arriving, she discovers that not only is her new husband not everything she’d imagined, but that her visions are taken for mental illness in the “civilized” streets of England. What follows is a remarkably beautiful story in which Adamine, now an older woman recounting her life, must fight for the truth with the mysterious “Mr. Writer Man.” But what Adamine doesn’t know is that Mr. Writer Man has a tale of his own to share, one that will cast her life in an entirely new light. 

Why you should read it

The Last Warner Woman is the sort of book lots of people can enjoy on different levels, and Kei has a way of painting Jamaica through sights, sounds, and dialogue that’s nothing short of transporting. But I think bookish types in particular will fall in love with this title because in large part it’s about the power inherent in storytelling and language. In this book, the difference between calling someone a prophet or a lunatic has enormous and lasting implications; entire lives are shaped by particular names, words, and stories. It brilliantly captures just how high stakes the stories we humans tell each other and the words we use can be, which is a concept book lovers understand intuitively—the old rhyme about words not being able to hurt you isn’t entirely true, and to me, there’s something terrifically exciting about that.

Bio

Anitra Budd is the managing editor at Coffee House Press, where she has worked with Kirsten Kaschock, T. Geronimo Johnson, Laird Hunt, R. Zamora Linmark, and Karen Yamashita, among others. In addition to acquiring and editing fiction, Anitra specializes in herding cats (also known as managing the editorial schedule). In the remaining days before her impending due date (April 3!), Anitra’s hoping to finally finish the last few chapters of Haruki Murakami’s riveting Underground, but she’s not holding out much hope. You can find her on Twitter at @anitrasb and occasionally chiming in on Coffee House’s Facebook page. 

So what do you think guys? See anything that catches your eye? Which of these things are you most excited to see release? Help TNBBC and Coffee House Press spread the buzz about these books by sharing this post with others!

Audiobook Giveaway: All My Friends Are Superheroes

There's nothing I love more than being able to share awesome indie books with you guys.

And thanks to Iambik Audio, I can do just that!

They've given me the green light to give away 2 audio file downloads of 

All My Friends Are Superheroes

For those of you who are reluctant audiobook listeners, as I once was, this book is a great intro into the world of narrated fiction and an excellent sampling of what Iambik has to offer. Not to mention that it's hands-down one of the best books I've read (erm.. heard) so far this year, pulling in a rare Next Best Book rating from me!

Here's the Goodreads.com description:

All Tom's friends really are superheroes.There's the Ear, the Spooner, the Impossible Man. Tom even married a superhero, the Perfectionist. But at their wedding, the Perfectionist was hypnotized (by ex-boyfriend Hypno, of course) to believe that Tom is invisible. Nothing he does can make her see him. Six months later, she's sure that Tom has abandoned her.So she's moving to Vancouver. She'll use her superpower to make Vancouver perfect and leave all the heartbreak in Toronto. With no idea Tom's beside her, she boards an airplane in Toronto. Tom has until the wheels touch the ground in Vancouver to convince her he's visible, or he loses her forever.

This giveaway is open internationally

It will run through April 3rd.

Winners will be chosen randomly and 

notified here and through email/Twitter on April 4th.

To enter:

1. Simply comment here telling me why you would like to win a copy.

2. Be sure to include your email address or twitter handle to be considered for the giveaway.

While you're waiting .. why not check out Iambik's catalog and download a few audio's to keep you busy?

Good luck!!

Indie Spotlight: Ryan George Kittleman

Everyone wants to be a writer. But what happens to your authorly confidence when you've worked as a bookseller and watched passively as all of those advance readers from hopeful novelists never make it onto the store's bookshelves?

Debut indie author Ryan George Kittleman dishes on just that. Will his novel The Great Peace rise above the hundreds of others and find its place in the showroom window?

CALL ME CRAZY

            

 Call me crazy, but bookselling is a good gig, right? Okay, sure, the pay stinks, but who among us feels otherwise? When I arrived in California with only a fat suitcase and slim savings account, pecuniary gain of any kind was a top priority; after all, the Golden State is not for the faint of wallet. Since I considered myself something of a bookstore-whore, and possessed nearly three-quarters of an economics degree, experience installing security tags at the University of Maine library (I lasted three days), hopelessly pale skin, and acute nearsightedness, it seemed inevitable that I would call upon my local bookstore to save me from penury. Despite my lack of bona fides, I conjured that great spirit so prevalent in the Bay Area, telling myself: it's not who you are, but who you want to be, and I wanna sell books, dagnabbit.

