Sunday, July 26, 2015

Charles Burns and Killoffer, "In The Garden Of Evil" (signed and numbered with Will Oldham record, Pigeon Press 2015)


Pigeon Press just put out an incredible new edition by Charles Burns and Killoffer called In The Garden Of Evil.


This is a staple-bound book, roughly 24 pages long, featuring gorgeous illustrations by both Burns and Killoffer (working together). It's amazing what they came up with as a team: the two artists trade foregrounds and backgrounds, Killoffer's soft anatomical skies and fields lurk around Adam and Eve, rendered strikingly familiarly in Burns's signature calligraphic line work.

The book is in an edition of 1000 copies, signed and numbered. This is copy 249:



Some other details that are particularly exciting: on the front flap, an embossed stamp of the publisher's logo, but on the back: this enigmatic symbol from Burns. He stamped my copy of Sugar Skull with this insignia in red ink last year in Brooklyn... how mysterious...


And lastly, and most suprisingly: a flexidisc record featuring a song called "Garden of Evil" by Will Oldham. 


I suspect that this has been sold almost exclusive at comic fairs this year; it's surprisingly hard to find at this point, although there have been copies on eBay. I got mine from Last Gasp in San Francisco, although it looks like they've since sold out.

Currently reading:
Jesse Ball, A Cure for Suicide

Currently listening to:
"I am the Center: Private Issue New Age Music in America" (3LP)



Saturday, July 18, 2015

Haruki Murakami, "Hear The Wind Sing" and "Pinball, 1973", new Knopf translation and old Kodansha editions



I just received my review copy of Haruki Murakami's new Wind/Pinball, a collection of the author's first novels from the late 80s that, until now, were not widely released. Hear The Wind Sing and Pinball 1973 were previously only available in English in these very rare pocket-sized Kodansha paperbacks translated by Alfred Birnbaum (who went on to translate a number of the author's other books). I was able to track down a first edition of Hear The Wind Sing in this Kodansha state, but Pinball 1973 had eluded me up until now. It was a much more expensive book to find on the rare market (I think the print run was substantially lower). I actually found the text somewhere online about 10 years ago and made my own little edition with the printers in my school's library...




But now, thanks to Knopf and Ted Goossen's new translation, these two books are now available for everyone! The two stories read like hearing a great band's demo tapes - fascinating for fans, but I doubt new readers will find them particularly resonant. Most important, I think, is a new introduction in the Knopf edition by Murakami discussing the genesis of these stories and the dawn of his writing career. I'm excited to re-visit these texts with a more critical eye.



Always nice to see an understated Chip Kidd cover, too. For the translation geeks out there, thought it might be interesting to show the opening pages by Birnbaum and Goossen. Here's Birnbaum:



And here's Goossen:




And if anyone's interested, the Colophon to the Kodansha edition of Hear The Wind Sing.




Currently reading:
Wind/Pinball by Haruki Murakami

Currently listening to:
Pop Ambient 2015 (Kompakt)


Saturday, June 20, 2015

Review: All That Is by James Salter (1925-2015)


James Salter died today at age 90. I think he might be one of the most under-read and under-decorated greats of American literature. Like many other readers, I'm still slowly discovering him, but find that everything I've read has been nearly perfect.

I first read Salter a few years ago with his outstanding book All That Is. I had written a review for about.com in 2013 but it seems it's been scrubbed from their site now that they're no longer updating. I figure I'd post it here: if anyone opposes, please let me know and I'll remove it. (The image, above, is from a signed first edition of Salter's memoir, Burning The Days.)

All That Is by James Salter
Knopf, April 2013
Review by Jeff Alford

All That Is, James Salter’s first novel in thirty-five years, follows the life of Philip Bowman through the middle decades of twentieth-century America. When the novel opens, Bowman is a junior naval officer in World War II amidst some action in the Pacific. The novel expands episodically: we next see Bowman a returned hero in New Jersey, then studying at Harvard, and eventually in Manhattan, getting his foot in the door of a publishing house. Bowman consistently takes what he wants when he wants, from his career to the women he sleeps with. He’s an unusual hero to follow, as Bowman’s American Dream is whatever the best thing is in front of him. This is a masterful work of subtle complexity: Philip Bowman is a difficult, new mind in a familiar trajectory, finely tuned with deficiencies most authors would overlook.

