Yesterday morning, I sent Brian an email about today's discussion. He hasn't replied and his blog says he's out of town, so I'll go ahead and start talking a little about Will Ferguson's Happiness.

Over the course of the last month, I mentioned Happiness in several posts because I found it to be a fun, fast read. Sure, it wasn't a work of literary genius by a master author. In order to be truly well read, though, I believe you need to step away from "The Greats" every once in a while to provide yourself with perspective. If you read nothing but Joyce or Tolstoy, for example, can you really know how great they are without having points of comparison? Does commercial fiction serve a purpose besides its entertainment value?

Of the hundreds of TBRs sitting on every flat surface in my home, the overwhelming majority are tragedies and dramas. I tend toward books with oddly twisting plots and hyper-dysfunctional characters who are barely able to function in "normal" society. For me, Happiness was a departure from the usual fare and it reminded me of the importance of occasionally putting aside seriousness since there isn't anything wrong with having a laugh. Do you tend to read more tragedies or comedies? If you strongly prefer one over the other, how often do you step outside your comfort zone?

Happiness, no doubt, is a comedic satire of the publishing industry. I found it funny, but satire? More than once, I wondered if Ferguson and I had worked at the same publishing company. We made fun of obnoxiously bad writing from the slush pile. Our editors thought they knew everything. We repackaged successful books and beat them into the ground along the lines of the "Chicken Broth" series in Happiness. What did you think of the satire? Based on what you know about the publishing industry, did Ferguson's characterization seem absurd?

In the story, What I Learned on the Mountain by Tupak Soiree is a self-help book that really works and helps its readers do everything from quitting smoking to having incredible sex. Although my life is far from perfect, I have read very few self-help books. About a year ago, I read a book about honesty because an acquaintance said it helped him get over his hangups and improved the way he interacted with others. I thought it was a piece of crap. [Honest.] As I read it, I realized that I'd be a pretty boring person without all of my eccentricities, so I specifically avoided its advice. Do you ever read self-help books? Has one ever helped you? Do you recommend them to others?

...because recent days have afflicted me with a double whammy of both writer's and reader's block.

Discussion - Our discussion of Happiness by Will Ferguson will begin tomorrow. I hope many will join in.

Author - Earlier this week, I attended an appearance by Steven Hart for his new non-fiction book, The Last Three Miles: Politics, Murder, and the Construction of America's First Superhighway. The topic, the Pulaski Skyway in northern New Jersey, was fascinating and it was a pleasure to meet Steven. I will post about the event soon.

Writing - I recently mentioned having notebook envy, which went as far as lustily browsing through a display rack of Moleskines in a bookstore. Alas, a handmade notebook is cost-prohibitive due to my peanutty income. My thirst was quelled, though, when the marvellous Zonker of Thunder and Roses sent me a surprise gift of two pocket-sized Moleskines. At the next event requiring copious notes, I will wave them under the noses of all the marble composition philistines so the artisan smell can drive their olfactories wild with envy of me. Thank you, Zonker!

A few posts ago, I briefly wondered why there's such a stigma attached to Oprah books. At the book review panel, an academic in the audience stated that she gets some of her fiction recommendations from "god forbid" Oprah. The qualifier struck me as odd. She was clearly embarrassed by her admission and must have added the "god forbid" as a means of staving off not being taken seriously.

Years ago, when I lived in Chicago, I attended an Oprah taping after she had lost a ton of weight on a liquid diet. She moved around the audience with a microphone back then, and I was awestruck by how large her head and hair were compared to her tiny, tiny body. Seriously, the ratio was something along the lines of a Charms Blow Pop, and I was so preoccupied with wondering how she managed to carry her cranium that I barely remember what the show was about. Soap stars maybe.

Oprah's Book Club doesn't register much on my radar, probably because I don't fall into the demographic. In looking over the master list of selections, I have to admit that I haven't read many of them. As a result, I don't feel qualified to judge her selections as worthy of either praise or scorn. Of the books I have read, though, I enjoyed every one:

• Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
• The Best Way to Play by Bill Cosby
[Note: I used to teach 3rd and 4th grade and have read a lot of children's books.]
• The Treasure Hunt by Bill Cosby
• The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
[Note: BookBlog's September 2002 selection.]
• East of Eden by John Steinbeck
• The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
• Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
[Note: BookBlog's February 2004 selection.]

