TINGLE ALLEY

12/22/2005

Some of the books in Edith Wharton’s library

Filed under: Schwarmerei, Writers & Writing — caaf @ 11:07 am

As has been widely reported, last week Edith Wharton’s personal library, which consists of 2,600 volumes, was sold back to her estate for $2.6 million (basically, a thousand bucks a book). The initial reports mentioned a few of the books in the collection — such as the copy of The Golden Bowl mysteriously inscribed by Henry James, “To Edith Wharton – in sympathy” — but I’ve been curious to see the entire list of books.

I haven’t been able to track one down yet, but the estate’s official release about the sale gives a little more information than has been circulating, including books in the library from Wharton’s lover Morton Fullerton:

In addition to containing 22 copies of her own works, some of the more important first editions in the collection according to independent appraisers include:
* Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll (1866, first American edition) 1,000 copies printed. Wharton recalled that as a child she knew Alice “by heart.”
* The Golden Bowl by Henry James, signed by the author: “To Edith Wharton – in sympathy – Henry James, November 1904.” There are more than 25 works by James in the library including Terminations, Embarrassments, and Wings of the Dove, chronicling their long and intimate friendship.
* Ulysses by James Joyce. This is one of 750 copies published by Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare and Company in 1922.
* America and the World War by Theodore Roosevelt, 1915. Inscribed: “To Edith Wharton from an American – American! Theodore Roosevelt Feb 6th 1915.”
* The Education of Henry Adams (Privately printed for the author), 1907. Edition of 100 copies.

Sets of books from her father’s library, including his two-volume set of Milton, were joined by the poets she loved, including Arnold, Browning, Coleridge, Donne, Hopkins, Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, Yeats, and three volumes of Walt Whitman, a personal favorite.

Essentially self-educated, she was fluent in French, German, and Italian, and collected classical literature in translation. She revered the works of Goethe and read all his poetry by the age of fifteen. Works by Italian writers including Boccaccio, Machiavelli, Dante, and Leopardi were side by side on her shelves with French masters Racine, Pascal, Balzac, Stendhal, Flaubert, and Proust.

Edith Wharton had an insatiable curiosity on a wide range of subjects. She delved into evolution and science through Darwin and Huxley, philosophy with Nietzsche and Schopenhauer and collected works on the liturgy of the Roman Catholic Church, Freethought, Mohammedanism, Christian Science, and Mormonism. Wharton herself was a published authority on architecture, interior design and landscape gardening, and included numerous works on these topics in her own collection. Her library also includes books on her craft, including a much-used Roget’s Thesaurus, and travel books that reflect her many tours throughout Europe and the Mediterranean.

The collection even chronicles her brief love affair, at 47, with the American journalist, William Morton Fullerton, who sent her a copy of the great love story, Tristan et Iseut, for Christmas in 1909 with a poem dedicated to her on the flyleaf. There are books from his library included in her collection as well as those from other intellectuals of her day, including Charles Eliot Norton, Henry James and Theodore Roosevelt.

The library will be on view at The Mount, Edith Wharton’s estate in Lenox, Mass., which I’ve been meaning to visit. If you’ve been, please say in comments whether it’s worth the trip.

12/21/2005

Holiday dispatch

Filed under: The Fevered Brow — caaf @ 12:56 pm

Yesterday I woke up and realized that if I didn’t hop on it the family was going to be gathering around ye olde Yuletide dying Boston fern this year. Thus far, as you may have observed, the main preparation for the season has been a steady imbibing of peppermint schnapps and hot cocoa. This is, I have come to believe, a foul combination but we have, mysteriously, a mega-bottle of schnapps in the cabinet — maybe it came with the house? — that has now lasted 3 winters. It is, in fact, so large that it is the only object that fits in that cabinet. Yesterday I considered that I could probably pour out bits of it into snifters for everybody on my shopping list — “To our kind neighbors, HAVE SOME SCHNAPPS” “To my beloved stepchildren, HAVE SOME SCHNAPPS” etc. — and still have enough left to get Mr. Tingle and me to spring.

