Proud Independents — Five Books You Won’t Find in Chains

A trip to any indistinguishable chain bookstore will tell you what you need to know about the current crisis in publishing — glossy-covered bestsellers by the usual suspects, characters from classics transformed into “vampyres” and zombie-killers, second-rate celebrities eager to tell all. But where are the fresh new writers? Where are the strong stories and original voices?

Sadly, the big publishing houses are taking fewer chances and more emerging authors are self-publishing. It’s easy to create your own micro-imprint, and on-line nobody knows you’re a POD (print-on-demand). While getting onto store shelves is difficult, the web has made it simple for authors to market themselves, and e-books offer a great way to break in. For a writer, uploading a book on Kindle is as easy as sending an e-mail, and companies like Smashwords offer free e-publishing in ALL digital formats.

While this creates opportunities for writers, it creates confusion for readers. With so many books, what’s to read? Without the traditional gatekeepers — agents and publishers — how do you find books that are high quality, original and well-written?

Fortunately, e-books can usually be “sampled” before purchase, and most online booksellers allow you to “browse” print versions electronically. If you are an e-book aficionado or ready to take the plunge into print-on-demand, here are five great picks.

1) Dorkismo — The Macho of the Dork , by Maria Bustillos (2009) — available in paperback and on Kindle.

In a series of brilliant, accessible and funny essays, LA-based cultural critique, Maria Bustillos posits that the dorks are saving civilization. Her revolutionary manifesto celebrates true self-expression. In a world where hipness has become a commodity signified by the proper attire and technology, a world of branding, where children refuse to go to school without designer clothing, Dorkismo is the antidote. All the important creative thinkers and innovators are dorks, she tells us. They/we/us are the true iconoclasts. This is more than simple cultural critique. It’s self-help that’s nothing short of inspirational.

Bustillos, by offering her examples of authentic coolness, urges readers to be proud of who they are and their intellectual pursuits and obsessions — even if they involve fluency in one or more fictional languages. Her motto, “to thine own self be cool,” redefines hip making it clear that creativity, art and even happiness come from following your own path, enjoying yourself, and learning to embrace your dork-nature.

2) Babylon, Daisy Anne Gree (2009) — available in paperback and as a FREE e-book in all digital formats.

Gree published this novel in association with Year Zero a writers’ collective dedicated to “restoring the direct conversation between reader and writer.” Babylon, barely more than novella length, is a stunning debut.

Fired from a restaurant job in San Francisco, schizophrenic Daniel attempts suicide and winds up back in his parent’s old house in his small Texas hometown of Babylon. Voice is everything in fiction and Gree has it. Daniel’s head is not a comfortable or pleasant place to be, but Gree brings us there in a way that’s true and sharp. She teaches us more about the mind of a schizophrenic than anyone is likely to get from a medical or psychiatric textbook. Gree goes beyond the writing workshop adage, “Show don’t tell.” Her descriptions are simple yet visceral, and they hit like a shot of mescaline straight to the heart.

Chapter one begins in the restaurant where Daniel is working:

“I counted my breath in and out, rough and ragged. A fractious rhythm among the others, the slamming oven doors and the clanking plates, that surrounded me. The air inside was so thick and heavy that breathing felt like drowning. As the seconds wore on, one noise began to swell and smother the rest: the slow and steady buzzing of the fluorescent bulb above my head. It was feverish and nauseating, as jarring as a jackhammer on asphalt.”

By the time Daniel comes home and slashes his wrist, we’ve seen the shadows jumping from the walls and heard the voices calling his name. We understand the desperation that drives his actions.

While this all sounds bleak, and it is, there’s also a deadpan humor that shows itself in snatches of dialogue and imagery that is achingly beautiful throughout.

3) Harbour, by Paul House (2009) — available in hardcover, paperback and coming to Kindle.

Harbour, a historical novel set against the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong, was initially published by the author through Lulu as a POD. It was recently picked up by Dragon International Arts, a small publisher in the UK.

At over 400 pages and with several story-lines, Harbour, is better suited to print than digital. Its characters include an elderly drug-lord, his beautiful young wife, a mixed-race girl, a British doctor, a Japanese barber with a secret, an embittered invalid and assorted others. None are especially heroic which is both the novel’s strength and probably the reason it wasn’t picked up by a major publisher. If you’re a fan of formulaic historical fiction — the Michener model, this isn’t for you. It’s character-driven even as history unfolds. Which is not to say, that there isn’t plenty of attention to historical detail.

As we read, patterns begin to emerge within the tapestry before us. We understand more of the connections between characters and the focus shifts to two couples — Tung Nien, the drug-lord’s wife and her lover Dr. Laughton — a married, British ex-pat, and Molly a mixed-race girl taken in by Tung Nien and Molly’s friend, Wu.