My favorite above is Middlesex, but I absolutely loved The Virgin Suicides and wish Eugenides would write another book. I hope he doesn't make us wait another 10 years.

Via the comments, Imani of The Books of My Numberless Dreams writes that her ideas about literature are at the opposite end of the spectrum from Oprah's:

"To Winfrey, though, an author's literary style, erudition or linguistic experimentation is of secondary importance: She's primarily concerned with the social aspects of literature, how literature can help our culture. If the work doesn't have a useful moral foundation that has the potential to make the world a more civil and pleasant place, it's not going to be one of her selections." - from the Los Angeles Times via Black Garterbelt

Matt of A Variety of Words adds:

I'll also throw out why for me there is a stigma attached to reading an Oprah book. I feel like she is trying to be our savior, telling us what to think and what is good because we can't possibly decide those things ourself. I can make my own decisions on what is good thank you very much.

Hmm...it seems as though Oprah's desire to better society is off-putting. I can't help making a connection to this month's discussion selection, Happiness, a comedy delineating the ruinous effects of the first self-help book that actually works. From the author's introduction:

This is a book about the end of the world, and as such, it involves diet cookbooks, self-help gurus, sewer-crawling convicts, overworked editors, the economic collapse of the United States of America and the widespread tilling of alfalfa fields. And I think one of the characters loses a finger at some point, too. This is the story of apocalypse: Apocalypse Nice. It tells of a devastating plague of human happiness, an epidemic of warm fuzzy hugs, and a mysterious trailer on the edge of a desert...

So I have to wonder, at what point does making the world a better place go from sincere altruism to mass consumption of tainted Kool-Aid followed by the apocalypse?

In Chicago, Melville House publisher (and on again/off again blogger) Dennis Loy Johnson and Bookslut Jessa Crispin met to discuss the future of literary criticism.

Literago reports:

The overarching themes of the discussion were that mainstream publishing sucks, corporate megaconglomerates have sucked the lifeblood from the book and newspaper industries, and the average reader has been suckered into accepting substandard titles that have won flawed awards. The biggest revelation of the evening: positive reviews don’t guarantee increased sales. The success of a given title hinges on an ever-nebulous factor called “word of mouth.” But whose word? Whose mouth?

The fact that word of mouth moves books is a "revelation?" Publishers have known about and exploited it for years, which is one reason why you don't see a whole lot of publisher-paid advertising—except for the books and authors everyone has already heard about. Another reason would be that publishers are notoriously cheap. And, yes, positive reviews don't always translate into sales.

Although word of mouth advertising is not immediately measurable or apparent, it does have long-term and exponential impact on book sales. Think about the following simplified scenarios:

Alpha - Let's say Critic Alpha positively reviews Book Alpha and Reader Alpha buys it. If Reader Alpha hates it, Reader Alpha is not likely to recommend it to friends. As a result, Book Alpha could possibly be dead in the water soon after publication. Not all hope is lost yet, though.

Beta - But if Critic Beta positively reviews Book Beta and Reader Beta also loves it, Reader Beta will likely suggest it to friends. To borrow from a classic shampoo commercial, those friends will tell friends who will tell friends and so on and on. If this process happens quickly, Book Beta might be a blockbuster while it's on the frontlist and will surely continue to sell well when it hits the backlist. If it happens slowly, it will earn its keep over the long haul of the backlist.

Gamma - Then there's Reader Gamma, who, in my opinion, makes up the overwhelming majority of book buyers. Reader Gamma doesn't run out and buy books based on the latest reviews and is slow to pick up titles recommended by friends. One day, Reader Gamma stumbles across Book Alpha. The book is bought, read, and loved. Reader Gamma tells friends who tell friends and so on. As word of mouth spreads, Book Alpha becomes a sleeper and makes steady money from the backlist.

