Little Toy Robot

One of my favorite bloggers, the mysterious Mr. H., wrote this post to introduce his new blog, which is dedicated to serially republishing Isaac D’Israeli’s book Curiosities of Literature.

Lawrence Weschler’s Mr. Wilson’s Cabinet Of Wonder: Pronged Ants, Horned Humans, Mice on Toast, and Other Marvels of Jurassic Technology is a classic of curiosity. Since his retirement from The New Yorker, Weschler has headed NYU’s Institute for the Humanities and also shopped around the prototype for Omnivore, a new magazine for which he is seeking funding. Omnivore is dedicated to “[t]he sort of experience where you get lost to yourself and given over to the marvel of all creation (indeed, to everything but yourself).”

Links:

• Omnivore’s prospectus
• Buy the prototype at the Museum for Jurassic Technology’s online shop
• Visit the MJT’s site
• A conversation with Weschler by Jim Ruland at The God Particle
• The Academy of Harvested Discourse, a blog inspired by Mr. Wilson’s Cabinet

Still no word on what the next Lost Book will be (”Watch this space on October 5th! We’ll be announcing the next Lost Book coming back into print”), but Mark Moskowitz has a nice feature on Janet Hobhouse’s The Furies at the Lost Books Club.

I’ve raved about The Stones of Summer, the documentary that chronicles Mark Moskowitz’ search for long-forgotten novelist Dow Mossman. Along the way, he explores how and why meaningful books fade into obscurity and the one-book author phenomenon. The fab Gwenda Bond points out that he has a Web site at lostbooksclub.org and is organizing a contest:

For the next 10 days, starting right now (days do not start at 12:01 am, they start whenever I turn my computer on in the morning or afternoon or whenever), the first ten people replying with their name, address, zip, or whatever shipping address they want (friend’s, mother’s, etc.) will get a complimentary copy of this new lost book shipped to that address, with a bonus goodie.

I entered! Cross your fingers for me, and make sure you check the site every once in a while to see what Mark’s up to.

Two recent finds for the obscure book-lover in all of us!

Matt Ruff’s page:

This is a list of unusual and/or noteworthy books that I have collected over the years. Not all of them are “good” books, in the sense of being well-written, but they are all interesting in their own way—interesting to me, anyway.

Odd Books I Like:

“A Miscellany of Diverse Interest and Pleasure.” This page is dedicated to that constant source of delight and wonder, the second-hand bookshop.

I have two books on hold at the library that I am very excited about. (Yes, I am like that.)

The Land That Never Was : Sir Gregor MacGregor and the Most Audacious Fraud in History, by David Sinclair. I saw this one in Borders and the title caught my eye. It is “the outrageous and tragic story of Poyais, a South American nation that, as the subtitle indicates, never actually existed. Sir Gregor MacGregor, a pusillanimous and pompous soldier who fought in the South American wars of liberation, concocted the Territory of Poyais in the early 1820s as a means of getting rich off of land sales and financial speculation.” The author has tons of great stuff at his site.

Monturiol’s Dream : The Extraordinary Story of the Submarine Inventor Who Wanted to Save the World, by Matthew Stewart. “A marvelous rediscovery: the compelling story of the strange and noble life—and dream—of nineteenth-century utopian social revolutionary and self-taught engineer Narcís Monturiol, who invented the world’s first fully operational steam-powered submarine, not as a weapon of war but as a means of saving human life and spreading democracy.” First seen on Blankbaby.

During a non-fiction marathon last week, I read both of Paul Collins’ first two books, Banvard’s Folly and Sixpence House. They’re highly recommended, especially the first.

I read the title essay of Banvard’s Folly in McSweeney’s years ago, and it remained in my mind a well-rounded biography of the once famous but now obscure artist John Banvard. God only knows why it took so long for me to read the rest of the “Thirteen Tales of Renowned Obscurity, Famous Anonymity, and Rotten Luck.” Each section is a complete, articulate miniature biography of a character who achieved distinction and fame (or infamy) during their day, but who has been squeezed out of the collective memory for a variety of reasons, or for no reason at all.

Favorites include the essays on George Psalmanazar, a fake who invented an entire culture, and John Symmes, whose crackpot theories on the “hollow earth” served as a prototype for a type of fantastical adventure literature that became Science Fiction through a direct line from Edgar Allen Poe to Jules Verne.

Sixpence House is part travelog, part catalog of digressions. It documents the move of Collins and his young family to Hay-on-Wye, a tiny, idyllic town in Wales that is home to an extraordinary number of bookstores. Collins’ idealism, generalizations, naivete, and cringeworthy pride about being a published writer are tampered by his humor and eruditeness.

The book meanders, and the narrative is broken up with many digressions that seemed forced and scattershot, even though they are largely interesting. Still, Collins’ enthusiasm is infectious, he writes well, and when he leaks some insight into what is going on with the publishing of Banvard’s Folly, you can’t help but feel like you are one of his friends and eager to forgive him his small faults for the pleasure of his company.

Collins now edits an imprint of McSweeney’s called The Collins Library, which specializes in reprinting obscure old books. It’s a great idea, and I happily own all three books he’s published so far. Although the first book, which is the only one I’ve read, properly belongs in the humor section of the bookstore, I hear good things from trusted sources about the other two, especially David Garnett’s Lady Into Fox.

Collins has also recently published Not Even Wrong, an account of the diagnosis and treatment of his son’s autism, which I will definitely read as well. And so should you–but start with Banvard’s Folly. You won’t regret it.

This one’s for Luis.

Yet another decayed building. Ah, New York!

This one, at 295 Bowery, used to be a place of ill repute called McGurk’s Suicide Hall. It’s in danger of being torn down as the neighborhood, bordering on Cooper Square, is being rezoned. Tall tales about McGurk’s (including how it got its name) first came to my attention in Luc Sante’s Low Life.

From a feature I wrote for my college paper, in typical scattershot style:

Originally it was simply McGurk?s, a notorious tavern and hotel which had stood on the spot for 12 years before capturing some of the grim attention of turn-of-the-century New York. The regular prostitute patrons would indeed occasionally commit suicide at the salon, spectacles that teased out the owner?s natural talent for promotion in a very tight market for sensationalism. McGurk made such a name for himself as to attract the ire and reproach of the progressive mayor, and, inevitably, his bar was shut down.

(I also wrote a short story set in the near future that features a renovated Suicide Hall as a kitchy tourist attraction. I’ll spare you that.)

The building is abandoned, though I remember reading a short piece in the NY Press (and god forgive me for reading the NY Press) about an ex-martial arts instructor who was squatting in one of the upper floors, along with a bunch of pigeons. This was a few years ago. I can’t even imagine what it’s like inside now, or even what it was like back then, but as you can tell, I certainly have spent a lot of time thinking about it!

[Picture taken early 2003]

This house is on Crosby Street, between Bleecker and Houston in Manhattan. I love the way that the decay and the palimpsest facade contrast with the potted plant on the second floor window ledge. Does someone actually live here? I used to make it a point to pass by it on my way to the Puck Building.

[Picture taken early 2002]

Great post from one of my new favorite blogs on the Kings of Redonda, the humorous literary regency that ties together M. P. Shiel, John Gawsworth, and Javier Mari.

In the world of imaginary doctors and scientists, the only person who can give Dr. Thackery T. Lambshead a run for his money is Dr. Doris Haggis-On-Whey. Watch the site of the author of Giraffes? Giraffes! for further information!

What would you name your imaginary doctor or scientist?