Tod Goldberg

Yeah, What Keith Said

Now Presiding Over The LA Times: Omar Little

My pal Celeste Fremon points out the eerie similarities between last night's episode of The Wire and the current drama unfolding over at the LA Times (where, in full disclosure, I frequently review books). But the bit that's most interesting is that Celeste points out that John Carroll, the former editor of the Times (long former -- he's not the recently deposed editor), was the editor of the Baltimore Sun when David Simon, The Wire's creator, was bought out of his job due to cost cutting...and that the actor portraying the editor of the Sun sure looks a lot like Carroll.

I once had a conversation with Carroll at the LA Times Festival of Books book prize party. I didn't know he was the editor of the paper. We were both sort of standing next to a table eating finger foods and waiting for our wives. It went like this:

Me: So, great party isn't it?

Carroll: Yes, yes it is.

Me: I wonder how much of my subscription goes to this?

Carroll: Very little.

Me: Well, yeah, of course, but it sure is nice to get a little return on investment with the free drinks, isn't it?

Carroll: Yes.

Me: So, what do you write?

Carroll: I'm a journalist.

Me: Oh, that's great. Who do you write for?

Carroll: I'm the editor of the LA Times.

Me: Huh. Well, that's a good job.

Carroll: Yes, it is.

Me:

Carroll:

Me: Well, it sure was nice meeting you.

Later that same night, my friend Mary Yukari Waters had a similar conversation with Carroll, much to our shared embarrassment. That being said, when I saw him subsequently, he always said hello and at least pretended that he remembered me, probably because it's rare someone makes such a poor impression.

Anyway, word on the street is that Omar Little will be taking over editorial duties. His basic credo? "I got the shotgun. You got the briefcase. It's all in the game, though, right?"

Another One Bites The Dust

In honor of the New York Post's decision to ax its book review coverage (I haven't actually seen this mentioned in print anywhere, but I know contributers were told yesterday), I've written a rather lengthy piece on the demise of traditional stand alone book review sections, the rise of the Internet and how these things are changing how writers look at book reviews in today's issue of Jewcy. Here's a snippet:

Each Sunday, I commit a crime in the name of personal literacy: I steal the New York Times Sunday Book Review from Starbucks. I’m not even discreet about it. I order my drink and whatever mound of trans-fat appeals to me from the pastry section and then I wander over to the newspaper stand and yank apart the New York Times until I find the Book Review. I then read the first couple of reviews in full view of the asexual – yet provocatively pierced – barista while I wait for the he/she to make my drink. No one says a word to me – not the employees of Starbucks, who’ve seen me do this every Sunday for the last six years nor my fellow patrons, many of whom I see so frequently in service of this crime that we now nod to each other like co-workers – because, clearly, no one cares about the book reviews. Now, if I filched the Sunday sports page, I can only imagine an Ox-Bow Incident ending.

If the workers and patrons of a typical suburban Starbucks don’t sound like a scientifically sound focus group, they do at least comprise a metaphorical one as it relates to the dwindling space and attention given to book reviews nationwide. Their tacit approval of my crime is emblematic of just how little readers in general care about what was once a staple of the Sunday paper and, for authors, the best way for them to get news of their latest work before the most likely buying audience.

You can read the rest here.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

Marilyn Vos Savant may have, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, The World's Largest Brain Pan and The Head That Most Resembles A Realtor's and The Ability To Solve All Of The World's Most Complex Riddles Like She's A Human Enigma Machine (Except That, As Everyone Knows, She's Not Human), but she never starred in License to Drive, never got the slow clap at the end of Lucas, never played a kid with a mangled ear alongside Wil Wheaton, never, presumably, snorted lines of coke off of mall-Madonnas in or around 1986.