So, based on the above, who sold more books: critics or readers? Surprisingly, neither. The success of Books Alpha and Beta resulted from word of mouth advertising, which originated both with a critic and a reader.

Providing another take on the Chicago discussion, Jonathan Messinger makes three excellent points:

1. "Literary blogs are okay." [What some critics don't seem to understand is that the vast majority of people blogging about books are readers making recommendations to their friends, be they real life or virtual. It's word of mouth on steroids, and is just as good for books and reading as serious criticism.]
2. "Print lingers." [Print critics have both more and less influence than they think. Although reviews may not translate into quick sales or advertising dollars, a reader might remember good press from months earlier during a browse through a bookstore. However, such influence is on the decline and hanging onto the Ghost of Critics Past is not a viable way to move reviewing into the future.]
3. "We're not dumb." [He's right; we aren't.]

Now that I've had a few days to digest Wednesday's panel and more thoroughly look over my notes, I have a few additional thoughts.

When a book is reviewed in the newspaper, six forces go into play: writer, publisher, critic, newspaper, bookseller, reader. Each has its own agenda.

Writer - According to Hannah Tinti, writers want their books reviewed by as many different voices as possible. They do not want the same bad review to be passed around from paper to paper via the AP. As a result, lots of working critics at lots of different newspapers benefit the writer.

Publisher - Dan Simon mentioned the corporate value system in reference to the fact that the big houses publish the majority of books available today. They have to report to shareholders, so making money is more important than producing quality literature. From what I know, word of mouth and the backlist long tail are more profitable than anything else. Obviously, publishers will court anyone (including maggots) who are likely to flaunt their wares.

Critic - Each of the panelists, except John Freeman, mentioned the importance of placing a book within its niche since targeting sells. To him, the problem with writing reviews for niches (e.g., a title with local rather than national interest) is that they segregate discourse from a broad audience. Critics clearly want their reviews to be widely read and discussed; they are journalists, not salespeople.

Newspaper - It is unfortunate no one on the panel represented the business end of newspapers. Having once worked in a particular tower in Chicago, I can say this: newspapers, like the big publishing houses, are in the business of making money. When they think something doesn't earn, they will cut it loose—regardless of whether or not it serves the public or the greater good.

Bookseller - When I sold books to the trade, we operated on the idea that three factors drove retail sales: niche, store placement, and cover. I found it interesting when Sarah McNally said books without quotes on them don't sell no matter where she puts them in her store. Although I can't say for sure, my guess is blurbs from a respected publication (like The New York Times) or a well-known author (like James Patterson) move more inventory than ones from Joe Critic in The Unknown Tribune.

Reader - Presumably, everyone reading this blog also reads books. I'll leave it up to you to decide what your agenda is and where you fit into the grand scheme of the above. If you're willing to share, I'd love it if you'd leave a comment.

Last night, I attended an event co-sponsored by the National Book Critics Circle (NBCC) and the New York Center for Independent Publishing (NYCIP). Called "Save Our Book Reviews!" the panel met to discuss how newspaper book sections work with independent publishers.

Despite the exclamation point, not much exclaiming went on, so I took copious notes. It's a strategy best employed in situations when audible snoring and free-form drooling are considered tacky. Don't get me wrong, many interesting points were raised and need to be further discussed by those interested in the future of print reviews. Maybe it's a character flaw, but I generally find book events boring. Stodgy. Overly serious.

Rather than attempt the nearly impossible task of deciphering my own handwriting, I will point you first to a post on Richard Grayson's MySpace blog. He has written an exceptionally thorough recap which includes all of the topics discussed. Ed Champion has also posted thoughts and photographs. In Ed's first picture, the panel looks even more bored than I was, probably because they weren't able to furiously scribble in notebooks. Other familiar audience members were Levi Asher of Literary Kicks and Ami Greko of Folio Literary Management.

For my contribution to the discourse, following is what stood out most to me:

John Freeman - NBCC president, panel moderator

• The printed word is embattled due to three issues: space, quality of writing, and what's covered.


• There is a lot of promise for book reviews on the Internet; there is no war between critics and bloggers.