Laughton and Tung Nien are in an impossible situation. They’ve gone from having an affair to being truly, deeply, passionately in love with each other. Their story of longing and compromise becomes one with which any reader can identify. Molly, our young heroine, has ideals and innocence. She’s probably the most heroic of the bunch — the least cynical and sullied, while her beau, Wu on the precipice of manhood, may make the wrong choice. When the chaos of the invasion finally arrives, these are the four we hope will emerge not only alive but somehow, against the odds, with each other.

Without giving anything away, one can report that the ending was deeply satisfying.

4) Songs from the Other Side of the Wall, by Dan Holloway — available in paperwork and FREE in all e-book formats.

This is a book truly made for the digital age — hip, sensuous, smart and very up to date. Holloway is the founder of the Year 0 collective and believes that making books available for free digitally is one way to grow readership. Songs has become the number one most downloaded literary novel on the e-book publishing site, Smashwords.

Szandrine was born in Hungary shortly after the Berlin Wall fell. Abandoned by her British mother, she was raised by her father on a family-owned vineyard. Szandrine is part of the Budapest art scene and lives with her girlfriend, Yang — a sculptor.

Set in 2006-2007, besides it’s exotic setting, what sets this novel apart is the invention of a truly contemporary character. Szandrine, at seventeen, is post-Wall Europe, at ease with the non-issue of her sexuality, and more at home in certain corners of the Internet than anywhere else.

New Year’s Eve 2006, Szandi witnesses a tragedy during riots in Budapest. What she sees impels her to explore her past and brings her to an understanding of her future. The story unfolds in real time, flashbacks, letters and in chat-rooms.

It’s a complicated tale involving the recall of an online friendship with a dead man, a mysterious letter, and an unsatisfactory reunion between Szandrine and her mother. Holloway, never loses control and the strands are woven together with the connections becoming clear. As Szandrine explores her recent and more distant history, she comes into her own with knowledge and wisdom.

With flashbacks, and switches in time and location, this may not be the easiest narrative to follow, but it captures the rhythms and nuisance of how we live now in a way that has rarely been done better.

5) Glimpses of a Floating World, by Larry Harrison, (2009) — available in paperbook and FREE in all e-book formats.

Larry Harrison’s dark and dazzling first novel, Glimpses-of-a-Floating-World takes its title from the phrase used to describe the red-light district of 18th century Edo, now known as Tokyo. Edo’s floating world was a haven of pleasure and illusion, filled with kabuki actors, geishas and courtesans. Harrison’s work is set in London’s Soho, 1963, its denizens — anarchists, mods, rockers, beats, and others, among them our protagonist, seventeen year-old, heroin addict, Ronnie “Fizz” Jarvis who loves feeling that he is part of “the scene.”

Harrison skillfully allows the reader to identify with Ronnie despite the character’s being vain, selfish and occasionally cowardly. He is, after all, an adolescent trying to understand the world and his place in it. Ronnie reminds us of other young, unreliable characters reaching adulthood in an imperfect world. The reader is immediately aware that no matter what else happens, Ronnie will either grow and change, or he will not. We root for Ronnie’s potential, hoping he will live to tell the tale.

Glimpses is well-plotted, taut and suspenseful. Ronnie becomes a reluctant police informant and tensions rise as we head towards a likely bloody conclusion.

Harrison who has written nonfiction books on alcohol and drug issues, seamlessly weaves in the growing panic over narcotics. Britain — influenced by the US — was changing its policies, moving from treating addiction as a public health issue to criminalizing addicts. Ronnie is as much a victim of these changes as he is of his abusive father and his own romanticized self-destruction.

Glimpses of a Floating World is described on its back cover as “a lyrical and triumphant elegy to a seedy, vice-ridden London of the 1960’s. ” It is that, but also a tale of familial tragedy, a history lesson, a novel that offers much more than simple glimpses. It reads like a lost classic.

(This posting originally appeared as a guest blog at can also be found as a guest blog at LA Books Examiner.)

Lost — The Dirty Weekend of TV

Lost is the junk food or dirty weekend of TV. I enjoy it immensely while I’m watching, but feel let down and a bit guilty later. It’s entertaining, but there’s always something missing like uh logic and consistency.

I’m still trying to get my mind around the way the island moved in time, but not all the people on it shifted, and while I enjoy the Sidewaysverse, I know I’ll be disappointed in the explanation.

This is not a theory post nor do I have any inside dope,  just a few words on last night’s Ab Aeterno — spoilers ahead for those who haven’t seen it.