But the Coreys did and they are here to help:

OK, TV fans -- here's your chance to ask '80s teen heartthrobs Corey Haim and Corey Feldman anything! They return to the tube this summer with a new reality series on A&E, but they will also be guest columnists on MSN, and you can ask them anything. Seriously. Got a question about your relationship? Ask them. Need advice on breaking into the acting biz? Ask away. Want to know what it was like to work with Kiefer Sutherland? Ask them, already! The best questions will be featured in the column and answered personally by each Corey. So, go ahead, Corey-maniacs, ask away: askcorey@microsoft.com

One has to wonder if, when he was developing the software that would become the backbone of human society, Bill Gates ever thought, "You know, when this is all said and done, I'd like to get the Coreys together to dispense hard won wisdom."

The New Zoo Review

I've been eagerly awaiting the debut of the new LA Times Book Review -- I just love new stuff, unless it's supposed upgrades in flavor for Pop Tarts, which inevitably causes me to stop eating particular Pop Tarts, like the S'mores flavor, for instance -- and though it won't be arriving on my driveway until about 5:45am tomorrow, it's already online and offers a glimpse into what is to come. [In full disclosure, I periodically review books for the LA Times Book Review.] That it's online at all is the biggest paradigm shift -- for years, it was impossible to get online content from the book review until Sunday and then it usually disappeared within a few days -- and it appears that online is where much of the changes will be occurring, which seems only natural in light of the explosion of book related blogs, not the most of which would be the one you're reading now.

Here's what Editor David Ulin has to say:

The Los Angeles Times Book Review this week has more than a different look. It's the first step in an effort to rethink our approach to books and book news at The Times, to forge a synthesis between print and online content that will allow us not only to maintain our commitment to engaged reviews and criticism but also to expand the very nature of our books coverage.

In print, you'll find a fresh design for some familiar features; others, like Book Calendar, have been moved online, where we will also provide an expanded bestsellers list. Our new Books home page (www.latimes.com/books) will be a central resource for The Times' books coverage. A primary component will be the Sunday Book Review, but we will also offer links to book-related stories from around the paper, as well as an array of Web-only material in the weeks to come.

Today, we inaugurate a rotating cycle of Web-only columns with Sarah Weinman's "Dark Passages," devoted to mysteries and suspense fiction. Next Sunday, Ed Park will initiate a science fiction column, followed by Richard Rayner on paperbacks and Sonja Bolle on children's books. In addition, look for "Jacket Copy," a staff-written book news and information column, plus live online author chats during the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books on April 28 and 29.

The cycle for all news has become incredibly short, to the point that when I read the LA Times each morning it's rarely for the news per se as much as it is for insight into the news. With sports, for instance, by the time I read the LA Times I've already watched highlights of the games on ESPN, read the ESPN.com wrap up, checked all the stats and adjusted my fantasy team accordingly. While I religiously read the Sunday book reviews in the LA Times, NY Times (which I steal each Sunday from Starbucks)  and Washington Post (which I read online) each Sunday, it is again frequently for insight more than revelation. It used to be that the various Sunday reviews told me what books were out and which authors were coming to town. Now, however, many of the book blogs I read regularly (Sarah Weinman's, Mark Sarvas', Bookslut etc.) have that specific information long before I've piled into the Sunday reviews. So for me, the Sunday reviews are more about the critics and their responses to work than the work itself in many cases -- I may not have any interest in a biography of Winston Churchill or a novel by James Richard North Patterson but I may be interested in what a particular reviewer might have to say on the subject. That the LA Times is dedicating less print space to the book review each Sunday is sad in a general way -- any shrinking in coverage is bad for business, particularly the business that pays my mortgage, though apparently reviews will appear more frequently throughout the week, which is good thing -- but that they are expanding their online content feels like a particular victory in light of how much time most voracious book readers actually spend online, which, if merely the sample of people I know counts as a respectable focus group, is considerable.