• One of his favorite critics is Adam Kirsch. [Note: Kirsch has recently brought some litblogger scorn on himself by writing an article called "The Scorn of the Literary Blog" which states, "bitesized commentary, which is all the blog form allows, is next to useless when it comes to talking about books." Ahem.]

Dan Simon - publisher of Seven Stories Press

• Reviewers are considered publishers' "ideal" readers.


• Indies make up 3% of the book market and, percentage-wise, get more books reviewed than corporate publishers. [Note: Very true because certain people gravitate toward anything "independent." Authors needing the most help, in terms of spreading the word, are no-names at big houses.]

Sarah McNally - of McNally Robinson Booksellers

• Younger readers don't come into the store with print reviews; they buy books based on Internet buzz.


• In-store placement (e.g. face up on tables near the front) sells more than reviews, but books without quotes on the cover don't move no matter where they're located.

Hannah Tinti - editor of One Story

• Word of mouth is her literary journal's best mode of advertising.


• Online reviews and book blogs are exploding.

M.A. Orthofer - managing editor of The Complete Review

• Although the Internet has potential, it is not a substitute for the print review even if the critics are doing a bad job.


• The Literary Saloon, the weblog component to his site, gets only 10% of his total traffic. The rest goes to the reviews. [Note: And I'd guess that most of those people land there from search engines.]


• Orthofer couldn't come up with the name of a single print reviewer he liked.

Tim W. Brown - freelance reviewer, NYCIP Executive Committee member

• There is a sick symbiosis between a dying art form (criticism) and a dysfunctional industry (publishing). [Note: Brown, in my opinion, was the most interesting person on the panel. His candor was refreshing.]


• Journalists are lazy and much of what appears in reviews is spoon-fed to them by a publisher's press release.


• Review sections cover the same handful of books each week, so reviewers should be more proactive in seeking out diverse titles.

The Audience - assorted and sundry

• A soon to be self-published author asked something—I'm not sure what—but I understood immediately why he plans to self-publish.


• An academic flatly stated that fiction coverage in The New York Times was boring, had no style, and needed more pizazz. She gets her recommendations from bookstores and "god forbid" Oprah. [Note: I don't understand why there's so much stigma attached to reading an Oprah selection. She moves books, which is a good thing, yet even those reading along with her are embarrassed.]


• Ed Champion asked why we should bother saving reviews when the critics are doing a good job themselves of killing them. Simon said that Ed was speaking "provocatively."


• In front of me sat an author with a book coming out soon from a small press. He had a copy of Marisha Pessl's Special Topics in Calamity Physics. His companion held pages—probably information on the event and its location—that had been printed off of Galleycat.


• Two people clutched spiffy Moleskines, so I felt a tiny bit self-conscious about my notebook: a vinyl-clad school-year calendar that a teacher friend got for free from an educational salesrep but didn't want and was about to throw away.


• During the afterchat, Brown mentioned that the founder of the African American Literature Book Club, a fabulous niche site, was also there. Had I known, I would have said hello.

Recently, I was asked to review Birth of an American Family by Geoffrey Moehl II. It is the memoir of a Catholic Charities mentor to two Russian families relocated to Florida after being granted refugee status. The book chronicles their adjustment to life in the United States and open-minded acceptance of American culture as seen through the eyes of the author. Moehl teaches the Russian family many things we take for granted: the English language, finding the grocery store, getting a driver's license, playing games like Sorry!, helping children with homework. Throughout the book, he also realizes and reflects on how much he learns from them—both about Russian culture and about himself as a person. Birth of an American Family is a labor of love and Moehl exhibits an understandable amount of pride in undertaking such important volunteer work.

With illegal immigration being a hot topic in the news, it was refreshing to read an inspirational story about legal refugees and the dedication of an American willing to help them. Throughout the story, Moehl tells anecdotes of misunderstandings easily understood by anyone who has had experience with cultures outside their own. For example, at one meal:

Taking a spoonful, I realized the soup base was cold sour cream, served right from the fridge. I generally will eat some sour cream, but not three cups worth. I felt extremely awkward. How could I convey to my host I do not like the soup without offending my host's hospitality and kindness?

