I think I got over my car robbery so well last week, because I discovered it while calling my parents to deliver some good news. All I could think on the drive to the gym thirty minutes later was, "The lord giveth and the lord taketh." (Feel free to substitute "karma" or "the universe." Works the same.)

He, she, it or they have been giving a lot more than taking for me personally, lately, and even that day. I decided if I had a choice on living the day over again, letting go of either both or neither, I'd take it. Worth a robbery for this email from my editor:

One of the most highly regarded independent booksellers read COLUMBINE and has recommended it as a selection for the IndieNext pick.  Actually, what he's written is more than a recommendation.  I think you'll be pleased.  His note is below.

Every once in a rare while a book arrives to bear witness and such is the case with Columbine.  This definitive account of the Colorado high school tragedy will not only surpass all others, it will endure and take a rightful place on the shelf along side In Cold Blood and The Executioner's Song.

Bill Cusumano, Nicola's Books, Ann Arbor

Nice. From now on, I want everyone to compare me to Truman Capote. Norman Mailer optional. Hehehe.

It was the second blurb in a week comparing my book to In Cold Blood. You can never have too much of that. So please allow me to use this pleasant opportunity to whine about something. I have spent decades in bafflement at authors/artists who complain about comparisons like that. (Pop stars seem most heavily prone.)

The complaint tends to runs along the line of wanting to be original. I'd like that too, but I know I didn't invent the form of narrative nonfiction. It would suck to hear that I had shamelessly copied one of those books or was a pale imitation, but I'm not getting that here.

I felt I had to reserve a little judgment, though, because you never know. I might see the comparison differently if I were ever so lucky to provoke it. I am now that lucky. And eager for more.

Also feel free to compare me to Nabokov. Hahaha. I don't think I write anything like him, but I'd like to.

I named my blog after him: Conclusive Evidence of my existence. (Explanation at the link). I used to post a Nabokov of the Day occasionally, just to hear a great prose melody again. Here's a quickie:

People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanor, start snoring, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve it.

-- Speak, Memory / Conclusive Evidence, p. 108 (Vintage Edition)

That's my all-time favorite book, in a tie with Catcher in the Rye. I have still not decided between them, and don't intend to.

I have a few quotes from it I like even better, but I can't find them on my blog archives. (That one was from 2003.) I may have to go find the book. I only keep three copies in my apt.

Oh, I was saying . . .

I decided the night of the car-theft, that I'd gladly trade that blurb for a robbery. I got some even better news the next day, which I can share in about a week. Hopefully I won't have to get mugged.

I got a really nice message from my editor today. Alexandra Fuller, who wrote the critical hits and bestsellers Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight and The Legend of Colton H. Bryant, sent a really nice blurb for my book Columbine:

"Like Capote's In Cold Blood, this is a vivid exploration of the broken logic that drove two young men to commit a terrible, senseless crime. A stunning achievement -- clear-eyed, compassionate, thoroughly researched. However much we may want to, we cannot afford to look away."

How cool to get compared to Capote, and In Cold Blood. I freaking love that book.

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FYI, here are the previous blurbs. (My editor says I can't repeat them too much. hahaha. So I just added them to the sidebar, too):

"Half the anguish of Columbine is our mystification. How did those boys get so twisted, so murderous? Now, after nine years of great reporting, Dave Cullen has done the impossible: you will know these killers -- and it will shake you up. This is a big-time work that will endure."
        --Richard Ben Cramer, author of Joe DiMaggio and What It Takes

 
"Dave Cullen is the Dante of this high school hell. I came away from it thinking of Jack Nicholson hollering 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!'. Read this quietly powerful account of Columbine and find out if you can."
        --Ron Rosenbaum, author of Explaining Hitler and The Shakespeare Wars

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BTW, I would greatly appreciate any links to my book site -- http://davecullen.com/columbine.htm -- preferably with "Columbine" as the anchor text--so that google searches on "Columbine" find it. I'm currently ranked #16 on that keyword, and need to break into the top ten. So the completed link would look like this: Columbine.

Thanks.