The downside at the moment, however, is how unwieldy and uninviting the LA Times website is. It's simply hard to find the things you want to find, perhaps because of the clutter of articles, links and sidebars the front page is. The New York Times website is clean and easy to navigate, at least from the front page, so one hopes the LA Times will at least look at the competition and make some aesthetic changes. The dedicated book review site is already far easier to navigate than the one housed in the CalendarLive section, so that's a vast improvement, and the inclusion of special web only content like Sarah's crime column is certainly welcome, though I must admit that I already miss the calendar of events being in the print edition, though it's true that the online edition is far more extensive, which is, I suppose, a good trade-off (at least until I have another event and am bummed not to see it listed in the Sunday Book Review which, I must admit, always made me feel like a real writer).

Still, it feels like the changes happening at the LA Times Book Review are for the good if everything that's been reported is indeed the truth: That, specifically, a smaller Sunday review + more reviews during the week + more online content = more coverage in total. Most notably, though, is that the paper is nodding towards hitting the reading public where they live, which is, chiefly, right where you are reading this. 

Update: I've now seen the print edition of the new Review and feel two things:

1. I like the new design of the pages -- it's easier to read, more vibrant and, as far as I can tell, and I may be wrong here, it doesn't seem like there are less reviews, only smaller ones in some cases, and who knows if that will be the case in weeks when there isn't a prominent essay or feature as there is this week. Personally, I like the idea of more regular essays on books/authors in addition to the reviews. It makes things more unexpected, which is nice.

2. The whole two-sections in one-presto-changeo-flippo is...annoying.  

Mark Danielewski On Bookworm With Michael Silverblatt

Mark Danielewski, author of House of Leaves and, most recently, Only Revolutions, appeared on Bookworm this afternoon with Michael Silverblatt. In case you missed it, here's a brief transcript:

Silverblatt: Today I'm pleased to welcome Mark Danielewski author of Only Revolutions, a novel which reminds me of another book, another word, another river of time that winds through a cloud of violence, which, like time, reminds me of Bonnie & Clyde and, more specifically, Badlands, and by "remind" I mean, within my own mind, and by mind, I mean the long rush of space where man is an incarnation of disconnection, and in disconnection, as e.e. cummings once said, and which I paraphrase here, as a highway paraphrases a road, or a road paraphrases a worm hole through space, if space is narrative and e.e. cummings is symbol that really means Mike Tyson, everyone has a plan until they get hit in the face, which, truly, Mark, this novel feels like...a punch in the face of time, and by time, I mean violence, and by violence, I mean fisting, and by fisting I mean, and here I'd like your thoughts, the way your book can be read backwards like the Torah, or upside down like a man wearing moon boots, or side to side like a roller derby fight. Yes?

Danielewski: Yes, yes, absolutely. Whatever. Can someone get my publicist on the phone? Her name is Kim Dower. Someone get me Kim fucking Dower!

And On The Last Sunday Of April, The Parade Rests In Honor Of Books, Literacy & Literary Gossip

The three days of events surrounding the LA Times Festival of Books concluded for me in the way all good things do: an odd conversation in the bathroom with a Pulitzer Prize winner. It was a few moments before I was to go on stage with Sarah Vowell & David Rakoff, so I slipped away for a brief respite in which to contemplate my bowels for the purposes of just knowing, for sure, that I wasn't going to suddenly have searing abdominal cramping in front of a few thousand close friends in Royce Hall. Along the way to the bathroom, I encountered Barry Siegal, the Pulitzer winner in this equation, and we had a brief conversation that went like this:

Me: Hey, Barry, nice to see you again.

Barry: Great to see you too [a brief pause as we entered the restroom wherein we both mumbled things about the festival being great, and then, presumably, Barry remembered that last time he saw me, I'd just finished puking my brains out before a panel at the same book festival some 3 years previous, an inglorious moment made worse by Thai food, beer and little sleep]...you're not going to be sick again, are you?

Me: No, no, of course not. Of course not. No. Certainly not. Nope.