Later on, one of the mothers wants to find a place to acquire Russian foods and uses the word "cookbooks." Moehl, always willing to supply assistance, sends her to a bookstore. Rather than blame the miscommunication on her lack of English skills, he realizes that he, too, is partly to blame and reflects, "Boy did I feel silly."

Although the author is grammatically proficient and maintains his voice throughout, the writing does suffer from a few problems commonly found in self-published work. A good editor could repair errors in punctuation and make verb tenses more consistent. In addition, the story is currently told in chronological order. It may be more engaging to the reader if it were told topically, with chapters, for example, dedicated to "miscommunication" or "food" or "work." Finally, I felt that some parts were incomplete. At the beginning of the book, I would have loved more background on the families' lives in Russia and their decision to leave. Not being a religious person, I also would have benefited from some information on Catholic Charities and the kind of work they do.

Despite the above minor issues, I did enjoy the sections dealing with education since I used to be an elementary school teacher. Moehl talks of his transition into teaching after having spent a large part of his life (as we all do) as a student. He models his approach after favorite teachers from his childhood and reworks lessons in order to make them more attainable by the Russians. He also devotes some time discussing the problems experienced by one of the children in an ESL classroom heavily laden with Spanish-dominant speakers.

Rather than maintain a static outlook as a mentor and teacher, Moehl constantly reflects on his observations and his failures. Undoubtedly, his strength is his willingness to adapt and learn from his experiences.

Disclosure: This has been a sponsored post.

Although I haven't made it a secret that I'm not thrilled by the NBCC, I will be in the audience at a panel co-sponsored by them tomorrow night in Manhattan:

"Save Our Book Reviews!"
June 13, 2007 at 6:30 p.m.
General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen Library
20 West 44th Street (between 5th and 6th Avenues)

The New York Center for Independent Publishing sent me a few emails about it, and—despite how I feel about critics—print reviews are an extremely valuable source of advertising to the small houses. They don't have scads of money to buy ads in the media or prime retail space in bookstores, and sending out review copies via media mail is inexpensive. If a book manages to win the review lottery, it helps get the sales ball rolling.

In any case, I care about good books enough to want the small, independent guy to continue to have outlets allowing him to compete with the big guy. Plus, M.A. Orthofer of The Complete Review will be on the panel, and I'm curious to get a look at him in person. It should be an interesting evening.

Matt at A Variety of Words recently read Jim Crace's Being Dead and posted a brief review to his blog. [Gasp! Note to professional critics who aren't reading this since no one reads blogs: breathe. Matt simply likes books; he isn't trying to put you out of a job.] He didn't like it much, and gave it a rating of 2.5/5.0. After some reflection, he decided to lower it to 2.0 because as he later wrote, "I think I’m allowing myself to be too influenced by others and have sometimes been giving a book a higher rating than I really should have."

Years ago, I read Being Dead because of its positive press and award-winning status. I hated it. Besides beautiful prose and a carefully-plotted story arc, there isn't much else redeeming about the book. Pre-BookBlog, I had a personal website and posted my own brief review. [Gasp! Note to professional critics who aren't reading this since no one reads blogs: breathe. I simply like books; your job security, though, means little to me.] I thought it might take some digging to find and share it with Matt, but it turns out I already posted it to BookBlog.

According to the editors of the American Heritage dictionaries, these are the 100 words every high school graduate should know.

Does anyone actually say "jejune" aloud these days? I'm sure it's been more than 10 years since I heard it in conversation, from the mouth of a former manager who spent his time criticizing me when I was around and going through my desk when I wasn't. At a business dinner, he once asked if the group would like to get dessert in order to "ameliorate the meal." Such awkward use of language caused me to not take anything he said seriously, and I was convinced he had a secret word-of-the-day calendar.

Full disclosure: I had to look up "bowdlerize" and "moiety."

Via Books, Words, and Writing.

