Anyway, it’s been a while. Let’s catch up.
First of all, I’ve meant to cheer for the 3am redesign for a while. Good work! For all the great content, the site used to be a little heart-sinkingly cluttered to visit. The spring clean has done it the world of good, really.
Time Out‘s feature on London publishers praises Snowbooks, and specifically Lint by Steve Aylett. Quite right, too: it’s a handsome book, and I enjoyed all the words inside, too. I like the fact that Aylett’s joke rate is so dense that it slips off reality and deliquesces into surrealist fracture prose. Good fun!
(And James, that thing – y’know, the thing we’ve talked about, the intro thing, that thing – will be coming over the weekend. Everyone who isn’t James: do you mind? This is a private aside.)
I’ve read a bit of the Books issue of Time Out and it seems okay. ‘Books on the Underground’ always sounds like a good idea for a feature, but generally turns out dull. People don’t, by and large, read interesting things (ie not much variation from ‘woman, late 20s, dark office suit, reading Jodi Picoult’). Exception: guy I saw yesterday, Walthamstow to Oxford Circus, reading Raymond Roussel. Go that guy!
A thing I enjoyed recently: This, by Fenton on Auden. I’ve been enjoying Fenton’s poetry recently too. He’s like an old-fashioned sort of minor poet: small-ish output, in thrall to an older giant (Auden, of course, despite the slightly screwy-or-deaf claim of this otherwise enjoyable article that he’s more like Larkin) gifted at light verse and producing peculiarly interesting books outside poetry – the reportage, the art history.
I have more to say, I know – I’ve still done nothing about Auden, which is shameful – but it’ll wait.