HOBART

Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot . . .

It's the end of the year, that time when our lives become infused with celebration and ritual. These are not bad things, but it's interesting that they dominate this time of year.

One explanation, of course, is that we ritualize the most meaningful events in our lives, be they happy or sad. Weddings, funerals, sports championships, the National Book Award. All highly meaningful occasions that are also highly ritualized cultural affairs.

But there's something in particular that happens at new year's, wherever crowds are gathered. It's that moment in a crowd, right at midnight, when the prevailing isolation among strangers gives way, and everyone celebrates as if they were friends. People who don't know each other suddenly hug and high-five. Maybe they even kiss. You share a story with the person next to you.

Why does this happen?

The answer, or what may be the answer, came to me one New Year's in New York City. I was in Central Park when midnight came, with my sister-in-law's sister. There were fireworks, and we had snuck in a bottle of champagne. The trees were strung with lights, the buildings along Central Park West made their own skyline, and a horde of ridiculously over-enthusiastic runners were completing a 10K road race, turning the otherwise magical scene surreal.

So there we were, watching the fireworks, pouring champagne, toasting the new year and the luck we hoped it would bring, and that moment came, and suddenly I'm talking happily to the couple who happened to be nearby, and we're all joyfully wishing each other a happy new year. I looked around, and everywhere strangers were hugging, raising their glasses, looking each other in the eye. And it struck me -- the particular joy that is drawing the strangers in the park together so ecstatically is the knowledge that we've made it through another year alive. We'd collectively cheated death for another year! That's why everyone was so ecstatically happy. Or, rather, that was, perhaps, at the bottom of it.

My theory might also explain why this moment of shared peak celebration doesn't arrive until midnight -- because until then death still might get you (don't want to count your chickens) -- and also why it is so fleeting -- because in a few seconds you're already into the next year, and then death could once again strike at any time, meaning everybody better get their guard back up.

But for that instant, you're immortal. In that moment, death can't touch you. That, I think, is part of what gives new year's celebrations their kick.

Or maybe thankful people celebrating a joyous occasion just become really friendly. That could be it, too.

Well, that was a long way of introducing my participation in a popular year-end ritual: The Listing of the Favorite Books, which is the internet blog version of hugging a stranger when new year's strikes. Maybe strangers hugging at midnight on new year's also share book recommendations. I don't know. In any case, I don't read widely enough to presume to know the best books released this year, so I will just list a few favorites from among those I read this year, along with a line or two about why they stuck with me. If you'd like, list your favorites in the comments, or e-mail them to me at seancarman@speakeasy.net and I will post a separate list of reader faves.

Here are mine:

The Forever War, Dexter Filkins -- A poetic book about the horrors of war, and a beautiful example of writing that lives on the border between fiction and nonfiction.

Zeitoun, Dave Eggers -- A heart-breaking book that, in its way, is also a healing book. Dave Eggers deserves a Nobel prize.

Hurry Down Sunshine, Michael Greenberg -- I discovered Michael Greenberg this year. He is, to my mind, a perfect writer, and this is a masterpiece of a memoir.

Jacques the Fatalist and His Master, Denis Diderot -- Like reading an 18th Century McSweeney's story.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson -- I admit it: I enjoy living vicariously through a paunchy middle-aged business journalist solving Swedish hate crimes.

The Adderall Diaries, Stephen Elliott -- Every sentence in this memoir is a work of art.

Housekeeping, Marilynne Robinson -- This story is as still, deep, and beautiful as the mountain lake at its center.

This Won't Take But a Minute, Honey, Steve Almond -- Part cathartic soliloquy about writing, part flash-fiction collection, and it also happens to be the crest of a future publishing wave.

Here's to a great 2010.

-- Sean Carman

The Future is For Sale at the Harvard Book Store

I think I had blogger's block. For months I was unable to write any posts for the Hobart blog. They just wouldn't come into my brain. My inability to write for the Hobart Blog was complete. For long stretches, I didn't even visit the Hobart blog. I KNOW. Terrible, right? Why am I confessing this, and here of all places? Because if I had blogger's block (and I believe I did), then the book that cured it was Steve Almond's "This Won't Take But a Minute, Honey."