All That Is embraces Bowman’s philosophy and develops his story slowly through short, beautifully written chapters. Each episode could easily be presented as a short story and builds throughout the novel into a layered, achingly complex character portrait. Salter often drifts his spotlight from Bowman to one of the tertiary characters in All That Is, and their inclusion reveals additional complexities to Bowman’s character. In the company of the rest of the cast of All That Is it becomes clear what Bowman’s lacking: remorse, nostalgia, and wonder for the future. All he cares about is the man he is and if that man can continue to take what he decides is his. About halfway through the novel, Salter writes of one of Bowman’s many trysts:

“…in Spain with a woman who had given him the feeling of utter supremacy. He had crossed some line… He saw himself now to be another kind of man, the kind he had hoped, fully a man, used to the wonder.”

Although All That Is is predominantly driven by Bowman’s story, it’s fascinating to step back and attempt to build a more conceptual understanding of Salter’s novel. Bowman’s character is classically confident and strangely unpredictable: chapters open that reveal him either on a plane, suddenly en route to Paris, or in the arms of a new mistress. Salter’s tempering of Bowman makes it uncomfortably clear how many of these movements are mistakes. For example, we watch as Bowman falls for a married woman:

“He had met her by chance…. She was married, she had said, but that was understandable – at a certain point in life, it seemed everyone was. At a certain point also you began to feel that you knew everyone, there was no one new, and you were going to spend the rest of your life among familiar people, women especially.”

We, as readers, see Bowman’s decisions to be just as poorly planned as his previous infidelities: he vies for the unattainable because he’s already tried his luck with the immediate vicinity. But somehow Bowman is oblivious to his history of social and romantic carelessness. And, it’s with this in mind that one can return to the title of Salter’s novel and ruminate on the author’s carefully succinct, properly tensed wording. Bowman lives entirely in the present and allows no past regrets or ambitious aspirations to distract his day-seizing vivre.


Salter’s handling of eroticism in All That Is is an extension of this hedonistic slant but is often executed at the expense of the reader’s enjoyment. Bowman’s actions between the sheets are in step with the brash decisions he makes outside the bedroom and are justifiably, frustratingly in character. One could stretch a connection from Bowman to Rabbit Angstrom or Nathan Zuckerman, but their sexual exploits are much more affirmative and often celebratory than Bowman’s empty, mirthless lovelife. All That Is could even be read an experiment in the anti-Roth, or anti-Updike: what happens when the glory days are removed from the mid-century American male’s identity? It seems only success is left, devoid of any gratification.

Having only read about four of his books, I can say that Salter was one of the best. 90 years is a long haul but it's sad to see him go.

Currently reading:
The Book of Numbers by Joshua Cohen

Currently listening to:
Kamasi Washington, "The Epic"

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 by Dr. Hunter S. Thomson (Straight Arrow Books, 1973 first printing)


This is a first hardcover edition of Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72. I think this is arguably Thompson's most important book, as it expands the gonzo approach of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas into the political realm, a place he remained throughout the rest of his career. All of the subsequent "Gonzo Papers" books lived in this world: they were less about the drugs and more about politics and contemporary culture.

This was published in 1973 by Straight Arrow Books (a short-lived publisher associated with Rolling Stone that compiled a number of long-form, serialized articles) and was illustrated by the great Ralph Steadman. (curiously, Straight Arrow also published some books by Oscar Zeta Acosta -- "Dr. Gonzo" of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas fame).


The book is in decent condition. While there are a lot of losses around the edge of the jacket, it still boasts a tight binding (althought slightly tilted) with no damages or marks visible to the actual book.



My biggest woe is the sun damage on the spine; compare the colors of the skull on the spine to those on the cover. It's surprisingly tough to find old books that have vibrant jackets. Tangentially related: I've been on the hunt for a 1st/1st of Thomas Pynchon's V. and am shocked at how many sun-faded spines are out there! Sometimes I think someone with the same tastes as me, fifty years ago, had a library/solarium combo...

Also worth a note: the mythical Screwjack "Cyclops Owl" makes an appearance in the book's front matter. Those interested can check out the comments thread here for a bit of a discussion on the beast.


