From the daily archives: Sunday, January 20, 2008

From a review in the Times of the Blair-Witch-inspired howling crapfest known as Cloverfield:

Cloverfield – Movie – Review – New York Times

For a brief, hopeful moment, I thought the filmmakers might be making a point about how the contemporary compulsion to record the world has dulled us to actual lived experience, including the suffering of others — you know, something about the simulacrum syndrome in the post-Godzilla age at the intersection of the camera eye with the narcissistic “I.” Certainly this straw-grasping seemed the most charitable way to explain characters whose lack of personality (“This is crazy, dude!”) is matched only by their incomprehensible stupidity. Smart as Tater Tots and just as differentiated, Rob and his ragtag crew behave like people who have never watched a monster movie or the genre-savvy “Scream” flicks or even an episode of “Lost” (Hello, Mr. Abrams!), much less experienced the real horrors of Sept. 11.

 

Their House to Yours, via the Trash – New York Times

Is there any other industry in which such high-quality goods regularly make their way to consumers via a trash bin? Stand in the bookselling line at the Strand and the store starts to feel less like a dusty bastion of erudition and more like a messy, mulchy place where old ideas struggle to find new life.

Even in better days than these for books, the economy of publishing was bloated, based on guesswork, mercurial taste and the talents of people whose keenest interests rarely included making money. Book recycling in Manhattan is just the opposite, a perfectly efficient system with no fat at all: So many discarded books go from someone’s garbage to a scavenger to a bookseller and, often enough, land gently in someone else’s home. Feel guilty, if you must, for never finishing Tony Judt’s “Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945;” but don’t feel guilty for chucking it. It will most likely live to haunt someone else’s bedside table. It will find a new home.

When we lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and had books to get rid of, we’d just put them in a pile at curbside and they’d be gone within an hour. The article gives short shrift to street booksellers, who set up tables (or just blankets) at high-traffic spots throughout the city and sell “reclaimed” books for pennies on the original dollar. Many of these folks have very sharp eyes, and some of them develop specialties (politics, memoirs, etc.) and a dedicated clientel. They are also shielded from harassment by the police in a way that the handbag and DVD street vendors are not — selling literature is protected by the First Amendment.

And then there’s the first time you pause at a street vendor’s table, glance down, and notice a beat-up copy of a book you wrote….  But that’s still not as bad as browsing through a used bookstore and finding an autographed copy of one of your books.