Why I Read by Peter Carlson

A few years ago, we started an occasional series in our email newsletter: an original essay by a writer called "Why I Read." We've been reprinting them on the blog on occasion (see below for links to others).

Today's comes from Peter Carlson, who wrote a fine and funny book called K Blows Top. It was our Book of the Month back in June 2009 (my blurb on the book is here; or pre-order the paperback here--it's due in about a month). Without further ado, here's why Peter Carlson reads:

I read to be entertained and enlightened, amazed and amused.

I read to hear great stories and encounter fascinating minds. I read to fall asleep and I read to wake up. I read to learn how the world works, how the other half lives, how we got in this mess and how we can get out. I read to find out what happened yesterday, and also to find out what happened in the Big Bang and the Black Plague and the Black Sox scandal. I read because reading transports me through time and space and I don’t even have to get out of my chair, except to pour more coffee.

When I was in kindergarten, I fell in love with the delightful rhythm and music and wordplay of Dr. Seuss and ever since then I’ve been reading in the hopes of finding a book that made me feel as ecstatic as the good Dr. did. Seuss led me to the zany comic verse of my next literary hero, Ogden Nash. My search for Nash poems led me to anthologies of American humor, where I discovered Mark Twain and William Saroyan, and I haven’t been the same since.

I love how one book leads to another and another and another in a never-ending chain of discovery. I read to satisfy my curiosity, but my curiosity is insatiable, so I keep on reading.

I read everything--newspapers, magazines, novels, poems, biographies, history, e-mail, junk mail, and the backs of cereal boxes, although the quality of cereal box literature ain’t what it used to be. I also read the wisdom inside fortune cookies, always adding the customary implied ending “in bed,” which inevitably improves the message. I also enjoy reading FBI files, in which words, lines, sometimes entire pages are blacked out by G-man censors—a heavy-handed, backhanded tribute to the power of words.

I love the moment when something an author wrote in another time and place makes me burst out laughing. And I treasure the moments when I’ve watched people riding the Metro in Washington read my newspaper stories and laugh out loud. That’s a better award than a Pulitzer Prize, although less lucrative.

Of course, it was my love of reading that led me to start writing in the first place. And attempting to write inevitably gives you a deeper appreciation for what you read. But there is a downside, as any honest writer will admit: You read something that’s really good and you think, Damn, I wish I’d written that.

I‘ve just published a new book —“K Blows Top,” a non-fiction comedy about Nikita Khrushchev’s bizarre adventures in America. I’ll be thrilled if readers think, Damn, I wish I’d written that. The only thing better would be hearing them laugh out loud.

Thanks, Mr. Carlson. Want to read others? On the blog so far: Beth Lisick, Susan Choi, Peter Rock, Dave Eggers, Daniel Handler, T.C. Boyle, and Joyce Maynard.

Poem of the Week by Kim Addonizio

Happy Monday. Today's poem comes from Oakland poet Kim Addonizio's new book Lucifer at the Starlite. Enjoy.


Where Childhood Went


The teeth sold to the fairies
are tombstones in the graveyard of the fireflies.

By their cold caught light
you can make out the big house submerged

in the backyard creek,
thought-minnows spinning in motes in the attic.

The lovely young parents, so long preserved,
are showing signs of rot;

the kitten named Princess, signs
of invisibility. But look, the old dolls

are doing well; they smile and smile.
And the witch? Darling, the witch was real.

The Fist Roberto Bolaño...

I know, I know more Roberto Bolaño recommendations from Green Apple...

But this is his first book ever! The book he waited twenty years into his career to publish. The book Bolaño himself said, "the only novel that doesn't embarrass me is Antwerp."

Here is what I will say: Just today opened my locker to see a small, black, hardcover book with gold foil stamping on the front (the picture to the left does no justice). I turned the book to look at the spine to see in the same gold foil stamping ND.

So I spent my breaks reading the first 20 pages of this magical book and trying to figure out just what to make of it. . . .

Well, I'm loving it, though I can see what Bolaño means in his introduction when he says, "I never brought this novel to any publishing house, of course. They would've slammed the door in my face and I'd have lost the copy."

All that Bolaño will later write is in this small, concise, beautiful surrealist murder mystery that travels countries and continents and literary borders.

A New Biography of...

Oprah! Buy it now.
(For more: The Guardian)

All grown up

Green Apple suddenly feels so grown up: we got our very first slatwall last month.

Slatwall, of course, is a retail staple: a simple way to hang or display many different types of merchandise. But at Green Apple, everything from books to DVDs, from shirts to games, has long been housed on plain pine bookcases. I admit, it goes against every bone in our body to remove two bookcases and replace them with slatwall. Our fear is that as bookcases (and books) disappear, we will gradually become a gift store with books, not a bookstore with other stuff.

Luckily, we are still a few hundred bookcases and about 150,000 books away from that fear. So you can feel OK coming in to browse our eclectic and stylish selection of greeting cards. Really, it's OK. Come on in.

Poem of the Week by Anya Logvinova

Let's skip to Russia for this week's poem, shall we?

The following is by Anya Logvinova from Contemporary Russian Poetry: an Anthology, edited by Evgeny Bunimovich (Dalkey Arhive, 2008).  This poem was translated by Larissa Shmailo.

The Best Poems, I Swear to God

The best poems, I swear to God,
aren't about unfaithful husbands,  unfaithful wives.
They remind you of a list of things for the road,
essential, beautiful, permitted.

Usually they're about autumn, about white ovens
about how homes are built, how butter is churned.
They are rarely about the fact that everything could be lovely;
they are more often about what we shouldn't mention.

Willy Vlautin Event on May 3rd!!

Lately I've been reading a couple books in the 600 page range, so I haven't been very good about blogging. But then I saw that we are doing an event with Will Vlautin.

I wasn't the first in the store to read Willy Vlautin; I wasn't even the first to read Lean on Pete; but I am definitely convinced that I don't know of another writer like Willy. He is one of those authors where I was tossed his first book and couldn't wait for the next (but not in one of those mystery series sort of ways). KPR first tossed me Motel Life, Willy's first book and I read it, fully enthralled, in one quick sitting. The next day I read Northline. I will say that none of these books are alike, but Willy's voice and feeling make them a part of a sad and lonely series.

KPR says of Lean on Pete: "Vlautin's prose is skillfully without artifice, telling the story directly and cleanly, and we ache as our protagonist tries to make his way in an indifferent and sometimes dangerous world."

I will say that the event with Willy at the Edinburgh Castle was one of the best readings I have even been privileged to see. Willy read with a pedal steel behind him and once again, KPR's review of that night (or maybe Pete's, not quite sure, but I definitely agree): "Finally, I just have to say...it was the most sublime literary event I've ever attended. This promises to be a rich Monday evening, even if you don't go to author events."

So come by the store, pick up Lean on Pete, and join us on May 3rd.