And the book looks pretty damn good, too, from my quick stab, tonight.

Frank Rich's The Greatest Story Ever Sold: The Decline and Fall of Truth from 9/11 to Katrina came out today, and is already #2 at Amazon, so you're prolly going to be hearing a lot about it.

I checked it out tonight at Denver's great local bookstore Tattered Cover. Really interesting opening, written in Frank's usual fluid style. And I was really glad to read this in the intro:

This book is not intended to be a harangue about George W. Bush or the war in Iraq, though my views will certainly be evident. What it is instead is a critical retracing of the sophisticated steps by which some clever people in the White House, handed an opportunity and a mandate by the shocking events of 9/11, unfurled a brilliantly produced scenario to accomplish a variety of ends . . .

Thank you! As much as our fearless leader irks the hell out of me, I don't really need to spend time on a detailed analysis of how. The man will come and go as a mediocre to horrible president, and I've already lost interest. He's just not an interesting guy. But, the way the media has been co-opted and participates in promoting these preposterous fictions upon us--that's important.

That's exactly what The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are ultimately all about, and that's why they are insanely popular, and brilliant at the same time. (And most of the press still doesn't quite get them--or chuckles along with them, but doesn't get that they are the butt of the joke more than the politicians. Either they don't get it or can't figure out how to change.)

Those shows do it on a daily basis, bit by bit, but so nice to have someone pull the whole picture together.

And what a gutsy move by his publisher to devote 100 pages to a timeline, showing side-by-side what the white house was saying internally, and the alternate reality they were pitching to us. That's worth the price of the book all by itself. (The book says the timeline will be updated continually at his website. It's not live yet, but there's a "coming soon" sign.)

So far, so good. I'll let you know more as I get further.

Meanwhile, he's going to be the guest on Fresh Air on NPR Wednesday.

And here's the PW review:

Starred Review. This blistering j'accuse has vitriol to spare for George Bush—calling him a "spoiled brat" and "blowhard"—and his policies, but its main target is the PR machinery that promoted those policies to the American people. New York Times columnist Rich revisits nearly every Bush administration publicity gambit, including Iraqi WMD claims, Bush's "Mission Accomplished" triumph, the Swift-boating of John Kerry and the writing of fake prowar letters-to-the-editor from soldiers. He uncovers nothing new, but his meticulously researched recap-cum-debunking—complete with appended 80-page time line comparing administration spin to actual events—builds a comprehensive picture of a White House propaganda campaign to bamboozle the public, smear critics, camouflage policy disasters and win the 2002 and 2004 elections through trumped-up security anxieties. Along the way, he pillories a sycophantic media (Bob Woodward gets spanked hard), spineless Democrats and an infotainment culture that happily accommodates the Bush administration's erasure of the line between reality and fiction. Sometimes Rich's critique of Republican politics as cynical image-manipulation goes overboard, as in his "wag the dog" theory of the Iraq war as a Karl Rove electoral maneuver; more often, though, it's on target. The result is a caustic, hard-hitting indictment of the Bush administration, timed to make a splash in the upcoming election campaign. (Sept. 19)

Amazon link here.

Wednesday Update:

Frank was on The Colbert Report last night, and NPR's Fresh Air today (the first 3/4 of the show). Listen to Fresh Air show here.

Comedy Central repeats Colbert endlessly through the next day, and a lot of stations play or replay Fresh Air at night, so you still have time to catch both. He was great on both.

(And if you watch Colbert, tune in two minutes early to see the preview on The Daily Show. Nothing to do with Frank, but it involves Stephen's word-a-day calendar, which I won't give away, but it still has me snickering just remembering.)

I swore off blogging for a bit to stay focused, but this I need to talk about.

Just saw Capote. Extraordinary. Especially for a writer. What a gift to get such a glimpse at his process. But . . .

Huge but. But what a cynical take on him. I just don't buy it. He got all those people to open up to him by faking empathy? When he was truly just cold blooded, calculating and entirely manipulative? I guess there are con artists that good out there. I just found it way too hard to swallow.