The episode opens with Ilana and Jacob, but I’ll skip that. The real excitement begins with a flashback of Richard on horseback looking muy buen mozo y como un galán en una novela. We’re in an exotic local, Tenerife in the Canary Islands — sight of the worst aviation disaster in history although this is of course more than a century before that. Richard or Ricardo as he is then known, rushes in to his dying wife. She gives him the cross off her neck, and he rides off to the doctor who turns out to be a greedy son of a bitch who takes the cross and tells him it’s worth nothing.   Richard accidentally kills him,  grabs the medicine and returns home, but it’s too late because his wife is already dead, and then the poor dolt is in jail awaiting execution and the worst priest ever won’t give him absolution, but instead tells him he’s going to hell, and then sells him to the Captain of the Black Rock.

Historical telenovela, much? That’s what it felt like, except if that was the case the wife would be alive, and it would all be about her thinking he was dead and winding up married to the doctor’s obnoxious son as Ricardo struggles to escape and come home while being tempted by the saucy Creole house servant on the plantation in which both are enslaved.

This being Lost, however, he lands on Craphole Island where the Black Rock smashes into the statue.  The Captain shows up and runs his sword through the other guys in chains, and just as he’s about to gut Richard, Smokey intercedes and righteously destroys him.  Then Richard, still in chains, survives on rainwater surrounded by corpses which are being devoured by a wild boar. One day his wife Isabella shows up except it’s probably Smokey playing with him because after that the Man in Black frees him and tells him, confirming what his “wife” said about their being in hell.  MIB tells him that Jacob is the devil and took his wife, and the only way out of hell is to kill the devil.   Blackshirt also admits to being Smokey, but Richard nevertheless believes him about Jacob and is willing to do his bidding.  When he finally meets up with Jacob and Jacob convinces him that he’s the good guy and Smokey is evil, he believes that too.  Jacob explains the island and his role in keeping MIB there by showing Richard a bottle of wine with a cork in it and telling him the wine stands for evil and the cork is the island keeping it from the world.  Jacob decides to keep Richard around as a kind of emissary so that he doesn’t have to get too involved with the people he “brings” to the island as part of his ongoing pissing match with Mr. Evil-Man-with-No-Name-Not-Locke-Black-Shirt-Guy-Maybe-the Devil.  Richard asks Jacob if he can be with his wife, which Jacob admits he can’t do. He asks not to go to hell when he dies which Jacob also can’t give him, so he settles for immortality.

While I was watching, it was entertaining. But after I’m left thinking: So that’s it? That’s all there is to the mysterious Mr. Alpert? A simple type who believes or believed in a literal heaven and hell and was absurdly gullible accepting that the doctor really could cure his wife and the priest was right about damnation? This is the guy we thought had the answers? And whose cute idea was it to name him for Ram Dass? And why did both Jacob and Smokey speak English to him with flat American accents? And what did we really learn here that we didn’t know before?

The whole season has been a tease where we are told that “questions will be answered,” but very few people even seem to ask. Neither Sawyer nor Richard have much to say when told by Man-In-Black that he is aka Smokey. I mean if you’d seen the smoke-monster in action and then you’re talking to some man who casually says, “Oh yeah, that was me.” Wouldn’t you be like, “No shit. How does that work?”

Despite Jacob’s cork blocking a wine-bottle-of-malevolence analogy, I’m still not convinced that Jacob is good though it does look like what’s his name is bad or at least full of crap.

And could we give him a name already?  Too cute by half the lengths they go to in order to avoid saying it.

Favorite bit: I did love it when ghosty-wife shows up at the end with Hurley translating and says, “Tell him his English is magnificent.” Carbonell had such a beatific half-smile when he heard it. You could see all the character’s emotions — love enduring, hope, surprise, pride, and more.

It’s really those little moments, and not the possible answers to the big questions, that keep me coming back.

That Sweet Kiss — Ugly Betty’s Breakthrough Moment

A major television event occurred last night on Ugly Betty. Two teenage boys sharing their first sweet kiss! Too bad America stopped watching the show years ago. Then again, if people were watching, they wouldn’t have done it.

Ugly Betty began on a high note. An American remake of the groundbreaking, and oft-copied, Columbian telenovela, Yo Soy Betty La Fea (I am Betty, The Ugly One) — the show focused on an aesthetically-challenged Latina from Queens making good at a snooty Manhattan fashion magazine. It featured “Dame” Judith Light a veteran of American soaps and made-for-TV movies who always manages to make the make the most ridiculous situations totally real. But its combination of sit-com and soap never really jelled. Both the comedy and the outrageousness of the drama distanced the viewers from the characters. Betty’s deranged-child wardrobe and the character’s lack of growth didn’t help.

But last night, I happened to catch the episode and while I started out only half watching, I could see something was brewing. The storyline we’ve all been waiting for is finally unfolding in the final episodes, Betty’s fabulous, nephew, fourteen year old, Justin — an acting, dancing, fashionista is coming to terms with his sexuality. We’ve seen Justin as the target of bullies. We’ve seen his mother’s pride, love and acceptance of her son for who he is. We’ve seen Justin reach out and develop an appropriate friendship with Mark, Betty’s gay coworker. Last night’s show went further.