Speaking of stepchildren, my stepson turns 23 today. I invite you to feel mingled feelings of misty sentimentality at how well he and his sister have turned out and “holy crap, I’m getting old” with me. As longtime readers know, I first shacked up with Mr. Tingle when his kids were in high school. One entertaining feature of their domestic routines together was that Mr. Tingle would rise early to pack The Boy’s lunch every morning. Always the same: One turkey sandwich, one plastic baggie of chips, one can of Dr. Lynn (local generic Dr. Pepper), one apple, and one or two miniature Baby Ruths. This routine continued till the last day of high school, and for all I know Mr. Tingle smuggled some sort of snack pack into the graduation ceremony itself. (Obviously, I wasn’t put in charge of any lunch production because I would have been all, “Here, kid, HAVE SOME SCHNAPPS.”)

While I’m nattering on about domestic arrangements, one startling revelation from yesterday’s spree: There lives inside me someone who really, really cares about the quality of her tree skirt. Who knew? It took me a long time at TJ Maxx to fight this alternate personality down and successfully navigate past the display of tree skirts marked 25% off. There was one of red and gold brocade that was particularly tempting, and I stood there fingering it for, like, an hour before shaking off the madness. Our tree skirt is red and green felt — I believe it was bought at the hardware store sometime long ago when I was first setting up house for myself. The tree thinks it’s totally fine.

12/19/2005

How’s this?

Filed under: General — caaf @ 11:08 pm

We bumped up the font one pixel — from 11 to 12. Is this better, with more sheen? Or should we add one more pixel?

Mr. Tingle informs me that it is impossible to split a pixel (say, to 12 1/2). However, there are some other ways to size it … ratio something something … but I zoned out.

12/16/2005

Welcome back, Terry!

Filed under: In The Conversation — caaf @ 4:24 pm

It’s a relief to see that Terry Teachout is home from the hospital, with the comfort of a good prognosis for the future. Also good to know that he is the sort of a drama critic who doesn’t shirk his duty to recommend a play for an out-of-towner, even while being carried out of his apartment by paramedics. All warm wishes for good health, Terry — it’s good to know you’re back at home.

The intriguing (and sensual) onan-poem

Filed under: Little Thoughts Flitting — caaf @ 3:04 pm

Is it just me or does the headline of this AP article seem to suggest that “Leaves of Grass” is on the verge of growing hairy palms and going blind?

p.s. This is the sort of post I hesitate to put up because it inevitably leads to someone commenting “It’s a play on the line from the poem, dumbass.” To forestall: I know (duh, I’ve seen Bull Durham) & I’m amused anyway – something about Whitman robustness translated into AP style, similar in vibe to when businesses brag about how well they “service” their customers (and again, willing to acknowledge it’s just me). Still, I am all for this line being adopted as a general euphemism: Like “The summer he turned 15 he couldn’t stop celebrating himself.” Or “Good Vibrations has introduced the Celebrate Yourself line – silicone-free and waterproof!”, a category of goods that perhaps could be marketed in conjunction with the Lady Chatterley thong.

p.p.s. Totally no schnapps today.

Two fonts, one fat one thin.

Filed under: The Fevered Brow — caaf @ 1:10 pm

A while back I asked the tech support team to bring down the font size around here as it felt “overly bulbous.” Maybe I was projecting my own issues onto the font — I don’t know.* However, some readers reported the new font size is too small for comfortable reading, and I promised to have the tech support team look for a happy medium between the bulbous and the anorectic. I haven’t forgotten — and will try to draw the tech support team’s fell geekish attention toward this site this weekend. Because, wow, the font’s looking really leetle, ain’t it?

* So there’s this commercial in rotation right now for a weight-loss supplement that contends that when you’re stressed your body releases a chemical that causes belly bloat. And so by taking the supplement you combat that stress-swelling and become — without benefit of better diet or exercise — lithe and flat-bellied again. Miraculous! So, I’m wondering if a word exists for the state when one simultaneously ridicules and is oddly persuaded by a preposterous advertising promise. I’ve been in a crazed work place for the past four weeks, which is why it’s been so quiet/erratic here, and stationed at the computer pretty continuously, seven days a week, only leaving to attend the odd holiday party, where I sit in a chair and eat and drink too much. This is the sort of existence that leads to the uncomfortable feeling that one may, at any moment, be led off to execution and turned into veal piccata. But it turns out, it’s not this fatted-calf lifestyle that’s making my clothes tight — it’s stress! What a relief.