Now I totally buy that he manipulated people. And that he was routinely conflicted: horrified and saddened, while at the same time at work--he could spot great potential for his own gain at the same moment he experienced great sorrow for them.

But this film showed only half of that equation, hence very little internal conflict. He cared only about himself in this version. Monstrous megalomaniac.

I wrote down CYNICAL! on my note paper about 20 minutes into it. Later I replaced it with cruel. Eventually, comical. Mommy Dearest level ludicrous when he whined that they were torturing him by keeping his alleged friend the killer alive.

Maybe he really was as cold blooded as the killers. But I found that aspect of it exceptionally unconvincing.

And just about everything else about the film pitch perfect. Unfortunately, that was the central conceit.

So I still admire it greatly, with one gigantic reservation.

Mark it a deeply flawed masterpiece.

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Note: I don't fault Philip Seymour Hoffman's acting, by the way, which was stunning. (And everyone else in the film was exceptional, too.) Unless they left the other half on the editing floor it was clearly written that way and directed that way. Not his decision, it would appear.

In honor of--or rather in order to market--the new Capote film, The New York Times is running something called "A Sponsored Archive," with free links to some of its most important pieces published about him over the years.

(Normally, they charge for archive stories.)

Can't wait for the film. In Cold Blood has been in my top five books ever since I read it about five years ago. And I do hope to knock it off its pedestal one day. Eager to see Hollywood's take on the ghastly compromises he made to create it.

(And as a bonus for visiting the site, you might get to see it much earlier. If you live in Denver, just clicking on it will generate an invite to a free preview screening this Thursday. I assume similar previews are set in other cities.

I am still wading through the archives, but the two richest pieces I found so far are A Book in a New Form Earns $2-Million for Truman Capote, published two weeks before the book, and The Story Behind a Nonfiction Novel, an interview by George Plimpton. The intro to the latter:

"In Cold Blood" is remarkable for its objectivity - nowhere, despite his involvement, does the author intrude. In the following interview, done a few weeks ago, Truman Capote, presents his own views on the case, its principals, and in particular he discussed the new literary art form which he calls the nonfiction novel. . .

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Note: Had to break my weekday silence to let you know about the free tix, and cause it's nearly 11 p.m. and I'm done working for the day. So one more in a sec, since I'm here.

Update:

Trailer for Capote. And great story in the Times: Answered Prayers: How 'Capote' Came Together.

Synopsis from RT:

In November, 1959, Truman Capote ( Philip Seymour Hoffman), the author of Breakfast at Tiffany's and a favorite figure in what is soon to be known as the Jet Set, reads an article on a back page of the New York Times. It tells of the murders of four members of a well-known farm family—the Clutters—in Holcomb, Kansas. Similar stories appear in newspapers almost every day, but something about this one catches Capote's eye. It presents an opportunity, he believes, to test his long-held theory that, in the hands of the right writer, non-fiction can be compelling as fiction. What impact have the murders had on that tiny town on the wind-swept plains? With that as his subject—for his purpose, it does not matter if the murderers are never caught—he convinces The New Yorker magazine to give him an assignment and he sets out for Kansas. Accompanying him is a friend from his Alabama childhood: Harper Lee (Catherine Keener), who within a few months will win a Pulitzer Prize and achieve fame of her own as the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Though his childlike voice, fey mannerisms and unconventional clothes arouse initial hostility in a part of the country that still thinks of itself as part of the Old West, Capote quickly wins the trust of the locals, most notably Alvin Dewey (Chris Cooper), the Kansas Bureau of Investigation agent who is leading the hunt for the killers. Caught in Las Vegas, the killers—Perry Smith (Clifton Collins Jr.) and Dick Hickock (Mark Pellegrino)—are returned to Kansas, where they are tried, convicted and sentenced to die. Capote visits them in jail. As he gets to know them, he realizes that what he had thought would be a magazine article has grown into a book, a book that could rank with the greatest in modern literature. His subject is now as profound as any an American writer has ever tackled. It is nothing less than the collision of two Americas: the safe, protected country the Clutters knew and the rootless, amoral country inhabited by their killers. Hidden behind Capote's often frivolous façade is a writer of towering ambition. But even he wonders if he can write the book—the great book—he believes destiny has handed him. "Sometimes, when I think how good it could be," he writes a friend, "I can hardly breathe."