From the moment I removed this book from the manila envelope in which it arrived from the Harvard Book Store (the only place on the planet that sells it, as far as I can tell) I've wanted to write about it. So this will be the first of, I hope, several posts. I'll try to keep them short.

OK, first: When I held this book, I had that rare feeling that I was holding the future. I had the same feeling when I first had espresso in Italy, almost 20 years ago now, and a few years before small espresso cafes starting arriving in America, and then Starbucks squashed them all. I also had this feeling the first time I visited an internet cafe, also many years ago, when the internet was still a new thing. The legacy of my life experiences of seeing the future: Starbucks and the Internet. A corporate behemoth and the cause of my ADD. Not such a great record. Perhaps the espresso book will fare better.

To be fair, this kind of book is probably not the future of publishing. But I think it's the future of a big part of publishing. Because purely as an object, without even getting into the text, this is a very cool book. It is, according to the Harvard Book Store website, printed with the "espresso book printing machine." No idea what that is, and at first I thought, "well, it's going to be a junky book, but at least it will be fun to read," but let me tell you, about that I was completely wrong.

This is a fun book. It's a cool book to hold. It looks great. The design, by Brian Stauffer, is simple, fun, and eye-catching. It's the kind of book you carry around hoping someone will look over your shoulder and ask you about it. It's just really cool and neat.

The text is clear and easy to read. And it's blissfully free of so much of the junk that, well, junks up the paperbacks you buy at book stores. Like the quotes on the cover about how great the book you're about to read is, and those pages at the beginning with the copyright information, and the printing history, and Library of Congress card catalog information (which, come to think of it, shouldn't it be on the actual card in the Library of Congress card catalog, instead of in the book?), and that line of numbers at the bottom of that page, that never made any sense to me. Even the summary of the book on the back cover, which always manages to be wrong, or miss something essential about the book. I never knew how much all that stuff cluttered my reading experience until I picked up this book and didn't have to encounter any of it. So relaxing. Such a relief!

The book is also real. Something about it -- the cheap paper, maybe? The DIY feel of it? -- just makes it a comfy object to hold in your hand, comfy and familiar, and natty and stylish, in the way no ereader will ever be.

And it was, if the Harvard Book Store website is to be believed, printed out on a machine in the store and mailed to me, all for less than $10.

Al of which makes me think: This is, if not the future of publishing, at least one part of the future of publishing.

Imagine: You drop in at your local coffee shop / internet cafe, and one of the things you can do there is print out, on the cafe's espresso book printing machine (still no idea what this is), a sleek and arty collection of stories, or novella, or novel, even, maybe, from your favorite writer. Then you can carry it around in your bag for a week or so, while you read it. You can give it to a friend when you are done with it. To me, this sounds like a lot more fun than downloading something onto your Ereader, or your Kindle, or whatever, and reading from an electronic device that, although the text may be wonderful, has no outward personality, and is boring to look at.

I read an interview with Amelia Gray recently, in which she said, joyfully, and I am paraphrasing here -- the printed word will never go out of style. There are always going to be those of us with printed books stacked in our apartments, by our beds, on the floor, because we've run out of room in our book shelves. I believe she is right about this, and for those people, and they will always be legion, the espresso book machine is going to be a part of the future.

What started as a blog post has become a manifesto: I have seen the future. It lives in the form of a small collection of micro stories and tiny essays about the psychology and practice of writing, entitled "This Won't Take But a Minute, Honey," by Steve Almond. Everyone should know about this. We're living through history, people.

In my next entry, I will discuss the essay section of the book, including Steve Almond's uncanny ability to capture the art of writing in pithy edicts, the simuntaneous smallness, largeness, and ephemeralness of the literary world, and also the slightly weird and mysterious undercurrent of anger in Steve's essays, that runs through them like an unspoken theme, and made me sort of uncomfortable.