Other recommended short-story collections

Filed under: Prized Possession — caaf @ 12:11 pm

Last week, I schnappsily celebrated the nomination of Maureen McHugh’s outstanding collection Mothers & Other Monsters for the Story Prize. Also nominated are Jim Harrison’s The Summer He Didn’t Die and The Hill Road by Patrick O’Keeffe.

Along with these three titles, the prize’s organizers have put together “a short list of other highly recommended collections.” On it, you’ll find the fabulous Kelly Link’s Magic for Beginners (essential), Judy Budnitz’s Big American Baby (which I have waiting to read) and John Edgar Wideman’s God’s Gym (I haven’t heard much about this one but I like Wideman’s earlier stuff a lot), as well as 9 other collections worth exploring.

Prize factoid: According to the website, a total of 82 books were entered by publishers for the prize.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why

Filed under: Schwarmerei — caaf @ 11:46 am

The Happy Booker’s wonderful poetry columnist Reb Livingston draws your attention to the Most Intriguing (and Sensual) Male Poets 2006 calendar, possibly an intriguing (and sensual) holiday gift. Dunno. It’d have to be given to someone who could walk by it without flashing on all the intriguing (and sensual) male poets she’s known in her life and imagining what they’d look like posed in beefcake positions in their boxer-briefs and thus be driven to hysterics when simply trying to mark down when the dog was going to the vet for shots. So for some people, maybe better to just stick to a nice Shakespeare calendar. But for others: Hubba.

Click on the link to view the calendar pages (hello, Mr. September). All profits benefit CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome) research.

12/7/2005

Story Prize nominees announced; Maureen F. McHugh recognized!; liabilities of late-night winter blogging exposed.

Filed under: Schwarmerei, Writers & Writing — caaf @ 12:21 am

“Three collections of stories, from a writing heavyweight, a small-press author and an Irish immigrant, walked into a bar…”

No, that’s not it. The collections have been nominated for the Story Prize, “a $20,000 award for short fiction that will be presented after a reading by the authors at the New School in Manhattan on Jan. 25.” Runners-up receive $5,000.

Excitement and rejoicing here at Tingle Alley as one of the collections nominated is Maureen F. McHugh’s* outstanding book of short stories, Mothers & Other Monsters, published by Small Beer Press and one of my favorite books of the year. Hurrah, hurrah! I was just writing something last night for a list that will show up somewhere soon to the effect of “Mother & Other Monsters deserves your acclaim and adoration” — it’s wonderful to see other people share the same opinion, especially when these other people have such nice cash prizes to give. Thanks to Ms. Bond for the news.

The other two collections nominated are The Summer He Didn’t Die by Jim Harrison (the literary heavyweight) and The Hill Road by Patrick O’Keeffe (the Irish immigrant).** Congratulations to all. The prize will be judged by Andrea Barrett, Nancy Pearl and James Wood (hubba!). (Last year’s winner, you may recall, was Edwige Danticat’s The Dew Breaker.)

Interesting sidenote: The prize’s home page mentions that they’re “hoping to enlist” a blogger and a teacher to judge next year’s prize.

*The “F.” stands for “Fenomenal”!

** When I first read the article I misread and thought McHugh (the small-press author) was being identified as “the Irish immigrant.” Now, I don’t know Maureen very well but I know she’s from Ohio and so I was puzzled & even now that I’ve cleared it up I still think it’d be great if all American authors, no matter how unexceptional their ancestry, were identified this way. Like “The Anxious Kangaroo, a novel by Carrie A.A. Frye, a German-English-smidge-Cherokee immigrant.” ***

*** Help me. I may have put too much schnapps in the cocoa.

12/5/2005

Tom Piazza on writing Why New Orleans Matters

Filed under: Writers & Writing — caaf @ 12:01 am

In a recent interview with the Times-Picayune, writer and New Orleans resident Tom Piazza said, “What are you going to stand and fight for, if not New Orleans?”

