More Scorch Atlas hype
Reviewed in the Boston Phoenix by Nina Maclaughlin: "Scorch Atlas doesn't make its point with narrative arc or character development or paragraphs or even the lovely, terrible sentences. Instead, it's the heaping of words — mauled bubbled clods knotted clogged rot foam mold growth cragged bugged curdle boils lumps ooze gunk stung and on and on — that press on you, as if you were being buried, drowned, dissolved, as if you were about to swallow your tongue."
Review at Pank by Roxane Gay: "Scorch Atlas is a fine example of experiment with purpose (writers, take note!), of world building, of decadent, detailed and innovative writing. This is a book that should be read, and widely." + "...if ever there was an argument for the importance of the book as a physical object, that argument would be Scorch Atlas."
Tweeted by @LairdHunt: Just got my copy of Scorch Atlas -- nicely "destroyed" by the author. A few pieces in. Both delirious and controlled. Highly recommend.
Profiled @ Three Guys One Book
Leaving tomorrow morning for reading dates with Robert Lopez and Samuel Ligon, please come out if you are around, would be rad:
9/12: Brooklyn, NY @ Barbes @ 6 PM
9/14: Portsmouth, NH @ River Run Books @ 7 PM
9/15: South Deerfield, MA @ Schoen Books @ 8 PM
9/16: Boston, MA @ Brookline Booksmith @ 7 PM
9/17: Providence, RI @ Myopic Books @ 7 PM
9/18: Clinton, NJ @ Clinton Bookshop @ 630 PM
9/19: Baltimore, MD @ 510 Series @ 5 PM
9/20: Philly, PA @ The Dive Bar @ 8 PM
Bye!
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
What happened to that kid Nick H. who in 5th grade I watched rip open the flesh of his hand with a pen expressionlessly in the back of math class
Weston Cutter profiled EVER on Corduroy Books, with some very kind words, including: "...Blake Butler’s one of maybe ten writers currently writing whose sentences are miracles." Dang, thanks Weston.
Also awesome write up in the same post, of J. Robert Lennon's two new ones, one of which I read when it came out in the UK, 'Pieces for the Left Hand,' which is incredible. Really excited for 'Castle'.
I think my goal for this year is going to be to read 30 or more books released by Dalkey Archive, not counting, obviously, the many I've already read other years. So far for '09 I think I've read 6 of their titles, so I have some work to do, but I have a big stack on hand.
Entries to the nasty contest (see post below this one) are open through the evening. Get it juicy, kids. Not that you haven't already. I actually got a little green during some of the posts, either from nast or envy. Prolly both. Do a join in.
Have almost finished a first draft of the EVER-related novel, which takes place in the same house as EVER, I think. Don't know how I got so into it, but I think it is almost twice as long as EVER. Or something. What. What else.
Also awesome write up in the same post, of J. Robert Lennon's two new ones, one of which I read when it came out in the UK, 'Pieces for the Left Hand,' which is incredible. Really excited for 'Castle'.
I think my goal for this year is going to be to read 30 or more books released by Dalkey Archive, not counting, obviously, the many I've already read other years. So far for '09 I think I've read 6 of their titles, so I have some work to do, but I have a big stack on hand.
Entries to the nasty contest (see post below this one) are open through the evening. Get it juicy, kids. Not that you haven't already. I actually got a little green during some of the posts, either from nast or envy. Prolly both. Do a join in.
Have almost finished a first draft of the EVER-related novel, which takes place in the same house as EVER, I think. Don't know how I got so into it, but I think it is almost twice as long as EVER. Or something. What. What else.
Friday, April 4, 2008
What to do with nowhere + Kemel Zaldivar
KEMEL ZALDIVAR wrote a nice long analysis of a 5 part prose poem I wrote. He is going to be writing about other work on his blog often: good. Thank you Kemel.
The poem he is talking about was published at Softblow, though their server has been down ever since he started writing about it. I am a shifter of evil energy.
Here is the text:
What to do with nowhere
1.
In the living room my parents would sit for hours never knowing I’d hidden the JC Penny catalog bra section to the left of the television. The fan will continue to blow slower. This room is smaller than it was yesterday. I am coming down with cold. In the coming months I will not sweat. Swear you say so. The paint around the borders. In want of bulging child. I once paid a man in t-shirts to collect the smacky crap between the high walls of this home. The phone only rings at moments of cleanest calm. What my mind wants it might have. The yard is full of children. My collection of teeth will soon demolish the entire world’s imagination. I don’t have a problem except for lack of exit. The wire frying in the bulb. This afternoon is wholesome and yet somehow I’ve felt nothing but old skin. Marks of your nails from some short night. We never fall asleep. We sat upstairs in your bedroom beside your mother’s and listened to her squirm. What a voice. A shot. Some short bunt. The line of white dots from white window light refracted reminds me of a woman’s spine. I will be an old woman someday if I am lucky. Muscle envy. Baptism wafer. The soft head reclined or underwater. What do you think about when you’re off? I’ll sell my time off under sand. The sandwich was delicious. Thanks. There are so many things I need to scratch. The light's switch so far from the bed floor. Nod if you’re awake. Something in my cell phone makes the monitor click before it’s ringing, though sometimes it clicks and there’s no call.