-- Sean Carman

Like a giant chapbook

Iron Horse Literary Review is hosting a collection competition judged by Mark Richard. Richard is the author of two novels, Fishboy and When Truth Gives Out, and two award-winning short story collections, Charity and The Ice at the Bottom of the World. His short stories have appeared in The New Yorker, Harper’s, Esquire, GQ, and The Paris Review.

The winning collection will be published in 2010 as a separate issue. Full-color cover art will reflect the collection’s content and emphasize the title so the published collection will look like the single-author book that it is. The winner will also receive a $1,000 honorarium.

Guidelines

·      Manuscripts must be typed, double-spaced, with one-inch margins, 12-point font.
·      Entries must be between 15,000 and 20,000 words (50 to 65 pages).
·      While one or two of the stories/essays may have been published elsewhere, the majority of the collection must be previously unpublished.
·      The author’s name and contact information must appear on a cover sheet, but it must NOT appear anywhere else on the manuscript.
·      Entries must also include an email address for results notification.
·      Pages must be numbered.
·      Entries must include the $15 reading fee, which also purchases a one-year subscription to Iron Horse.
·      Postmark deadline for entries is January 15, 2010.

 

I interrupt this action-packed Chapbook Month to bring you contributor news

Yeah, so we've not been great about chapbook month. The month is almost over and although there are plenty of chapbooks around, news of very few of them made it to the blog. Maybe chapbook month can become chapbook financial quarter and we'll just post chapbook-related business here through the end of the year. Or no.

But! 

Recent Hobart contributors have had some happy news lately. And I am here to share it.

-Reynard Seifert, whose story "A Businessman &" appears in this month's Hobart, participated in the first East Bay on the Brain reading series a couple nights ago along with past Hobart contributors Greg Gerke and Stefanie Freele, Ethel Rohan, Timothy Crandle, Roland Goity, Andy Dugas and hosted by Lauren Becker. His reading of "A Businessman &" can be seen in a video posted examiner.com in an article about the literary-tude of the East Bay and readings there in general. Scroll down to the middle-ish part of the article for Reynard's reading. Appropriately, he is wearing a business suit. 

"A Businessman &" also appears in Reynard's chapbook (it's Chapbook month, after all!) How to Skin the Moon. Info about the chapbook, including how you can purchase a copy for yourself, can be found here.

Reynard also edits HAHACLEVER.com, did this and lives online here. Many congrats to him on the recent successes!

-Speaking of recent success, Patrick Wensink, whose story "My Son Thinks He's French" appeared in Hobart last May has just published a collection of stories called Sex Dungeon for Sale, which includes "My Son Thinks He's French" and a handful of other, equally strange goodies. I got my hands on a copy of the book (Pat was very kind to send one to me) and have been really enjoying it. To get a further taste of what to expect, head over to Monkeybicycle to read the title story. I'll be posting a longer, more in depth look at the collection soon. For now, you can buy a copy for yourself right here. 

Carry on!

Our Fearless Leader...

Aaron Burch, founding editor of Hobart, has won the first annual PANK Chapbook Contest. His Chapbook, HOW TO TAKE YOURSELF APART, HOW TO MAKE YOURSELF ANEW: notes and instructions from/for a father, will be published by PANK in January 2010. It'll be also be available with PANK 4, so if don't already subscribe, now might be a good time to start.

October = chapbook month!

So, one of our favorite literary & blogging things every year is Dan Wickett's creation of May as "Short Story Month." Like Dan, short stories are quite possibly my favorite form of writing to read. That said, one of my new favorite formats to read those stories (and, even better and more specifically, short shorts) is the chapbook. Not that the chapbook is new as a format but... you know. It's a relatively new personal favorite. 

I love the small size and being able to carry one around wherever I go. I love when they are letterpressed or even stitched by hand or anything else that shows that a little extra love and care went into the making of the object itself, not just the words inside. I love that they seem the perfect format for these short shorts that I have somewhat fallen in love with (similar to poetry, it seems a few short shorts can be so much more powerful than one individually and, yet, too many and it can be easy to lose sight of them individually as they all start to blur together).