Somehow I landed the job, despite a rambling interview that came off like a macaronic mishmash of Dylan lyrics, misquoted Shakespeare, and insecure self-promotion. My boss was a mellow Texan with shoulder-length gray hair, worn proudly, as if in defiance of time and taste. As someone who still believes in the romantic idea of author-as-rockstar, I relished my boss's tales of partying with Hunter Thompson in Mexico City, '70s style, and swapping dirty jokes with Leonard Cohen. It seemed like a bygone era, memorialized in the books that surrounded me, but reduced to little more than a naive fantasy. What has become of the rockstar author? I wondered. Where have they gone?

The answer, I presumed, lie in the machinations of publishing. Each day, boxes of advance readers were delivered to the store from expectant publishers- big, small, and miniscule. As I padded my library, thank you very much, I began to notice how few, if any, of these freebies ever made it onto our shelves. Not unlike a record collector sifting through crates at a flea market, I found a peaceful commingling of gems, also-rans, and throwaways. Among the sheer volume of it all, there it was: a profile of the industry. A few make it, most don't.

As a guy who has played his fair share of crappy gigs, I found the comparison to music striking. I saw the author-as-bar band, the author-as-hotel crooner, grinding it out, honing their craft, hoping for a big break. A Morrissey lyric came to mind: “when it fails to recoup, well, maybe you just haven't earned it yet, baby.” All the while, the freebies kept rolling in. 

I eventually left the store to continue my education, in the hope of someday becoming a responsible adult, or at least an adult with responsibilities. In some ways I succeeded, I suppose, but it wasn't until my first novel was slated for release that these anachronistic feelings resurfaced. Geez Ryan, I asked myself, why on earth did you write a book, much less send it off into this choppy stream of commerce, knowing full well it's likely to be submerged, unnoticed and unremembered, among countless others, by better-known writers from bigger publishers, who are all vying for what little attention and shelf space an indie can afford? Hmmm, well...

I suppose it comes down to an article of faith. Despite the odds and evidence to the contrary, I still believe in the author-as-rockstar trope, even if it only means playing your heart out to five people in Schenectady or El Paso, or whatever the literary equivalent to that is. I also still abide by the notion that it's not who you are, but who you want to be, and although many years have passed, the calling remains the same: I wanna sell books, dagnabbit. Call me crazy, but it's a pretty good gig, regardless of what side of it you're on. 

About Ryan:

San Francisco-based arts attorney Ryan George Kittleman is the founder of Colony Pictura, a law firm representing filmmakers, artists, musicians, designers, authors and other creative minds.

Since the age of 14, Ryan has been a musician and songwriter, first cutting his teeth in a number of bands in the New York punk scene. He mellowed into a solo artist playing folk-tinged psych-pop and began recording alternately under the names The Three Potato 4 and Spent Waves. The SF Critic raved his 2009 “Album Savant” was “a successfully airy and listenable record.”

The New Yorker left his hometown of Albany for college in Maine, and eventually landed in the San Francisco Bay Area as an indie bookseller at Books Inc. in Mountain View. The Great Peace is Ryan’s newest way of delving further into the arts. His novel releases May 1, 2012, from ExplodingBooks, an imprint of Timbre & Yarn. You can follow him on Twitter (@RyanKittleman) and Facebook (RyanGeorgeKittleman). 

Code For Failure: The End of the Tour But the Book is Only Beginning

A very happy release day to Ryan W Bradley and his debut novel Code for Failure!! As our blog tour for the book grinds to a halt today, let's look back at all of the wonderful people who helped us spread the word and jumped at the chance to show the book some love:

Day 1: The Next Best Book Blog (that's me!) kicking things off with Ryan dishing on what it means to be indie.

Day 2: Allison Writes (Allison Renner) teased us with some Truth and Dare - interview style.

Day 3: This Blog Will Change Your Life (Ben Tanzer) whipped up a podcast of Ryan reading from the book in a bathroom stall.

Day 4: Dead End Follies (Benoit Lelievre) hosted The Man Made Failure, guest posted by Ryan. 

