Thursday, November 21, 2013

"City on Fire," a Debut Novel, Fetches Nearly $2 Million (click for article)

"Garth Risk Hallberg's novel took the publishing industry by storm last week and provides evidence of a resurgence of long fiction." -, New York Times

This is my old writing teacher's stupid, talented, and now apparently rich son.  He wrote a big, ugly, 900 page New York City in the 70's monster, and seeing as how big books are big business these days, swarms of maniac publishers, incised by the immense weight and girth of young Hallberg's manuscript, bit, clawed, and clubbed each other over the head for the privilege of standing atop that sodden heap of their fellow tradesmen and dumping buckets of bloody cash all over the emerging author.  

The news of this publishing baptism has brought out the darker aspects of my admittedly flawed personality. At my best I am sweet and charming, serene and charitable. Why, I might even hold the door for a complete stranger. But when I reflect on this news, this damned incredible news, all I want to do is smash furniture, and bark and growl. The worst of it is that Garth is nine years my senior at thirty-four. Were our ages closer, it would be a great relief. I could lay my writing aside and hurl myself out of a window knowing I made the only choice available to me. But this near decade distance between us paralyzes me with a fools hope and leaves me to suffer. 

I hope I don't soon run into Bill. I would have to assault him with profanity just to beat back his fatherly pride. That bastard. That damn, marvelous bastard, and his marvelous son. Well, I won't buy this gilded book. That much is for sure. Not on your life.

Might borrow it from the library, though.  Or more likely a friend, judging as the publisher's clearly anticipate every third person in the country will own a copy by the end of next year.

No comments:

Post a Comment