Justin who has lately been insisting that he’s not actually gay, became friends with a boy and a girl in his acting class. The boy shared many of Justin’s interests and obsessions. Justin claimed to “like” the girl and had the opportunity to kiss her in a scene onstage. After the show, he was going to talk to her when he saw her kissing the other boy. Later the two boys confront each other. The other one admits he didn’t really like her and did it because Justin had on stage. Soon what we thought would happen, happens and the boys kiss each other.

Justin goes home upset by this, but overhears his mother telling his Aunt Betty that self-acceptance and knowing you are loved and lovable for who you are is the most important thing. The next day he braves his acting class, only to find that the boy he kissed has quit.
Could we have another season, please?

Helluva Town! Why Do People Think It’s Ok to Put Down New York?

Last September my better half and I were visiting Seattle. We were staying at a friendly B&B on Capital Hill where breakfast was served at a big table and all the guests could chat. One morning there was a couple across from us. She was from Sydney. He was a hometown boy, Seattle born and raised, who’d met her on a trip down under. Naturally they asked where we were from.

“New York,” said my better half.

“New York City?” Seattle replied.

We nodded.

“Come here for better life?” he asked without blinking.

Granted, Seattleites are known for a kind of  whacky boosterism completely out of proportion to their town’s place in the universe, but still. What’s up? This was not the first, or last time we heard someone casually put down our home. Why do people feel it’s perfectly ok to disrespect New York even when talking to New Yorkers? . I’ve traveled to some pretty awful places, but I’ve never said to a native, “Wow. It must suck being from here.”

Maybe it’s a popular culture thing.  Even people under fifty are somehow channeling the ghost of Kitty Genovese and the memory of the ungovernable years, but there’s something bizarre about otherwise polite folks from places that pride themselves on “friendliness” saying vile things about a city, things they’d never say about a race, or a nationality — at least not in public and to a person of that race or nationality.

Most of the gibes are complaints about crime and dirt, and of course our legendary rudeness.

New York is cleaner than many US cities, even smaller ones. It may not be Singapore but most people pick up after their dogs. It’s one of the safest urban areas in the world. It has by far the best mass transit in the US, not to mention museums, restaurants and ethnic neighborhoods that make you feel like a world traveler for the price of a metro-card.

There’s an incredible amount of parkland as well. Not just the massive Central Park but old growth forest in Inwood — Manhattan’s northern tip. You can see ospreys nesting in Jamaica Bay. My local dog walk involves a stop at the duck pond, and if we’re very lucky a sighting of the wild turkey of Morningside Park.

Mostly I love my city because there are still are neighborhoods here, distinct enclaves, filled with distinct types, and  despite the encroachment of Starbucks and the like,  independent coffee shops and even bookstores continue to exist. Unlike most small towns in America, you can go to the neighborhood hardware store and ask the owner for what you need instead of driving to Ye Ol” Mega Superstore twenty miles away.

The people, despite their reputation, are friendly and talkative. Always have been, even before 9/11. Conversation breaks out on buses and movie lines. When a tourist takes out a map, a crowd gathers to debate the best directions and where to go. Eccentricity is not just accepted, it’s expected.  We’re not rude to strangers, even those who describe “ground zero” as a must see destination and don’t realize it’s an open wound in our collective heart.

So if you’ve never been, please stop by, but leave the attitude home.

Good Advice

On a social networking site that I still to my detriment visit, a friend posed a question on a thread: What is the best advice you’ve ever been given?

Here are two:

I. I went to an alternative public high school. The school was located in an old rectory next to a church. We didn’t have a certificate of occupancy for the church, which was almost gutted. There were a couple of doors leading there from the rectory that for some strange reason (maybe having to do with fire laws) weren’t locked. Kids being kids, and this being back in the late 70’s, we’d often sneak in and do certain things.

One day, the head of the school called a community meeting. Normally very mild-mannered, Fred seemed angry. He told us he had been leading a tour with government officials and funders from the Ford Foundation and was showing them the church when he found “THIS”. He pulled a nickel bag of pot out of his pocket and held it up. Fortunately, he’d grabbed it before they saw it. He reminded us that this was not the impression he wanted the public to have of our school, and then instead of lecturing us about the perils of the evil weed, he simply said, “Discretion, people! Discretion!”

II. Years ago after a bad breakup, I found myself in a state of constant sorrow. This was before just any GP would give you SSRIs. I was living and working as a clinician in a small city and knew most of the real shrinks professionally and didn’t feel safe seeing them. So I went to see a homeopathic psychiatrist. She was an MD who’d left that life, and believed in alternative methods. She told me to give up coffee and handed me a pill.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a salt.” she said.

“A salt? Like lithium?”

“No, like sodium chloride. Table salt. Lot’s wife. Don’t look back.”