Day 5: Booked In Chico (Erica Spangler) gave us an awesome Photo Tour, highlighting key places from the book, courtesy of Ryan.

Day 6: The World's First Author Blog (Caleb J Ross) shared his love of gas stations in appreciation of the novel.

Day 7: Monkey Bicycle (BL Pawelek) ran an interview he did with Ryan.

Day 8:  The Scarlet Letter (Laura Cline) posted her review of Code for Failure and a mini-interview with Ryan.

And of course, Ryan pulls it all together on his blog with some history behind the birth of the book and his appreciation of all those who have helped to support it over it's much anticipated delivery into the world!

Heart-felt thanks to Allison, Ben, Benoit, Erica, Caleb, BL, and Laura for doing such a kickass job during the tour. Without them, and without Ryan's willingness to work hard behind the scenes these past few weeks, none of this would have been possible. 

I hope we have done the book proud, and sent some of you scurrying over to the Code for Failure blog to purchase a copy. Still a bit hesitant? Seriously?! Ok, do me a favor, read this sample chapter (or have Ryan read it to you)... go ahead.. I'll wait....

Connect with the book on Facebook and Goodreads. And come back to tell us what you thought of it... We're still waiting...

(If you purchased this book because of our blog tour, we'd love for you to mark TNBBC as the "person who recommended"  the book to you!) 

Audioreview: All My Friends Are Superheroes

Listened 3/16/12 - 3/18/12
5 Stars - Highly Recommended / The Next Best Book
Audio download (approx 2 hrs)
Publisher: Iambik Audio / Coach House Books
Narrator: Gordon Mackenzie

What would the world look like to a guy with very low self-esteem, who views himself as just your regular-everyday-kind-of-Joe with no redeemable qualities or personality quirks to make him stand out in the crowd? Perhaps it would look something like "All My Friends are Superheroes"!

Tom is normal. There is nothing special about Tom. The only special thing about Tom is his wife, The Perfectionist. And the fact that she cannot see him. Because to her, Tom is invisible. Tom is not actually invisible, though. All of his friends can see him. All of his friends are superheroes, like his wife. They have tried to tell The Perfectionist that Tom is not invisible. But she remains convinced that Tom has left her, she hasn't seen him since the night of their wedding. And today she is flying to Vancouver to put the past 6 months of waiting for Tom to return behind her. If Tom cannot find a way to get her to see him before the plane lands, he will lose her forever.

As you read through the book, you quickly begin to realize that Tom's friends are not actually superheroes, not in the true sense of the word. They aren't running around like Batman or Superman or Wonder Woman trying to save the world from evil villians. But they do have interesting personality traits and odd habits that separate them from everyone else. Take his very own wife, The Perfectionist, for example. Her "superpower" is her need to organize. She will attempt to organize everything. Your hair, the garbage, even the falling snow. Then there is "The Couch Surfer", who has the uncanny ability to lounge around on his friends couches, roaming from couch to couch in a wonderful jobless stupor; "The Impossible Man" was named for his realization that trying things like building underwater fires and walking on water are simply impossible; and "Wild Mood Swinger" who tends to exhibit extremely high highs and terribly low lows, typically all within one conversation.

Tell me this isn't the coolest friggen thing you've ever heard of?! Imagine if everyone you knew were named for their most obvious trait. If you were to name yourself after your most outstanding quality/quirk, what would your superhero name be? In my case, I suppose I could don the name "Indie Girl" - forever reading and reviewing independent novels, never seen without a copy of a worn and torn indie book in her hand, always breathing quotes and concepts found within their pages...

This little book is full of awesome. The short, brisk sentences are practically painful, they're so perfect. The characters are emotionally intense. It's  maudlin and mopey and yet, at the same time, brimming with this incredible sense of hope.

I won the book in a giveaway contest held by Lit Drift many, many months ago and kept meaning to pick it up and read it. And for whatever reason, it just never made it off the pile of unread books into my hand. Then, a few weeks ago, I saw that Iambik had published it as an audiobook and snagged a copy for my commute.

The book clocks in at mere 106 pages. The audio ran just over 2 hours. Never in my life have I ever wished for an audiobook to be longer... yet there I was, nearly howling when narrator Gordon Mackenzie announced that we were at the end of the recording. Of all the Iambik books I've listened to, All My Friends are Superheroes is by far their best. I have yet to find a more perfect match between narrator and novel in their catalog. I adored Gordon's Canadian accent and felt his pacing was spot on. He became Tom.