2.
I don’t want to get up yet. I feel pimpled. I sense the terrorizing of long veins. Fumble digits. Turtle baby. Wipe yourself off with the sheet. He had the greatest mustache, if you could imagine, if you could ever think of hair. Light blue corduroy lined coffin on backorder. You’d be surprised at the flavor a paycheck, though be careful of the paper edge. Someone once emailed me visual instructions on how to stuff a gummy worm down your urethra. I won’t think to save this until it’s too late. Paint below the paint. Clockwise bible. Month of donor. Mouth to mouth in hallways, gone. Any combination of correct digits will connect a caller to the one you love. What voices tie the ribbon. Covert masturbation somewhere senseless in the dark. Someone’s mother made this blanket. It will not last forever.
3.
Could you not have told me sooner. For weeks we chewed into the fan. Another thing I always wanted was my arm elbow-deep in the VCR. The wedding trellis made of paper. Vast condition. Liquid net. What splices from no brother. The commercials made my dentist who he is. Palm fronds over the window. Summer light. Evacuated. If someone kills their neighbor in unconscious terror, is it still considered self defense. The dust map on the fan blades. The weeks we could have been aroused. I will find a box large enough to ship this building. I will yip into a corridor. There are houses where the walls bleed. I believe the things I confabulated at age five. Sandcastle destination. Eternal home life. Blitz of sneeze. Loophole in the loophole. Ash fountain in the head. What sentence would most break you. What cheese would appear in your folds. The clothes purchased without fitting. One brown evening I will trip the signal that brings the whole sky to its knees. Elastic infant. Coupled cream rinse. One day there will be quiet. I’ve never sneezed a bird but I have ambitions. Accidental layer. How deep the nostrils go. No interruption. No blood ceiling. Fuses fused to make a ring. This bottle of hot sauce will erupt without warning on the first night of your disease.
4.
The ice piled in the freezer will one day make someone a happy man. Dread bubble popped for no one. Leather on the breeze. The sidewalks are busy cracking. I have your vacation all lined up but you will have to send for it in writing. Sour wisdom. Attic portal. If only you could swim so far. Turn the volume down, I’m thinking of what I’ve shaken off my shoulders.
5.
Golden trombone solo for the years of shit shoved in my closet. Carried with no lid for invitation of the dust. Wire nostrils. Undivided. From how far away can you see me coming when I wear the handmade puff paint sweatshirts my aunt gifted seven years for Christmas. No nozzle for this beverage. The tire wishes it were flat. I would buy you a soldering iron but I am afraid of where it’d lead. My message will be delivered when you are not home. We could spend so many weekends hid in that lard. I know what the doctor kisses with his own mouth. The grass was dead before it woke. We ordered shutters for our shutters. Whim ambition. Or you could wonder. One condition: will you still come over if I’m underwater. The insects keep finding new ways in.
PS: You can download OCHO 19 which has both me and Kemel and Mike Young and etc for free here.
The poem he is talking about was published at Softblow, though their server has been down ever since he started writing about it. I am a shifter of evil energy.
Here is the text:
What to do with nowhere
1.
In the living room my parents would sit for hours never knowing I’d hidden the JC Penny catalog bra section to the left of the television. The fan will continue to blow slower. This room is smaller than it was yesterday. I am coming down with cold. In the coming months I will not sweat. Swear you say so. The paint around the borders. In want of bulging child. I once paid a man in t-shirts to collect the smacky crap between the high walls of this home. The phone only rings at moments of cleanest calm. What my mind wants it might have. The yard is full of children. My collection of teeth will soon demolish the entire world’s imagination. I don’t have a problem except for lack of exit. The wire frying in the bulb. This afternoon is wholesome and yet somehow I’ve felt nothing but old skin. Marks of your nails from some short night. We never fall asleep. We sat upstairs in your bedroom beside your mother’s and listened to her squirm. What a voice. A shot. Some short bunt. The line of white dots from white window light refracted reminds me of a woman’s spine. I will be an old woman someday if I am lucky. Muscle envy. Baptism wafer. The soft head reclined or underwater. What do you think about when you’re off? I’ll sell my time off under sand. The sandwich was delicious. Thanks. There are so many things I need to scratch. The light's switch so far from the bed floor. Nod if you’re awake. Something in my cell phone makes the monitor click before it’s ringing, though sometimes it clicks and there’s no call.
2.