It's never nice to be remembered for your most godawful moment, but at that very moment it occurred to me that, for Barry at least, I could erase that moment by doing something even worse -- puking on David Rakoff and Sarah Vowell, for instance -- and it would probably be a great weight lifted off both of us. But alas, I felt...good. I'd spent three days in the service of books and that my friends, is a pretty sweet deal, particularly when you factor in the free food, too. So, herewith, a breakdown of the weekend that was:

Friday Night:

Lee and I attended the Book Prize ceremony and party together, which was great fun. The Book Prize ceremony wasn't exactly a laugh-a-moment-fest-of-carnal delights, but it had it's moments, namely when from out of the shadows prior to the giving of each award, a shapely (and by shapely, I mean she looked like she'd just graduated from the Muy Thai School Of Boxing and Modeling...the woman had some muscle definition!) vixen came strolling out with the secret name of the award winner on a platter. Every time she came out, the presenters seemed slightly surprised to see her, as if they couldn't quantify the existence of said hottie amongst the literary giants (and Adam Gopnik, who when I read him the New Yorker I always imagine a man of about, I dunno, 5'9...but Gopnik is positively elvish). At any rate, the highlight of the ceremony for me was the woman who accepted the prize for her friend Robert Littel who mentioned, just in passing and with all the gravitas of someone who'd also been pleased with the service at Krispy Kreme (during the 29 minutes she rambled on about Paris and various cheeses and wines) that she'd been blacklisted (!) and Joan Didion's very brief, yet very eloquent, acceptance speech for her lifetime achievement award.

The nonhighlight was the woman with terrible perfume (it smelled like RAID as imagined by Nazis) sitting behind me who kept saying things like, "That book was marvelous." Or, "I heard that book was marvelous." And of one award winner, "I don't know why everyone thinks that book is so marvelous." I kept waiting for Marvin Hagler to show up. 

The party was great fun and filled with odd moments, including the sight of Stephen J. Cannell chatting with Joan Didion, the sight of Steve Wasserman not punching me in the nuts when I went up to say hello (I have to say: I like the guy. He's interesting in a way I find oddly compelling...like it's apparent he just might hate me, but doesn't mind talking to me despite the fact) and learning, apropos of nothing imaginable in this world, that Lisa Glatt and her husband David Hernandez often discuss (hopefully clothed and not during actual child-making) that if they had a child, it would be me. I'm not sure if I'm flattered, mortified, of deeply, deeply aroused. Other highlights of the night included hugging James Crumley (look, how many chances in this life does one get to hug James Crumley?) and seeing Mark Sarvas' man purse, which happened within mere moments of each other.

Saturday

The coolest thing about LA Times Festival Of Books is the author green room. It's like walking into the back room of a Borders and finding all the authors of the books on the shelves sitting around eating lunch, drinking coffee and talking shop. It's also a little weird to realize we all apparently shop for clothes at the same store -- Black V-Neck Sweaters And Tan Pants Or Blue Jeans Are Us -- and that we all wish we got more publicity.

My panel that afternoon was the Art of the Short Story along with Bret Anthony Johnston and A.M. Homes. We had a good audience and it felt like people enjoyed themselves, or at least enjoyed themselves more than our moderator Thane Rosenbaum probably did when he kept calling A.M. Homes "Amy" and she kept saying, "Call me A.M." until, finally, I said, "I think she actually wants you to call her A.M." and then I think he just called her "Ms. Homes" from there on out because, well, it was a thing now. But A.M and Bret and I had good panel chemistry together and, for me at least, it's always interesting to hear about other writers' processes. Afterward, two teenage girls took my picture and I'm pretty sure it's being used on MySpace to lure teens to porn.

After that, things really took a turn for the weird. I signed next to fetish model (and wife of Marilyn Manson) Dita Von Teese. Normally at these things, the people signing next to you say something like, you know, "Hi." Or, they say, "Hello, I'm fetish model Dita Von Teese." Or they at least make passing reference to your shared piece of Terra Firma by nodding, smiling, and rolling their tongue at your suggestively. Well, Dita was too busy for any of that because she was surrounded by about 50 people that were one of three groups:

1. Other like minded fetish people, which meant lots of ambiguously sexual humans (Man? Woman? Trannie? He-she? Hot!) that were unfailingly polite.

