Ryszard Kapuscinski Dies at 74

Ryszard Kapuscinski Dies at 74

The man credited with having given "the truest, least partial, most comprehensive and vivid account of what life is like on our planet" died yesterday in Warsaw, Poland.

Prepare the Sick Bed

Prepare the Sick Bed

Contemporary fiction continues to suffer from incurable earnestness. So many books use the cloak of "literature" to justify overwrought emotion, absence of humour, flat prose, dull characters and, let's face it, plain, overall boringness, I'm thinking of diagnosing a pandemic of book flu.

And yet, these very symptoms appeal to reviewers and prize juries -- why is that? Why do we demand so little life in what we read? Why do we reward books that have nothing going for them other than their own affect of seriousness?

Again, no answers, just questions, questions, questions.

Pants, No Pants

Pants, No Pants

What would the world be like if no one wore pants? Apparently, a bit like this.

But enough about me: libraries are on their way up.

Which makes me wonder, are books worth their price tag any more? Is $39.99 an accessible price in terms of, We'd really like you to buy one or more per week?

Are publishers pricing themselves out of an industry? Have books become a luxury item? No actual answers here, just questions.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year

Nothing like starting the year with the man who made grumpy sexy.

Props to Whitlock's son for having great taste.

(Oh, okay, here's one more.)