Two-thirds of the way into his memoir, Daniel Lanois describes his approach in recording Bob Dylan’s album Time Out of Mind: “I wanted the shadows to hold hidden secrets, for the details to pique the curiosity of a viewer … I wanted the sunlight in the portrait to outlive us all, and be blazing with premonition, hope and redemption.”
Midtown Manhattan is almost afloat, battered by a near-monsoon. Sheets of rain drench anyone foolhardy enough to cross 8th Avenue, but when Salman Rushdie saunters into the Wylie Agency, umbrella in hand, there’s nary a droplet to be seen on his pinstriped suit.
Two-thirds of the way through his sprawling autobiography, Keith Richards pauses for a rare moment of introspection. “Image is like a long shadow,” he offers. “It’s impossible not to end up being a parody of what you thought you were.”
The title of Tom McCarthy’s new novel, C, stands for seemingly countless things: the surname of protagonist Serge Carrefax; the caul that he is born with in 1898; the copper wire that transmits the wireless signals he sends; the cocaine he ingests in the Royal Air Force in the First World War; the crypt near Cairo where he finds himself towards the end of the novel in 1922; as well as communication, circuits, carbon, curves …
He writes long novels in which his characters are put through every kind of difficulty – with jobs, relationships, family, medical issues and even angry mobs. But ultimately, Jonathan Franzen just wants to make his readers happy.
Most authors’ tours involve repetitive rounds of readings, interviews and book signings, but when William Gibson goes on the road — as he’s currently doing for his new novel, Zero History — his experience is somewhat different. Obsessive fans present gadgets to be autographed (motherboards, the backs of laptops, BlackBerrys, etc.), and just about everyone asks him to predict the future.
Ken Finkleman walks warily into the French café that he’s chosen for our interview about his debut novel, Noah’s Turn. Offered a handshake, he responds with a cagey fist-bump. The photographer asks to take him across the street for a portrait, where he can get good lighting. Finkleman shakes his head. “That’s not going to work. I know the shot I want.” After a terse exchange, he gets his way.
As Z-list celebs swarm our TVs, websites, and glossy magazines, a number of questions arise. Who are these people? What do they want with us? And what could we possibly want with them?
Driven to Distraction In order to write his satirical new novel, Super Sad True Love Story, Gary Shteyngart needed to learn about social networks. His research was, perhaps, too successful. "This book destroyed my life," says the Manhattan-based author by phone from his home. "It’s like somebody [who] says, ‘I’m going to write a book [...]
In a remote corner of the Royal Ontario Museum stands a three-foot wooden carving of an unnamed Shinto goddess from the 11th or 12th century. Her arms are folded in her elegant gown, her eyes hooded, her half-smile enigmatic. The idols beside her are larger, more extravagantly carved. Nonetheless, she draws you in.