2. People from the Philippines with cameras. It was weird. There were about 20 Filipinos huddling around Dita snapping photos and just sort of...gawking. Not moving. Not speaking. Just standing about slack jawed.

3. Scary homeless-looking men who wanted Dita to do weird shit, but none weirder than the exchange I witnessed that went something like:

Man: Will you say my name into my cell phone?

Dita: What's your name?

Man: Jeff.

Dita. Okay.

Man: Go ahead.

Dita: Jeff.

Man: One more time.

Dita: Jeff.

Man: Once more, please.

Dita: Jeff.   

Now I know she must get asked to do lots of weird stuff by scuzzy men all the time, but I couldn't help but wonder at what point you just stand up and shout, "Look, you've got plenty to jerk off with now, okay? Okay? I said good day!"

Oddest personal encounter: I had to pee, as humans are apt to do, and so I followed a man of about 25 into a bathroom and waited while he took his turn at the urinal. And waited. And waited. I thought I heard a squirt, but that could have been time dripping by. Finally, the man turned to me and said, "Could you leave the bathroom? I can't go with someone else in the room."

Sunday

Here's the thing: if the one thing your city has going for it is the amount of brutal murders you can recall in the near vicinity of your home and you're angry that not enough crime novels recognize that, I'm afraid you're beyond my reach. I realized this during the panel I moderated on the LA influence on crime writing, which featured T. Jefferson Parker, Denise Hamilton and Gary Phillips, after a man became noticeably angry that we'd collectively dismissed North Hollywood and, apparently, the whole of the San Fernando Valley, while discussing our topic. He also didn't seem all that pleased when I announced that the great San Dimas crime novel was still left to be written.

The panel itself was lively, funny and informative. It probably helped that all 4 of us know one another which invariably means the conversation sort of sounds like four people sitting around telling lies for fun. In attendance were a slew of interesting people as well, including the lovely lit blogger Booksquare, and one bald African American dominatrix who'd just finished her first novel and wanted to know if America was ready for, uh, a bald, African American Dom who ostensibly solves crimes. I say: fuck yeah.

Later, Wendy, Ms. Square and I joined my seesters and agent Ken Sherman for lunch in the green room. This event was notable for the amount of time spent discussing the author who velvet roped Wendy and Ms. Square in the bathroom, flashing her author badge and saying, "I need to cut in line. I'm late for an event," which, while rude, is kind of understandable. Sadly, the event in question appeared to be a second helping of carrot cake and leisurely conversation with a woman dressed like a Dalmatian. There was also at least one author wearing a cape in the green room.

After a few hours spent wondering about the campus, I headed off to my event with David Rakoff and Sarah Vowell. David and Sarah were both extremely entertaining and, in front of a packed house at Royce, gave the audience exactly what they came for -- which was 45 minutes of good stories. The audience laughed in all the right places and heeded my call on questions from the audience: If you're insane, please do not ask any questions. And if you're not sure whether you're insane or not, don't chance it. There was the notable appearance of a man in a sweatsuit -- always a concern -- but the fucktards were kept largely at bay, which is a true oddity at things like this.

Most uncomfortable (vicarious) moment of the day: When the man who didn't believe I wasn't Lee kept trying to convince Denise Hamilton to write a book based on one of his ideas. She kept saying no, he kept persisting, and the finally Denise said the one thing sure to stop the conflagration: "Well, I'd be happy to talk to you about this online." My understanding is that as soon as this is offered, the 10 page single spaced email will arrive shortly thereafter, which you can then share with friends and family when they feel like their lives are worse than yours.

Coolest moment: Seeing my former student Lorna Freeman signing books and then witnessing a woman completely lose her shit over meeting Lorna in person.

Coolest moment #2: Sitting in the green room with all of my siblings and realizing how absolutely amazing it is that we've all managed to become published authors.

It was a weekend mostly free of fucktards, I'm happy to report. But next Sunday, I assure they will return...