Being one interested in languages, this month's focus on Reading the World has attracted my attention. When choosing a novel to read, I don't generally take much into consideration beyond whether or not the story seems interesting to me. That is to say, in terms of translated works, I rarely notice if the book I have chosen wasn't originally written in English. If I liked it, I might go back to find out something about the author and other work and have been surprised more than once to discover I had just read a book in translation.

When reading books by French authors, though, I usually try to find a copy of the original. I took classes in it through college, did study abroad in Grenoble, and have family living in a suburb of Paris. Although I'd never claim to be fluent (considering how often I find even my native English awkward), I can get by in French and reading it is the best way to keep up vocabulary when there's no one around for practice. Unfortunately, trolling the foreign language sections in the local bookstores reveals mainly Folio student editions of classic authors like Voltaire, Dumas, and Sartre.

I also studied Spanish in school and have had to use it for work, but my skills overall are crap despite its similarity to French. After four years of teaching elementary school in a Spanish-dominant neighborhood, I'm best at yelling at children in two languages to ensure delivery of a message to stop the bad behavior. I also know most of the dirty words used in both Mexico and the Dominican Republic because students love schooling the teacher. Imagine my total spinster surprise when a 10-year-old explained the double entendre of Daddy Yankee's "Gasolina" and the giggles when I exclaimed, "What do you mean it isn't about cars?"

Novels aside, what I absolutely love best in translation is poetry. If I can get my hands on a bilingual edition of a book of poems, regardless of the original language, I will buy it. Side-by-side translations are wonderful since you get a feel of both the poet's use of words (in the original) and the meaning of the poem (in translation). I own two bilingual editions of Charles Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal, one is literal while the other is representational. Although I can read (and love) his work in French, referencing each very different side-by-side translation has helped me achieve a deeper appreciation of the symbolism, figurative language, and metaphors employed by a master of poetry.

Recently, I have been working my way through a bilingual edition of The Time Tree, a book of poems by Huu Thinh and translated from Vietnamese by George Evans and Nguyen Qui Duc. Ethnically, I am Vietnamese and Italian-American, the progeny of a foreign war and raised in the United States. Thinh's work is filled with contrast between ancestral respect for the folklore of Vietnam and the mourning loss of a witness to modern war. It speaks to me. As I read it, I become simultaneously proud and profoundly sad. When the two bloodlines in your veins once fought to the death, it's hard to reconcile with both hating yourself and celebrating unification.

Following is an excerpt from a poem in The Time Tree (NB: a cuoc bird is a crake):

"The Cuoc Birds Cry" by Huu Thinh

The clouds float off,
We stay behind,
The cuoc birds cry by the river docks.

They cry because the traps are dangerous.
Weeds float on the water.
I silently call out the names
Of tables, chairs, old clothing,
And suddenly my youth returns,
Looking at me in confusion,
Kites decorated like tufts of hair on a child's head
More joyful than the source of joy.
Rice crisps ballooning in the market
Cover some of the sadness.
I sit and call out the names of cards from the tam cuc game:
Chariots, artillery, horses on distant roads.
Only the cries of the cuoc birds remain.

Cuoc birds have been crying since before they were named.
My father mixed earth to pave the road.
From clay
He sculpted the kitchen god, a bowl.
The wine drinkers left one by one.
My father held up the bowl
As if holding a part of his life
Dried into clay.

The cuoc birds cry in the far away fields.

A few months ago, my neighbor and I went to a warehouse sale at A1Books, an online bookseller that happens to be based in the next town over. Recently, Publishers Weekly reported that they have "teamed with Google Books India to launch what it claims is the first online bookselling and retailer marketplace aimed at the Indian book market." This, I think, is a very good thing for books because piracy runs rampant in that country. Wider availability of discounted "official" copies should help spread awareness of legitimacy, and perhaps fewer publishers will learn about unlicensed editions of their titles that have been printed on toilet paper.

(Very, very interesting. I just did a little flipping through A1Books' web site and stumbled across a little bit of code that is clearly designed to up their ranking with the search engines. It pays to be clever when competing with the likes of Amazon.)

