The title of this post is from Jack Black's character in High Fidelity as he's considering Stevie Wonder's legacy after rejecting a customer who is looking for a copy of "I Just Called to Say I Love You."
It is a difficult question, one that I have been thinking about the past few days while reading William S. Burroughs's Naked Lunch. I ended up liking the book and would recommend it as a thought-provoking read and enjoyable aesthetic experience, but during the first quarter of it was feeling that it wasn't very good and was another example of a text that is revolutionary when it is published, but loses its power outside of its original context (two filmic examples that immediately come to mind are 2001: A Space Odyssey and Midnight Cowboy). It just seemed like a bad prose rewriting of Allen Ginsberg's Howl (which makes sense because Ginsberg played a large role in editing it); it takes a little while to find its unique voice. Anyway, it was nice not to be disappointed by the novel's end.
Showing posts with label William S. Burroughs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label William S. Burroughs. Show all posts
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Books Acquired Recently
Books Acquired Recently
I received a $50.00 giftcard to Barnes & Noble from a friend this past weekend and finally got a chance to spend it tonight. My philosophy in such situations is to spend the giftcard in the store rather than online (where I buy the large majority of my books [in part because DeKalb doesn't have any good bookstores]) in order to periodically get the satisfying experience of browsing in a bookstore without a specific goal for what I will purchase. Unfortunately, my library is extensive enough that it can be difficult to find desirable books that I don't already own at chain bookstores. I am happy with what I found this evening, but what I bought was all that I found--slim pickings.
Burroughs, William S. Naked Lunch: The Restored Text. Ed. James Grauerholz and Barry Miles. 1959. New York: Grove, 2001.
I've been meaning to read this for a while. It's a little embarrassing that I haven't gotten around to it yet. I looked for it every time I have been in a used bookstore for the past year or so and didn't find a copy, which could indicate that those who own it are loathe to part with it, a good sign (I had the same experience with Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club for about five years, and finally broke down and bought it new several months ago).
Dick, Philip K. The Man in the High Castle. 1962. New York: Vintage, 1992.
Dick is another author I've been meaning to read for a while. I have almost bought the Library of America's first collection of his work several times because their editions are so aesthetically pleasing, but haven't been able to find it for a good price ($35.00 is a bit steep for an author I've never read before and am not obligated to be familiar with for scholarly reasons). After reading the section on Dick in Thomas Disch's The Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of, I decided that The Man in the High Castle sounded fascinating, but the rest of his work did not, thus I decided to buy the single volume tonight rather than the collection.
When I had a vasectomy six years ago, the doctor knew that I studied literature, and he mentioned that he enjoyed reading Dick and then proceeded to make jokes about him throughout the procedure: "I love Dick," "I'm a big Dick fan," et cetera. One of the most bizarre experiences of my life.
Reed, Ishmael, ed. From Totems to Hip-Hop: A Multicultural Anthology of Poetry Across the Americas, 1900-2002. New York: Thunder's Mouth, 2003.
I am obsessed with poetry anthologies in part because of their role in canon formation and in part because they serve as intriguing historical documents once they get old because of all of the writers included in them who then fade away. This one looked exciting on the shelf: an editor whose work I love and parameters (both in terms of ethnicity/nationality and genre--I am a big supporter of the recent trend in studying music lyrics, especially rap lyrics, as poetry) that are not repeated by any of the other anthologies I own. I've been reading much more poetry in the last six months than I had for at least five years, really craving it again, which has been quite enjoyable.
I received a $50.00 giftcard to Barnes & Noble from a friend this past weekend and finally got a chance to spend it tonight. My philosophy in such situations is to spend the giftcard in the store rather than online (where I buy the large majority of my books [in part because DeKalb doesn't have any good bookstores]) in order to periodically get the satisfying experience of browsing in a bookstore without a specific goal for what I will purchase. Unfortunately, my library is extensive enough that it can be difficult to find desirable books that I don't already own at chain bookstores. I am happy with what I found this evening, but what I bought was all that I found--slim pickings.
Burroughs, William S. Naked Lunch: The Restored Text. Ed. James Grauerholz and Barry Miles. 1959. New York: Grove, 2001.
I've been meaning to read this for a while. It's a little embarrassing that I haven't gotten around to it yet. I looked for it every time I have been in a used bookstore for the past year or so and didn't find a copy, which could indicate that those who own it are loathe to part with it, a good sign (I had the same experience with Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club for about five years, and finally broke down and bought it new several months ago).
Dick, Philip K. The Man in the High Castle. 1962. New York: Vintage, 1992.
Dick is another author I've been meaning to read for a while. I have almost bought the Library of America's first collection of his work several times because their editions are so aesthetically pleasing, but haven't been able to find it for a good price ($35.00 is a bit steep for an author I've never read before and am not obligated to be familiar with for scholarly reasons). After reading the section on Dick in Thomas Disch's The Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of, I decided that The Man in the High Castle sounded fascinating, but the rest of his work did not, thus I decided to buy the single volume tonight rather than the collection.
When I had a vasectomy six years ago, the doctor knew that I studied literature, and he mentioned that he enjoyed reading Dick and then proceeded to make jokes about him throughout the procedure: "I love Dick," "I'm a big Dick fan," et cetera. One of the most bizarre experiences of my life.
Reed, Ishmael, ed. From Totems to Hip-Hop: A Multicultural Anthology of Poetry Across the Americas, 1900-2002. New York: Thunder's Mouth, 2003.
I am obsessed with poetry anthologies in part because of their role in canon formation and in part because they serve as intriguing historical documents once they get old because of all of the writers included in them who then fade away. This one looked exciting on the shelf: an editor whose work I love and parameters (both in terms of ethnicity/nationality and genre--I am a big supporter of the recent trend in studying music lyrics, especially rap lyrics, as poetry) that are not repeated by any of the other anthologies I own. I've been reading much more poetry in the last six months than I had for at least five years, really craving it again, which has been quite enjoyable.
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