Hey. You might have noticed I'm rarely here during the week these days.

Yes, by design. Trying to keep my focus entirely on my book during the week. Hence the big one-day bursts on Saturdays and Sundays. So look for me then. (Or on Mondays when you get back to trolling the web at the office, while your boss is away. heeheehee.)

OK, better try that bigger:

LOOK FOR ME MOSTLY ON THE WEEKENDS UNTIL THIS BOOK IS DONE!

Occasionally I may stop by in an evening, if I've had a great day and deserve an indulgence, or maybe once in awhile for a quickie. (Like just now. I figured since I was here to let you know this, I could pound out a quick reaction to the Housewives.)

But hopefully you'll see a lot of self-control.

See you Saturday.

That title feels a bit silly to me now, but I could imagine no other heading when I first envisioned this post two months ago, so I couldn't forgive myself if I committed it now.

Sorry for the delay. So busy.

But I did what Oprah told me this summer, and picked up my beautiful little boxed set of three Faulkners.

Thanks to everyone who wrote in with suggestions on the order to approach them. I decided Oprah's handlers prolly knew what they were doing by leading me into As I Lay Dying out of written sequence, and plunged in there.

Wow.

For about 60 pages, I was annoyed and perplexed. This shit was really confusing, and to what end? Not an insight anywhere in sight, a group of--I'm sorry, but illiterate southern prairiebillies from half a century ago with no original thoughts on their existence, and absolutely no connection whatsoever to my life.

That was embarrassing to admit. Sorry about the bigoted part. Didn't like feeling those things about "dumb southerners," wasn't ready to admit it at the time, but yes, those thoughts were in there, despite having lived a good chunk of my life in the south and finding just as many intelligent people there as I have in the north, east and west (all of which I have lived in.)

Then, somewhere around page 60 I started to get the hang of how to read him--chiefly, that when it suddenly made no sense, that was OK; don't get so damn frazzled that you have to know everything every moment; just read on, and all will be revealed in time, and luckily almost always within a few pages. That ability--and my new-found willingness--to just ride out the confusion and uncertainty actually started to feel exhilarating.

So he stopped being such a royal pain in the ass relatively quickly, but I was still wondering what the payoff was supposed to be.

The exact moment, I don't remember. Really dawned on me gradually. And I'm not even going to try to recount it here. But these people had SO much to enlighten me with. They were uneducated, and a few of them were freaking stupid to boot, but most of them . . . man.

I was just overwhelmed by the insights these people had buried inside them. And the way Faulkner told his story. And the way the story kept twisting and twisting and twisting again. Not the plot, the . . . hmmmmm. Words are failing me. The revelations? Of both style and content, I guess, they way they were woven so intricately and perfectly together.

Every ten pages or so I just gasped, and though, Wow, this alone makes this book extraordinary. And then ten pages later . . .

You guys are so great sending me all the emails, but you really should consider putting them into the comments, so everyone can share. (They're a lot more insightful than the comments crap I read on most blogs.)

Bill, who will otherwise remain anonymous since I didn't ask permission just responded, in part, to my message about Faulkner, a ways back, that I am so delinquent in following up on. He writes:

My favorite quote from As I Lay Dying, Addie Bundren says,

"He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear. Cash did not need to say it to me nor I to him, and I would say, Let Anse use it, if he wants to. So that it was Anse or love; love or Anse: it didn't matter."

You writers have a love/hate relationship with words.....

Hahaha. Never thought about that. Even when I read that passage. Loved the hell out of that passage as well, but never noticed the contradiction. Or at least the paradox.

Then I was about to accuse Bill of forcing the other Bill's demons onto me, when I realized I share that love/hate relationship exactly. Why do I think I responded so strongly to the scene?

Ahhhhhhh. The things we will never see in our own reflection. Thanks for pointing that one out. Now what the hell am I going to do with it?