Public libraries have been remarkably resistant, though not immune, to the waves of privatization, even as other public things, including things that are arguably more essential and harder to privatize, have been auctioned off. Some might say that libraries should be the first thing to go: some clearly see them as nonessential, and it would not be hard to see charging a per-use or subscription fee to support them. In our climate of austerity it would make economic sense. It would fit perfectly with the strands in our culture that celebrate materialism and individualism. And yet the idea of introducing even a bit of privatization to public libraries often seems like a bridge too far.
Libraries resist privatization because they are not just about the books. We could easily replace the transactional part of libraries with corporations, but we’d be left with a place where you come in, get your books, pay, and leave. You’d lose the opportunity to get help with homework or trade quilt patterns or meet people who are eager to recommend their favorite reads. And that’s just the surface of what libraries do, especially in a time when most other social services have been slashed. Author Deborah Fallows, after crisscrossing the nation, decided that libraries have become “second responders.”
The 50th anniversary of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is almost upon us, and a critical reconsideration of Hunter S. Thompson’s comic novel is already under way. The Gonzo classic hinged on two drug-fueled weekends in Las Vegas and served as a freeform epitaph for the 1960s. But if the counterculture was faltering during the Nixon era, Thompson was hitting his stride. In November 1971, Rolling Stone ran the Las Vegas story in two long articles; Random House published the book version in 1972 and helped make Thompson a cultural icon. In 1996, Modern Library issued its own edition, and a film version appeared two years after that. Together, they put Thompson in exalted literary company and drew millions of new fans who didn’t read books.
Some of the recent critical conversation has revolved around Oscar Acosta, who accompanied Thompson on both trips to Las Vegas. The two men met in Aspen but lit out for Nevada from Los Angeles. Acosta had been involved in the Chicano Movement and was defending its local leaders in court. At the same time, he was an aspiring novelist who sought and received literary advice from Thompson. As the Las Vegas material shaped up, however, tensions surfaced between the two men. Specifically, Acosta was irked that Thompson converted his character into Dr. Gonzo, a 300-pound Samoan attorney.
I am a books person. I’ve been reading steadily since I first learned how, building from Sweet Valley High to Sally Rooney. I’m also a type-A person—a hand-raiser raised on gold stars and assorted forms of validation. I was taught not to be “a quitter” (though I now question why “quitting” has been branded as an identity and not merely an action). This set me up for a toxic, occasionally torturous mental exercise when it came to finishing—or not finishing—books. I tend to keep going—just 10 more pages?!—even as my mind wanders. If I set it down, I let it languish on my nightstand, then demote it to the floor under my nightstand and eventually re-shelf it. All the while, it remains for too long in the “currently reading” slot of my Goodreads profile so that I don’t formally have to admit defeat.
In “Anecdote of the Jar,” poet Wallace Stevens places a jar in Tennessee and “The wilderness rose up to it.” In Andrew Siegrist’s story collection, “We Imagined It Was Rain,” water is the defining “jar.” The driving rain, flooded rivers and murky lakes set the tone for these tales of love and loss that capture a wooded, watery Tennessee.
Roberto Bolaño said that all novels are at their core detective novels. Macrae Burnet expands upon this, suggesting that the reader and the psychoanalyst – such intimate bedfellows – are both detectives gathering clues in pursuit of a final judgment that lies always just out of sight.
At first, birthdays were
reserved for kings and saints.
But it’s rainbow sprinkles and
face painting for everybody
these days.