Anyway, for the first time, A1Books opened up their warehouse to the public for a huge remainder sale. A large section was cordoned off and stacks of books were sold at 1 for $4, 2 for $7, and 3 for $10. Although my browsing experience was marred by being followed around by a woman with two unruly children, I managed to stay focused long enough to find three books. I picked up Never Mind the Pollacks by Neal Pollack (I'm not a big fan of his style of satire, but it was either this or McGreevey's memoir. In the end, I figured I'd be less likely to throw Pollack's book across the room.), James Kaplan's Two Guys from Verona (NJ, natch.), and Half Life by Shelley Jackson (Its jacket description reminded me of Middlesex.).

Near the cash register was a spinning rack filled with a few books that weren't part of the remainder sale. For Oprah fans, one of them was Cormac McCarthy's The Road. I picked it up but put it back down because it was $8 and I knew I'd eventually find it for much less once the masses moved on to the next selection. McCarthy made his Oprah appearance yesterday, and I watched it even though I was too cheap to pay a discounted price for his book.

Just as they were about to talk about The Road itself, I heard the phrase "apocalyptic dream" and then had my own apocalyptic vision when I realized a small critter (Bat? Shrew?) was crawling through the back wall of my house. I missed the entire segment as I banged on the wall to frighten it into quickly fleeing. It paid me no mind and continued its journey, slowing its pace to what sounded like a mocking prance.

Then, McCarthy became my hero. When Oprah surmised that he worked (at writing) in order to not work (at a traditional job), he agreed with, "If you're dedicated, you can probably do it." This is my life's goal. Not to write, necessarily, but to figure out how to get a maximum of living from a bare minimum of working. I'm far from lazy, as many who know me hopefully realize. Long ago, I decided that the rat race didn't make me happy but I ran it because I thought I had to. I've since had a couple of mini-retirements (once from a layoff; currently, of my own choosing) and, despite a shortage of money, I'm the most contented I have ever been. If I can figure out a way to sustainability, I know I'd spend the rest of my days in a state of perpetual bliss.

Update: I have just taken the time to go through the rest of the businesses profiled in New York Magazine's "The Profit Calculator," which I linked to yesterday in reference to Random House. In figuring out my life's goal of "working at not working," I think I'm going to skip trying out a career as a drug dealer because:

Profit Catastrophes: Prison. “One day you open your door and there are five cops, and they take you to prison for two and a half years, where you spend all your money on lawyers and make 10 cents an hour in the prison shop, like I did. It’s almost inevitable, which is the downside of the business.”

This month's discussion will be moderated by Brian of Dispatches from an MFA Seeking Writer, and today he points us to a short piece in New York Magazine on Random House's income and expenses. Very interesting.

With BEA just out of town, I find a lot of my thoughts going back to the conventions I've attended. I remember when Bertelsmann bought Random House; the deal was finalized at a Frankfurt Book Fair. News of the buy traveled up and down the aisles of the buchmesse like quicksilver, and the Random House employees working in their booth were the last ones to find out.

A pair of publishing truths from Will Ferguson's Happiness:

"Edwin, you know as well as I do that the greatest sales tool we have is word of mouth. It sells more books than anything else. You can have the biggest, slickest marketing plan available, but poor word of mouth will still kill the best-laid plans of mice and publishers." (p. 149)

And:

It was a typical backwards theory, the type with which publishing is ripe—namely, the more successful the book, the more money you spend promoting it. After all, if a book isn't a blockbuster, why waste money pushing it? The result? The books that need it the least get the most money. (p. 158)

Although I'm usually a weenie about leaving my comfort zone, I went to the Litblog Co-Op's Book Expo America (BEA) gathering on Thursday night. Levi of Literary Kicks had sent me an email about it, and I have wanted to meet him since I've been a longtime fan of his site. Despite what happened at the last blogmeet, Eddie agreed to be my escort and we squeezed our way into the bar after fortifying ourselves at a Thai restaurant.