Fair & Balanced

Apparently, Michelle Malkin was previously engaged, so President Bush has hired Fox commentator Tony Snow to be the mouthpiece of the Illuminati. My understanding is that Bush is about to hire the creative team behind the board game RISK to replace Donald Rumsfeld and that they plan to attack the world from Kamchatka and then, eventually, set up command centers in Western Australia, Madagascar, Northwest  Territory and, just for kicks, Siam, provided they get some decent rolls and no one turns the world over just when it looks like were close to victory and after Domino's has stopped delivering pizzas for the night.   

My Agenda Is That I Think Calling Someone Mr. Teriyaki Makes You A Fucktard

The LA Times reports today on the speech Dean Koontz gave at Men Of Mystery this past weekend. In what will soon be a new Oliver Stone movie, here's what Dean thinks is the cause of this:

Koontz blames the brouhaha on "some sort of an agenda,"

Well, I'm afraid to say he's spot on. Outing fucktards is the game, Goldberg is the name, and you, sir, are a fucktard.

As I told the LA Times when they interviewed me for the story, I've got nothing against Dean Koontz. I don't know him personally, I've never read a single one of his books and I don't think he's a racist. What I do think is that his speech was boorish, insensitive and not funny. The difference between Koontz and George Carlin, or any comic for that matter, is that there comes a certain expectation with comics, especially those with a political bent. You expect them to hold a mirror up to society and poke equal fun at all of us, with no person or culture escaping the examination. The job of a satirist is to deflate the hot air of society. And so they are given latitude that common society often is not. The expectation that comes with hearing Dean Koontz speak is, I would wager, notably different. Dean writes thrillers and horror stories and isn't known as one of America's finest wits, and even if he were, this line, as quoted in the Times article, and told to the audience, still isn't funny:

"We could have a few sake and reminisce about the Bataan Death March."

I say insensitive things all the time, of course. In fact, when I was interviewed by a writer for the LA Times Magazine who was attending the event, she asked me who the typical mystery reader is and I believe I said, "A very large person," which is probably terribly insensitive as well, but of course, I'm not exactly svelte myself, and I suspect my public image is considerably different than Dean Koontz's  -- I did write a weekly column for four years all about, basically, weird things that fell from my ass, the onset of my inactive thyroid and my sexual/psychological/physical inadequacies -- and therefore I either sound like an asshole or an ex-frat boy, both of which happen to be true, or, perhaps, a guy after a cheap joke, which is also true. And not to put too fine a point on it, I happen to have the reputation for being funny, which may or may not be true, but which is the perception no less. I am also regularly offensive, though it seems that people typically take offense to things I say about myself, and perhaps therein lies the issue with Koontz. He doesn't see how people might find him calling someone else Mr. Teriyaki anything but the height of humor because, I suspect, no one has told him otherwise, maybe because he's Dean Koontz and maybe because he doesn't put himself up for the same kind of hilarity as his subjects. Whatever the case may be, I suspect saying, "Sorry if I offended anyone, it certainly wasn't my intention" would have been a far better response than, "You're all out to get me!"

I Eagerly Await Eazy-E Nation, Too

I 'm a big fan of Neil Young. And by that I mean that I like the stuff he's done that you can actually listen to, which means I do not believe Re*Ac*Tor or Trans or Arc are things meant for human ears. Dogs and single cell life forms, yes. People, no. But that's not to say I don't own some version of those albums, be it on CD or cassette of 35 minute Napster-era mp3 (that would be, uh, Arc), I just don't listen to them. Kevin Chong, on the other hand, just might. He's written a new book -- Neil Young Nation -- that I reviewed this week in Las Vegas Citylife which Neil Young fans will likely enjoy, and which non-fans will find, well, a bit like listening to Arc, I suspect: lots of feedback, a bit of moroseness, a dash of electricity, some plaintive whining. I don't give books grades, be they in reviews or otherwise, but I'd say that best way to describe my reaction to the book without you actually having to read my review is to say it's a solid B.

For a more in depth discussion, you can read the whole review here.