So, all that said, we are going to try to devote this month to highlighting some of our favorite chapbooks, albeit with less drive and effort and commitment than Dan's Short Story Month. Because, for one, we're a bit lazier around these parts. Also, it's already a week into the month. Oops. What can we say? These are crazy and busy times and, also, see previous mention of Hobart's leanings toward laziness.

To start with, we thought we would highlight some chapbook contests. If you know of more, shoot us an email or leave a comment and we'll try to keep this post updated. Also, for what it is worth, we will probably be focusing specifically on publishers that either focus on, or who we know are receptive toward, collection of short shorts. 

PANK (due soon! 10/15/09) -- this will be their first chapbook, so there is no precedent to judge, though we are a huge fan of the journal and most if not all of the Hobart team has contributed or has work there forthcoming. So, obviously we like their tastes, right?

Rose Metal Press (due 12/1/09) -- Previous winners include Claudia Smith, Geoff Forsyth, and Sean Lovelace. Holy shit, right? These are 3 of, if not the 3, our favorite chapbooks. 

Bateau (due 12/31/09) -- what can we say? Bateau is beautiful; like the RMP chaps, there covers are letterpressed and we love what they've done so far. 

New Michigan Press (due 4/30/10) -- we enter this every year, and every year we get no love, but we keep going back for more. Because we love what they put out and so we just can't help ourselves. This one is a ways off, but maybe start trying to get that mess together now no?

Noemi Press (haven't announced this next year's contest yet, but usually due mid-February) 

OK, I am getting tired and going to put this blog post up, even though I know that is only 5 contests, which is a small "list." But I'll add more soon!

-aaron

Best American Essays 2009

First off, big congrats to Mike Alber, whose "Magic: The Essay" from Hobart #9 is credited as a Notable Essay of 2008 in the new BAE. So: congrats! Seriously, if you don't already have Ho9 you should get it right now and then read the essay as soon as you receive the issue. Obviously I'm not the most objective opinion maker here, but this is seriously one of the best essays I've read in recent memory, maybe ever. I mean, it's about Mike soothing his med school failings by getting pretty serious into Magic: The Gathering. Like, serious enough to at one point consider becoming a PROFESSIONAL Magic player. See? You want to read this essay right now, don't you?

All that said, I picked up BAE 2009 a couple of days ago and have read maybe 20-25% of it already and so am now pretty sure Mike's essay wasn't chosen by Mary Oliver for inclusion in the antho because: 1) it isn't boring enough, and 2) he doesn't ever mention being a writer. I don't think. I just went back and skimmed it and don't think there is any mention of his going from med school to an MFA program. This might have even been on my recommendation, as I tend to prefer essays that shy away from the writer's own, you know, writer-y-ness. A prejudice that Oliver obviously doesn't share. Here's a rundown of the issue:

Taking a Reading by Sue Allison: look at the title. last couple of lines: "A ream is a lot of paper, sold and purchased blank. Written on, it's a book."

(En)trance by Chris Arthur: (I haven't read this yet, but here's the first line:) "It was while thinking about pillars at Shandon that I realized I would never be the sort of writer I used to believe I'd become."

Portrait of a Masked man: (also not yet read, though it looks good. doesn't appear to mention writing, though it is about writing's cousin, art. first line:) "I'm sitting in a wood cabin... about to begin drawing a portrait of Subcomandante Marcos."

Faustian Economics by Wendell Berry (also haven't yet read, though looks to avoid my ire)

The Greatest Nature Essay Ever by Brian Doyle (an actually pretty cool short-short though, obviously about an essay)

Cherish This Ecstasy by David James Duncan (I liked this as well, though the premise and

set-up was great and then, frankly, I think it got a little writerly for me. the first sentence of second para:) "The same year that I was researching a novel about birds..."

The Dark Art of Description by Patricia Hampl (not yet read, first para:) "I was coming down the last lap of my most recent book, a memoir about my mother and father, and I was painfully aware of just how specific every bit of writing is, full of choices and chances, not theoretical at all, not the business of sweeping statements or smart ideas about "form" or "genre" or anything remotely theoretical. Just subject-verb-object and the hope of meaning."