I'm putting my Next Best Book stamp of approval on this one. Sure, I'm coming to it a little bit late - ok, almost 10 years late - but better late than never! Don't put this one off any longer... get out there and get listening to this. You'll be by to thank me later.

This Blogger Will Be Kickin' It Oldskool

What was once old will be new again. This blogger is getting on the bus back to the 80's. (Yeah, I knew the 80's quite intimately... what of it, kids?! Don't hate...Appreciate!) Screw your fancy-pants digital e-books and MP3 downloads,  this blogger will be kickin' it oldskool style with her brand-spankin' new walkman, purchased specifically for the sexy-ass hot pink book-on-cassette "I Never Liked My Dad" by Sam Pink. You can't be any more hip than this.

This bad boy's got a direction button AND loop switch, AV in/out to allow me to play it on my car stereo, and ok... sure... it also comes with a USB port for all you kiddies out there who just gotta have them MP3's.. it'll convert each track for you, so you can download the darn thing straight to your iPod... quit yer whining already!

You're jealous. Admit it. It's cool, isn't it? You're upset you didn't think of this first, aren't you? Well, it's not too late to join in the fun and skip back down memory lane with me. Raise those Jelly Bracelet arms in the air and stomp those scrunchie-socked feet on the floor... you know you wanna.

Hey Patrick Wensink... I'm looking at you and your "Broken Piano For President" next!

Review: Under the Poppy

Read 2/14/12 - 3/7/12
4 Stars - Strongly Recommended to readers who don't get their panties in a bunch over a few bawdy puppets
Pgs: 360
Publisher: Small Beer Press

Holy brothels and puppets, Batman! Under the Poppy is quite unlike any other literary fiction I have ever read and while that's a really good thing for me, if you are terrified of puppets... then that could be a very, very bad thing for you. Now, don't get me wrong. These aren't scary come-to-life-and-get-all-Puppet Master-on-your-ass puppets. But they're, ya' know... puppets!

Let me break this down for you. Set in the late 1800's, in the midst of a war that is just beginning to boil, there sits a wonderfully campy brothel. This brothel, cleverly called Under the Poppy, is owned and operated by childhood companions Decca and Rupert. Decca runs the Poppy in much the same way Miss Hannigan ran the orphanage in Annie - she can't stand her girls, but loves her job. She keeps the brothel running in tip-top shape, pulling the customers in and working the girls morning, noon, and night. She takes shit from no one and dishes out more than her fair share of it. Rupert, on the other hand, is looked upon as a sort of Daddy Warbucks (if you'll allow me to continue the Annie references since I think it fits this book in a strangely appropriate way). He's the brains behind the business, always slipping out for a meeting here or there, dressed to the nines, a true schmoozer. He softens Decca's blows behind her back, allowing the girls of the brothel some down-time now and again.

Decca, for all her tough exterior, has pie-eyes for Rupert, but Rupert much prefers the company of her brother Istvan, who suddenly reappears at the Poppy after years of silence. With him, he carries a troupe of puppets who bring a much needed change to the brothel. Mixing his rather bawdy puppets into the evening performances with the girls, the crowds go wild, and catch the attention of some rather rough and rowdy military men. In the midst of the strange love-triangle that begins to brew inside, situations outside the Poppy are straining as well, with the impending war putting the pressure on them from all sides. Favors are called in, decisions must be made, puppets and people alike struggle to keep their heads on straight, and as the tempers flair and people begin to die, Decca and Rupert find themselves at odds when it comes to what is best for themselves and the Poppy.

Under the Poppy has this incredible old world feel to it - lush, rich writing that wraps you up inside of it and makes you woozy with its words. And author Kathe Koja doesn't skimp on anything. The book is bursting with sex and violence, love and lust, blackmail and revenge, naughty puppets and naive prostitutes. Everyone's got deep dark secrets they wish to protect and skeletons bound and gagged in the back of their closets. And as they each work furiously to keep these things hidden from sight, everyone unwittingly becomes someone else's puppet....