I don’t want to get up yet. I feel pimpled. I sense the terrorizing of long veins. Fumble digits. Turtle baby. Wipe yourself off with the sheet. He had the greatest mustache, if you could imagine, if you could ever think of hair. Light blue corduroy lined coffin on backorder. You’d be surprised at the flavor a paycheck, though be careful of the paper edge. Someone once emailed me visual instructions on how to stuff a gummy worm down your urethra. I won’t think to save this until it’s too late. Paint below the paint. Clockwise bible. Month of donor. Mouth to mouth in hallways, gone. Any combination of correct digits will connect a caller to the one you love. What voices tie the ribbon. Covert masturbation somewhere senseless in the dark. Someone’s mother made this blanket. It will not last forever.
3.
Could you not have told me sooner. For weeks we chewed into the fan. Another thing I always wanted was my arm elbow-deep in the VCR. The wedding trellis made of paper. Vast condition. Liquid net. What splices from no brother. The commercials made my dentist who he is. Palm fronds over the window. Summer light. Evacuated. If someone kills their neighbor in unconscious terror, is it still considered self defense. The dust map on the fan blades. The weeks we could have been aroused. I will find a box large enough to ship this building. I will yip into a corridor. There are houses where the walls bleed. I believe the things I confabulated at age five. Sandcastle destination. Eternal home life. Blitz of sneeze. Loophole in the loophole. Ash fountain in the head. What sentence would most break you. What cheese would appear in your folds. The clothes purchased without fitting. One brown evening I will trip the signal that brings the whole sky to its knees. Elastic infant. Coupled cream rinse. One day there will be quiet. I’ve never sneezed a bird but I have ambitions. Accidental layer. How deep the nostrils go. No interruption. No blood ceiling. Fuses fused to make a ring. This bottle of hot sauce will erupt without warning on the first night of your disease.
4.
The ice piled in the freezer will one day make someone a happy man. Dread bubble popped for no one. Leather on the breeze. The sidewalks are busy cracking. I have your vacation all lined up but you will have to send for it in writing. Sour wisdom. Attic portal. If only you could swim so far. Turn the volume down, I’m thinking of what I’ve shaken off my shoulders.
5.
Golden trombone solo for the years of shit shoved in my closet. Carried with no lid for invitation of the dust. Wire nostrils. Undivided. From how far away can you see me coming when I wear the handmade puff paint sweatshirts my aunt gifted seven years for Christmas. No nozzle for this beverage. The tire wishes it were flat. I would buy you a soldering iron but I am afraid of where it’d lead. My message will be delivered when you are not home. We could spend so many weekends hid in that lard. I know what the doctor kisses with his own mouth. The grass was dead before it woke. We ordered shutters for our shutters. Whim ambition. Or you could wonder. One condition: will you still come over if I’m underwater. The insects keep finding new ways in.
PS: You can download OCHO 19 which has both me and Kemel and Mike Young and etc for free here.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Believer Feb 08
I have a review of YANNICK MURPHY's new collection forthcoming from Dzanc Books next month in the February 08 issue of the Believer. You can read the first bit of the review on the Believer's website.
I talked about Gordon Lish a little in the Believer. Weird.
This book is excellent.
I am excited about the Peter Markus and Robert Lopez books coming out from DZANC in the next while, as well as several other titles they have coming out.
Right now I am reading TORTOISE by James Lewelling which is coming out from CALAMARI PRESS pretty soon. It is excellent and fun to read so far.
I have a fuckton of new books to read now. Good.
I just watched a video of JIMMY CHEN circling his nipples with a Sharpie.
Coffee helps me feel alive.
I talked about Gordon Lish a little in the Believer. Weird.
This book is excellent.
I am excited about the Peter Markus and Robert Lopez books coming out from DZANC in the next while, as well as several other titles they have coming out.
Right now I am reading TORTOISE by James Lewelling which is coming out from CALAMARI PRESS pretty soon. It is excellent and fun to read so far.
I have a fuckton of new books to read now. Good.
I just watched a video of JIMMY CHEN circling his nipples with a Sharpie.
Coffee helps me feel alive.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Review of Roy Kesey's ALL OVER
I reviewed Roy Kesey's ALL OVER for Rain Taxi.
On Wednesday I spent about seven hours sitting at a table next to a man whose nose hairs had grown out so long they flowed straight down into his mustache. His breath was very foul and he would not stop talking.
This morning for breakfast I had: sweet potatoes and marshmallows, fried corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese with hot sauce, a bowl of fresh spinach, baked ham, red chocolate mousse, a bowl of vanilla soft serve ice cream with Oreo crumbles and a Diet Coke.
On Wednesday I spent about seven hours sitting at a table next to a man whose nose hairs had grown out so long they flowed straight down into his mustache. His breath was very foul and he would not stop talking.
This morning for breakfast I had: sweet potatoes and marshmallows, fried corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese with hot sauce, a bowl of fresh spinach, baked ham, red chocolate mousse, a bowl of vanilla soft serve ice cream with Oreo crumbles and a Diet Coke.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
review of Robert Lopez's PART OF THE WORLD
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