Silliman's Blog

Since this is a "links" post by Ron, thought I'd mention, in light of fact he's noted an article on Christian Bok and other pieces at Postmodern Culture since this appeared, that there's an excellent essay at PMC by Bill Freind on the second Yasusada book (2006) here:

http://muse.jhu.edu/login?uri=/journals/pmc/v017/17.1freind.html

It's in a back issue now (last Fall), so believe it is available through MUSE. A half dozen other reviews have appeared on the book, and others are coming out, and I'd be happy to provide those references for anyone who might have an interest.

Kent
 

That Ketjak recording is amazing. Makes me want to put on a rain coat and jump into a blender...or something along those lines...

I think Mr. Bungle goes into this chant a bit on the album, Disco Volante...or is it California?...definitley one of those two. They use it as a transition in and out of a different work.
 

Re: The Pearl Buck manuscript:

I'm not a lawyer, so I'm free to confess my ignorance--

How in hell can a writer "will" a manuscript which is no longer in her possession, to some one, or some thing else (like a foundation)?

I mean, apparently her typist from the 1930's ended up with a copy, which passed to her daughter at some point. So, now the daughter tries to sell this manuscript at auction, and suddenly it's no longer hers, but some damn foundation that runs Pearl Buck's house in Pennsylvania, because old Pearl made a codicil that said "all" her manuscripts belonged to the folks running the house. Unless a manuscript is claimed to have been stolen, it seems to me to be quite a stretch to argue that it continues to "belong" to the author after it leaves her hands.

If I were this typist's descendent, I'd git me an attorney real fast. I don't think the Buck Foundation (or whatever it is) has any claim on this property at all.

It's like an artist saying on his deathbed "all my paintings I will to MOMA for perpetuity." Nice try, friend. But those paintings that you sold or gave away or misplaced 75 years ago don't belong to you, and you can't will them to anyone.

Maybe, as I say, since I'm not a lawyer, there's some kind of obscure law that says an author can retrieve original manuscripts, but I've never heard of it.
 

I think Albert Goldbarth must be the Ron Silliman of Quietude, restlessly hopping from concept to concept, fact to fact, speculation to speculation, filled with a hundred thousand idle factoids, all of which somehow connect--or will be made to--in the vast ur-puzzle of aesthetic synapses.

Whatzit all mean, Alfie?