Currently reading:
The Book of Numbers by Joshua Cohen

Currently listening to:
"Loin des Hommes" by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis

Sunday, June 7, 2015

William T. Vollmann, The Convict Bird (hand-bound first book from 1987, CoTangent Press)


The Convict Bird is William T. Vollmann’s first book, self-published in 1987 by his own CoTangent Press. The book was presented in an edition of 100 signed and numbered copies, 10 of which were a collaborative production between Vollmann and sculptor Matt Heckert featuring a binding of studded black steel, hinges, and a padlock. Per the colophon, these 10 steel-editions featured a bookmark made from a street prostitute’s hair.


This is one of the 90 regular editions, featuring a hand-sewn binding. My copy, mysteriously, is unsigned, although the edition calls for it. Maybe if Vollmann’s The Dying Grass tour sends him out to New York I can bring it to him.

The book itself is about a friend of Vollmann’s serving a life sentence in prison and is written in the manner of a children’s rhyme. It’s illustrated with Vollmann’s drawings and, at only sixteen pages, is a deeply eerie piece. Some further research reveals that Vollmann’s friend is Veronica Compton, a “groupie” of The Hillside Strangler duo. Compton formed an intimate relationship with one of the killers, Kenneth Bianchi, while he was behind bars. Bianchi convinced Compton to try and murder someone in the style of The Hillside Strangler in an effort to convince authorities that the real killers will still at large. Compton failed, and her attempted copycat murder put her behind bars.


Here’s a quote from Vollmann on the book’s creation:


The Convict Bird is about a friend of mine who is serving a life sentence in prison. I did it partly to raise a little bit of money for her, which I guess goes against this fallacy that somehow you can help people with books. I knew no one else would publish this poem in the way I wanted it to be published, so I decided I should do it myself. And since I was going to do it myself, I decided might as well go whole hog and make it exactly the way I wanted it.”


Currently reading:
The Wright Brothers, David McCullough

Currently listening to:
Nick Cave & Warren Ellis, Loin des Hommes

Sunday, May 31, 2015

James Joyce, Ulysses (First US edition, 1934 Random House)


This is the first US edition of one of my favorite novels of all time, Ulysses. It was published by Random House in 1934, 12 years after the original 1000-copy edition was boldly published in Paris by Shakespeare and Co.



This copy belonged to my grandfather, who was a casual Joyce scholar and serious Joyce collector: it was passed down to me, jacketless, when he died, and I recently found a facsimile jacket to complete the piece.



The book is in surprisingly great condition and still has a tight binding and minimal staining and wear. The spine has some slight discoloration (likely due to sunning) but the book remains in highly presentable condition. Frankly, it feels unread, and that its wear is from its various phases storage and transport over the years.



An added personal bonus: the book is inscribed on the flyleaf by a "Lydia Evans", who graduated from my Alma Mater, Vassar College, in 1936. Wonderful to think of our potential overlap, seventy years apart, walking into the same library and across the same quad. I think it was 2004 that I first fell in love with Ulysses, too. Google tells me she was the wife of a landscape architect named Christopher Tunnard. Searching for both their names results in a number of donations to both the Yale and Vassar art collections.



It's one of my prized pieces. The book was highly influential to me, and still dazzles me every few years when I decide to revisit it.



Currently reading:
David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Currently listening to:
Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, "Loin des Hommes"

Monday, May 25, 2015

Karl Ove Knausgaard, My Struggle Book Four (signed first US edition)




This is a signed first edition of Book Four of Karl Ove Knausgaard's six-volume masterwork My Struggle, published last month by Archipelago Books in Brooklyn. I'm a passionate Knausgaard supporter, and have written quite a bit about the first three volumes of My Struggle, which you can find at the following links:


I picked up a copy of Book Four for myself at Powerhouse Books in Brooklyn after Knausgaard made an appearance there to support his new book. In the flesh, it seems Knausgaard mania is still a thing, as Powerhouse told me their huge shop was packed to the gills with fans who pre-ordered tickets to the event. I would've been there, too, had I not had a conflict that night.


Now, like any good book collector, I picked up a second copy of Book Four along with my own: one to keep, one to sell. My copy has been on eBay for a measly $50 for the past few weeks and I've been stunned out how little activity there's been on it. Last year, I found a trove of signed copies of books one through three and they sold close to $200 each, with people fighting for the high bid. Now, I'm getting 10 views a week, if I'm lucky.


Does this mean that on the collector's front, Knausgaard mania has passed? Seems so. Lucky for us, they're still outstanding books, far more valuable in their content than their collectible state.

Currently reading:
William T. Vollmann, The Rifles

Currently listening to:
Miles Davis, "Kind of Blue"