And Such SMall Deer by Garret Keizer (looks good though maybe too smart for me. also looks, from super-quick skimming, to avoid meta-"I am a writer" pronouncements, though there are references to The Old Man and the Sea, and The Great Gatsby, and Moby Dick, among others)

Our Vanishing Night by Verlyn Klinkenborg (looks to be most devoid of mentions of writing yet. which feels refreshing right now)

You Be the Moon by Amy Leach (see above. was that just two in a row?)

The Mansion: A Subprime Parable by Michael Lewis (first sent.:) "I was looking to return to New Oreans, where I'd grown up, to write a book."

OK, that's only half the book, but I'm getting tired (I'm not a very good blogger) and you get the idea. One, I guess I've actually read much less than 20% still. And two, I'm not saying there is anything inherently bad in an essay acknowledging that the writer is a, you know, writer, but the above percentage couldn't help but make it a trend that I kept noticing.

Thoughts? Do other people like it, dislike it, care at all?

-aaron

Want to help with Hobart? Intern!

So… I don’t have too much to add beyond the above subject. We are currently in need of some help around here, both in basic behind-the-scenes type stuff as well as reading submissions. If you are interested in learning some of the basics of how a lit journal works, or just want to help out, or are curious how people including myself who are so seemingly disorganized get anything done at all, then contact us! We are going to work on getting this a little more official-sounding and whatnot, though maybe that won’t happen. We’ll see.

If interested, shoot me an email, detailing why you’d like to help, what you’d ideally hope to do, and anything else you might think is relevant.

Thanks!

-aaron

Catch-22

I'm re-reading Joseph Heller's classic and realizing I had forgotten how amazing it is. Tonight I watched the 1970 Mike Nichols film, which is also terrific. You must see it if you haven't.

Still, I had two critical reactions to it.

The first is, I don't understand why MASH, the Altman film of the same year, became so much more popular over time, and resonated more in the culture. OK, I do know. Because, I guess, MASH, with it's rapid-fire dialogue, and characters mumbling and stepping on each other's lines, was so much more modern. In fact, it's hard to believe the two films were made in the same year. Also, maybe because MASH was more relatable to the Vietnam War, even if it wasn't about that war, it resonated more in the culture and left more of a lasting effect.

But imagine if, somehow, Catch-22 could have been given a sensibility as modern as the sensibility in MASH. If, instead of seeming like a movie made in the 50's, it seemed more like the movies that were just coming out at the time. I think that would have been incredible. The strength of the material in Catch-22 and a more modern sensibility would have carried the film farther, I think.

I was also disappointed that Mike Nichols let some of the characters other than Yosarian act as if they, too, understood that things around them didn't make sense. It sort of diminished the terror of the situation.

The chaplain, for example (played by Anthony Perkins!), in that first scene of his, acts as if he's more perplexed by the insanity around him than even Yosarian is. For me that lowers the stakes. If other characters can see the insanity, I'm more comforted by that, and less afraid. But if, as the viewer, I'm Yosarian, and I'm the only one who can see the insanity, that's more terrifying. It can still be comic, but it becomes, more terrifying as well.

There's also a fair amount of Vaudeville-style comic acting and clowning in the film, and I got a little tired of that. It felt as if Nichols and the actors didn't quite trust the material, or didn't quite know what to do with it. Or maybe they were just falling back on familiar conventions. But I think it took something away from the story.

Yes, these are relatively small complaints. But I also think about those scenes near the end of the film, when Yosarian wanders through Rome's back alleys in search of Nately's whore. He wanders past one scene of madness after another. Those are very powerful scenes. Catch-22 becomes a very different film at that point. Suddenly, there's real weight to it. I think that if, to that point, the film hadn't been as much of a 1950's, Vaudeville-style comedy, and had had a more modern sensibility and style, and Yosarian had been the only one to recognize the insanity around him, those final scenes might have had even more power and meaning.

-- Sean

(this posted was edited)

Zeitoun

Zeitoun, Dave Eggers' new book, gets a rave review from Tim Egan in the New York Times. The review is here.

Excited to read this now . . .

-- Sean