Small Beer Press is a new publisher for me. I discovered them, and this novel, through a link that Consortium Books shared during one of their #indieview twitter chats. The link listed countless book trailers to independently published novels. That's where I saw this, and decided I needed to get a copy post haste:

Funnily enough, this book contains two things I am not a huge fan of: war as a setting, circumstance of, or character within fiction, and puppets. The war thing is just a personal preference. It's a bit like football playoffs for me - I can't keep the teams and their players straight, I don't remember who fought who when, and I can never remember the score. Puppets, on the other hand, are things that instill an irrational fear in me. They are extremely creepy looking - and too life like for me - and I always wonder "what if they become self aware?". I have good old fashioned American horror flicks and tv shows to thank for all of that!

However, in Under the Poppy, they both work and work well together. Just be prepared for the puppets to exhibit some... uhm...  un-puppet like behavior. By the way, did you know that Under the Poppy has been adapted to the stage? Check out some of the stuff that has been taking place out in Detroit.

Let me close with this - Under the Poppy is a book that begs for a great soundtrack as you read. I found that my darker alternative tastes fit the bill extremely well. Almost too perfectly, in fact. The music of She Wants Revenge, Peter Murphy, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Portishead and The Cult blended right into the pages of the book like so much spilled wine. There something a little sexy, a little S&M, a little sad in each one of these...

Ryan W. Bradley Fails the Internet: The Code for Failure Blog Tour

Hold on to your internet, folks! 

Welcome to the first stop on the Code for Failure Blog Tour.

I cannot tell you how incredibly exciting it is to be hosting a blog tour for Ryan W Bradley and his very-soon-to-be-released novel Code for Failure this week! You're probably thinking to yourself, man... this Ryan guy and his Code for Failure sure sounds awfully familiar to us. And you would be right. Because for the past couple of months, I haven't been able to stop talking about him. And it's all for good reason, too.

If you're not already up to speed on Ryan, here's the quick and dirty: He's an author, poet, publisher, editor, and designer. I'm convinced he has super-human powers to be able to do all of this in what little free time his Monday - Friday job allows him. Either that, or he's discovered how to clone himself. In which case, Ryan, you better share the clone code asap cause I'm in dire need of a few more of me...

Code for Failure is Ryan's debut novel about a college drop out who takes a job pumping gas at a local gas station. On the surface, it's a fun, insanely honest read that will leave you feeling slightly dirty. If you're anything like me, you'll be dying to know just how much of this stuff was pulled from Ryan's own experiences during his gas station days. But then again, you'll realize that it's probably better if you don't know...

I am so happy you decided to pop in and check out the tour! And I am extremely grateful to Allison of Allison Writes, author Ben Tanzer, Benoit of Dead End Follies, Erica of Booked In Chico, author Caleb J. Ross, Barry of MonkeyBicycle, and Laura of Hawthorne Scarlett for offering up their blogs as additional stops. I am also immensely grateful to Ryan for his enthusiasm and willingness to work hard behind the scenes to help us prepare for what you are about to see.

We have a great tour planned for you. So kick back, relax, and let us woo you and wow you with all things Ryan W Bradley as we celebrate his newest release and pray that we don't fail the internet for him! 

To kick-start this party, Ryan will be sharing his thoughts on what being indie means to him and how community plays a part ....

Being “indie” or a part of the small press community is about just that, community. I’ve worked a lot of shitty jobs in my life, and the older I get the more I realize I’ll probably be working fairly unexciting blue collar jobs for the rest of it. The trick then to not being completely miserable is learning what aspects of a work environment are important to retaining your sanity. For me, one of the biggest factors is the people I work with. I’m lucky now, working at a university bookstore, that I like the majority of my coworkers. And that there are even a few who I get along with really well. These people make it feel less like work and any time you can achieve that you’re on to something. This is why community becomes such a buzz word, why people want to have communities in the first place, because when likeminded people band together great things can happen.

In the case of the small press/indie lit world those great things are strings of words. Sometimes printed inside books we can hold. And words and books are things I have loved for a long time. I also happen to love designing books, inside and out. And working with writers whose work inspires me. Or even simply having the chance to talk with writers who inspire me.