Piazza’s newest book, Why New Orleans Matters, is a vital piece of that fight. The book, written in a period of five weeks following Katrina, is, according to one lab-toting reviewer, “a bittersweet paean to what is, arguably, the most joyous metropolis in North America … Those of you being swayed by the ‘it doesn’t make sense to rebuild New Orleans’ argument should read this and think again.”

Tom will be touring from Mississippi to New York City in the next few weeks — get the schedule here (along with the assurance that Piazza’s a great reader, “i.e., you won’t be wondering what’s happening on ‘How I Met Your Mother’ during the performance”). You can read an excerpt from the book here.

Today Tom discusses his nonfiction influences over at Maud Newton. Here he tells Tingle Alley what it’s like to crank out a book at a time of high emotion and dislocation:

Writing Why New Orleans Matters was like skiing a very steep grade without much warning: it was intense, it was over almost before I knew it, it was exhilarating, and I’m glad it’s finished. Five weeks is a short time for writing a book, even a short book, which this is. Part of me seemed to be in ultra-high focus, and part of me was in a trance.

Some friends asked if it was cathartic and I guess in some kind of way it was, but it was corrosive, too, like sitting in an acid bath for five weeks. In the book I tried to summon the things at the heart of why New Orleans is so important to the people who really love it, what is at stake if it gets lost, why it is worth fighting for the city’s future. But each memory and image of the streets and jazz funerals and all the people in the neighborhoods and the Mardi Gras Indians and restaurants came with pain over their likely, or at least possible, loss.

I had spent August in Virginia working on a new novel, and I never made it back to retrieve anything before the hurricane hit. Instead I drove to Malden, Missouri to join my partner, Mary, who evacuated there on August 27th, to the cotton country where she grew up. Southeast Missouri looks something like the Mississippi Delta, but without the poetry. I’ve visited there many times with Mary, and everyone is friendly, but it isn’t really my kind of place – I’m a New Yorker (for 14 years before I went to Iowa for the Writers’ Workshop in the early 1990s) and a New Orleanian by choice (for the past 11 years). In some way the strangeness of the surroundings in which I wrote the book helped the writing. I worked on it partly in an unused upstairs office in a cotton gin, taking breaks in the evening to watch CNN. As I wrote in the book, the feeling of dislocation was, and is, so profound – and we were, and are, in a place with many comforts and resources. The degree of pain and dissociation involved for people from deep in the Ninth Ward, say, who relocated to Utah and have no idea when they’ll be back is almost unimaginable.

The book also got written in a small farmhouse a few miles south of town, and, for a week and a half in October, in hotels and guest rooms in Connecticut and Vermont and upstate New York and Florida. Friends arranged readings for me during October because I had lost all my fall income in New Orleans (Loyola University, where I was to teach a couple of classes, did not honor its contracts with part-timers), so I wrote the back end of the book on the road.

Of course I feel proud of whatever craft or ability allowed me to do this so quickly, especially in the middle of such weird and heavy and contradictory emotional weather; on some level pure reflex took over. I almost didn’t have time to think. A writing process that might otherwise have taken eight or nine months took five weeks. The publication process took a proportionately short time, too. My “galleys” were PDF files my editor e-mailed to me. Copyediting took four days total, and proofreading about two or three. I read the PDF galleys via e-mail at night in hotel rooms after driving all day and my editor at HarperCollins, Cal Morgan, would submit the changes the next morning.

People always ask whether we are going back to live. My apartment is in a part of town that didn’t flood, and that is the big dividing line these days in New Orleans: whether you flooded or not. Part of my roof blew off and the rain that got in collapsed the ceiling in a couple of rooms. It is a big mess but, as I wrote in the book, a fixable mess. Mary’s house flooded, and so did her office, where she provided legal help for the city’s most disadvantaged people, most of whom are scattered across the country now like the gold dust at the end of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. I tried to write in the book what it was like going into her house for the first time. Anyway it will be February, at least, before we will be able to live in New Orleans again full time. For many other people it will be a lot longer. But the short answer is yes. I love it too much. I hope that love comes through in the book and maybe in a small way at least it can help shape the dialogue over the city’s future. Then I’d feel as if I’d done something good.

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