Drinks in hand, our goal was to find Levi. At first, I thought it'd be impossible because A) the place was crowded, B) I had no idea what he looked like, and C) seeing trade show badges momentarily made me flash back to my first American Booksellers Association convention in the old days before Reed took it over and renamed it. It was not a pleasant experience and included repeatedly wondering, "What am I doing here?" This question became a mantra at every subsequent conference I attended, including our own biannual sales meetings. (Well, maybe not every conference. I always liked NJEA in Atlantic City even though "naughty" doesn't come close to describing what it feels like to gamble alongside a clutch of habited nuns.) It took considerable effort to shut off the mantra, which had automatically engaged and was running on autopilot, in order to push through to the back of the bar.

Luckily, Levi was conspicuously wearing a name tag. He gave me a warm greeting, instantly setting me at ease, and so the ice I had built up around meeting other litbloggers was finally broken. Thank you, Levi.

Eddie and I had stepped into the middle of a conversation between Levi and Miriam Parker, who surprised me when she said she worked at Little, Brown. Had I been in her shoes, standing among a lot of litbloggers, I might have said that I worked for Hachette (the parent company) and saved Little, Brown for conversation with dead tree media. Miriam, though, was lovely, certainly didn't seem to think litbloggers are "some sort of interstitial or synovial fluid," and restored my respect for her employer. She graciously said I should let her know if there was anything from Little, Brown that I wanted, so, in my usual tact-filterless style, I asked for Shannon Byrne's head on a plate. Poor Miriam.

This reminds me. I need to order a maggot totebag.

From there, Levi introduced me to Ed Champion, the one blogger I instantly recognized. Ed and I have a long history, which goes back pre-BookBlog in the days when I operated under my real name. He might not remember it since being nearly dooced forced me temporarily off the Internet as a step toward unGoogling myself. In any case, Ed and I have butted heads on more than one occasion so I said, after shaking his hand, "It's the slattern herself—in person." He is both taller and more affable than I had imagined, and I would very much enjoy getting to know him now that he has relocated to the East Coast.

I met C. Max Magee and his entourage from The Millions and Sarah Weinman from Galleycat. Bud Parr of MetaxuCafe looked uncomfortable when I introduced myself. He and I know why, and I'll leave it at that. On my end, though, there are no hard feelings. At a later point, I found myself in a group with The Written Nerd but the ongoing conversation prevented me from properly saying hello. I also met a handful of authors and other bloggers, and I wish I had thought to write down everyone's name immediately after the gathering.

Since Thursday was a school night for Eddie and things were going well (i.e. I survived making small talk.), we decided to cut out early. I found Levi to say goodbye and ran into Ed upon exiting the bar. He introduced me to Richard Nash of Soft Skull and then it all went wrong. Soft Skull was recently sold, and I curiously asked, "So at BEA, are you standing in your booth or Charlie Winton's?"

Before I explain what happened next, I must first point out that I meant nothing by the question other than to find out which booth he was physically working. When my publishing employer was a tiny house, we used Publishers Group West for left coast sales representation and I found myself—more than once—standing in a booth with Winton as he made nice-nice with us. (Me being in international sales, he very well may have been asking himself, "What's she doing here?" as I simultaneously wondered, "What am I doing here?") Later, when we were sold to a media giant on the eve of a Frankfurt Book Fair, I spent the show in a booth making nice-nice with the new bosses. So I know, from both ends, what it feels like to be in Soft Skull's situation.

My question caused Richard to gasp, "Well, I suppose it's my booth."

Ed next let out a hearty guffaw and said, "Now that's a ballsy question. I may have to blog this."

I was confused at first by their reactions, but I soon realized the implication behind what I had asked when Richard turned to the woman next to him and began a quiet tete-a-tete about the sale. I hung around for a few extra moments hoping to break in to explain where I was coming from, but it was clear damage had been done and I was being ignored. Sigh. [Update: Checking the comments below, Richard popped in to let me know that I totally misread the situation. Misunderstanding cleared; blogging rocks.]

Eddie and I made a quick getaway. I felt much better when we stopped for ice cream on the way home. However, he brought me right back to reality when he refused to let me taste his flavors despite repeated requests and offers of a lick from my cone. He shoved the last of his ice cream into his mouth with a smirk because nothing pleases him more than making my usually spoiled self pout.