Writing can be a lonely and depressing venture. Our hopes are constantly dashed on sharp rocks and then we are forced to crawl across beaches littered with broken glass. While a community can’t sit at the computer and write my work for me, having friends who are writers, editors, publishers, and always readers it makes the rest of it bearable. We might not stop writing without the community, just as we might not quit a job because of coworkers we don’t want to hang out with, but having coworkers we enjoy makes going to work in the morning easier.

As a writer who likes to think he might be some small part of the indie lit community, I’ve always looked to Beck as a model for what I’d like to see become of my “career.” When Beck was courted by major recording labels in the early 90’s he chose Geffen, who offered him the least amount of money. He chose them because their offer allowed for the most creative freedom, including the ability to release less commercial albums through independent labels while under contract. While I hope to one day be publishing books with a big publisher I know the small press world will always be part of my writing life. But more important is the hope to retain the sense of community that is constantly being built.

You can follow Ryan  - Twitter, Artistically Declined Press, Aesthetically Declined Design, his blog.

** Be sure to check in with Allison tomorrow. She hosts Ryan in an interview version of Truth and Dare... This could get interesting!!**

Audioreview: How They Were Found

Listened 3/8/12 - 3/15/12
4 Stars - Strongly Recommended to fans of wicked sharp short fiction
Audio Download (approx 6 hrs)
Publisher: Iambik / Keyhole Press
Narrator: Mark F Smith

Matt Bell's How They Were Found was one of those books that sat on my to-buy list near forever but never really jumped out at me from the shelves as I was roaming the aisles of bookstores looking for something to buy.

Yet when I recently saw that Iambik had recorded it, I knew this was my chance to finally give it a whirl and procrastinate no more. Thank god for Iambik, man. If they hadn't published this, how much longer might I have gone without reading it? I shudder to think....

The stories contained within this collection deserve more than the typical reviewer-type, cliche buzz terms that run the risk of cheapening them -  like "powerful" and "deeply affecting" and "compelling" - but strike me dumb if his stories aren't exactly those things. Stripped down to only the most essential words, Bell cuts to the heart of each story and paints moody, dark, twisted reflections of would-be realities.

The narrator, Mark F Smith, did a fantastic job with this collection. As the first track got underway, I couldn't help but compare his voice to that of a much more soft spoken version of Alan Heathcock (author of Volt, of whom I had the pleasure of hearing perform a reading, and who has this incredible southern preacher voice thing going for him), mixed with a little of our local radio DJ Jumpin' Jeff Walker (minus the distracting lisp thing). While this might not seem like a compliment, it actually is. His pacing and tone matched Bell's stories to near perfection. His voice became a vehicle for each story...

As with any collection, some of Bell's pieces grabbed me more strongly than others. The Cartographer's Girl, a story about a sleepwalker who disappears and the man who loves her who painfully maps out every moment and every place and every memory he can recall in order to try to find her, was one of them. Dredge, which revolves around an emotionally unstable man who starts his own investigation into the murder of the drowned girl he pulled from the lake and stored inside a freezer box, is another.

How about The Leftover, which tells the story of a woman who discovers that she actually misses and loves the things that she made her ex give up while they were still together (like smoking and leaving clothes all over the house) when those bad habits appear on the couch one day, in the form of a silent mini-version of him?

My absolute favorite story, though, is The Receiving Tower, which details the slow, mental breakdown of the men who have been searching through the static of the government's receiving tower stations for years under the orders of their heartless captain, listening for the decoded messages being sent across the airwaves, cruelly unaware of the fact that the world has ended and there is no rescue for them. It reminded me of something The Twilight Zone might have put out, back in the day...

Of course, there were stories that failed to blow me away - like Wolf Parts, which is a dark and strange take on the whole Red Riding Hood thing, and Her Ennead, which takes us through a soon-to-be-mother's wacky imaginings of what her baby will become - though I am aware that these particular stories are held in high regard by some reviewers.

No matter which of his stories you prefer, Matt consistently teases the reader something terrible by burying threads of hope within the pages of his bleak and otherwise soul crushing tales of loss and love and broken hearts.  If his sparse storytelling doesn't hook you, the unique, awkward, inappropriately sentimental situations his characters find themselves in most certainly will.

I highly recommend listening to Iambik Audio's version of the book. (And, just in case that statement didn't floor you, that's actually saying a lot, coming from a previously reluctant audiobook listener, so you know, you should totally take me up on it!)