Back in the day, I used to hang out at this place Rhone in the Meatpacking District, which has since gone down in flames (well, not literally…) Though many bad habits were picked up there, I also made some lifelong friends. The best was when Walter V and Jesse ‘The Scumfrog’ Houk were spinning—we didn’t know how good we had it! Fun times... until they weren’t so fun anymore.

Aside from Walter and Jesse, and a feisty cocktail waitress named Jill, my favorite person there was this guy Michael. He always stood in the same spot at the corner of the bar and didn’t say much. I figured he was a pretty tough customer--but after enough Saturday nights caught in the same maelstrom of mischief and debauchery, we became acquainted and then friends--and I was invited to his weekly Sunday potluck, dubbed ‘Sunday Bloody Mary Sunday.' In addition to the amazing food, which everyone contributed, Michael made one mean pitcher of Bloody Marys. 

Those days, when my Saturday nights were either epic or harrowing--or a combination of both--Sundays at Michael and his wife Nicky’s were the perfect antidote. No matter what debacle I’d managed to bring upon myself the night before, Sunday Bloody Mary Sunday set me straight. The evening rambled from six-ish to the wee hours—sometimes I even stayed overnight, curled up on the couch. 

Mostly, I was in awe of Michael’s books—every wall, shelf, surface of his place was jam-packed with the most amazing titles, first-editions, classics, kitsch—it was all there. He used to own his own bookstore, I found out, and one day he took me to a second apartment of his a block away, where the bulk of his books were kept. My first time there I grew dizzy and nearly had a bookgasm—he had so much great stuff! I could have lost myself in there for days and been perfectly content.

Flash-forward nearly a decade, Michael and his wife Nicky remain two of my favorite people on the planet, and that apartment filled with books has been decked out with bookshelves and stacks. Book fanatics can gain entry by appointment—or every Saturday evening, when Michael hosts the Brazenhead Book Salon. Bring a bottle of wine, and be forewarned—anything goes, and you never know who might be there…

The precise location is top secret—anyone interested in coming along to the Saturday Salon or making a private appointment, email me.

(and bring cash, because Michael doesn't take credit cards and you will find it impossible to leave there without buying some books.) 

It just keeps getting worse... had word from Ayu last night--what they are going through--it's incomprehensible...


                                              ...it's really a nightmare, even in
Tokyo, almost all the food is gone, gasoline is sold out, but what
threatens us most is the radioactive contamination. That's terrifying,
and I am sure it's spread with wind, so we cannot control at all.

It's really hard to judge what is right and what to do for now,
especially since the radioactive contamination is invisible, it's
enormously scary.

I am advised not to go out for the 10 days at least, but not sure what
will happen next, and more than 2000 people are dead in the Tohoku
region, it's so hard to believe this is real.

I heard praying works. Thank you very much for your kind concern and
thoughtfulness, Nina. I sincerely wish there is still some hope.

Love
Ayu

**********TO HELP, CHECK OUT SOME OF THESE ORGANIZATIONS

So worried about my dear friend Ayu & her family in Tokyo--thankfully she is okay after the initial quake, although I am still very anxious about her welfare. Here is her description of what happened, via email:

                                                    ...I was home in Tokyo near
the Imperial Palace, I have never experienced the M5 earthquake
before, and my house is still shaking since yesterday, so scary and I
feel sick because of the quake and stomach pain. Everything seems so
panicked, but thankfully my family is ok for now...

My dog-- Tai was extremely scared just before the earthquake hit,
that's why I could stay home, if not, I was about to leave home, so I
was lucky. We never know what happens next, so I'll do my best for
emergency...

My thoughts & prayers are with her & all those in Japan right now. 

(A photo of Ayu and her dog Tai in calmer days, long before the earthquake.)

Ayu happens to be a brilliant scholar I had the honor of working with as an editor when she was conducting her PhD research at Harvard. Her work is fascinating, and covers a wide range of topics on the socio-cultural history of perceptions of the body in modern Japan, as traced through issues including racial consciousness, cleanliness and shame. She has a book forthcoming from Chuokoron-hinsha publishers in Tokyo.

Be safe Ayu! Bless you & your family... xxoo

To help, the New York Times blog has posted an excellent list of organizations & resources

I think the only way I can reconcile myself to having a blog is to use it to pimp others. Last blog was all about Hillary Raphael; now a few more books and authors who have rocked my world & been a huge influence (in no particular order):

Jean Rhys and pretty much everything she’s ever written–Good Morning, Midnight was my favorite for a long time – but Voyage in the Dark and Postures (released as Quartet) are also classic Rhys–chilling, painful–and gorgeously written. Quartet, her first novel, was based on her affair with Ford Maddox Ford—it’s bleak but scathingly honest—what I admire most about Rhys is she writes with such courage about so many ugly/beautiful/basic truths that get overlooked or avoided or are considered too trivial or too dark—mostly moments and themes concerning women alone, and alcoholism and dependence (and freedom and sex and society and love...)

I highly recommend reading The Letters of Jean Rhys and then rereading (or reading for the first time) Wide Sargasso Sea. The experience of reading her letters was similar to that of reading Richard Yates’ biography—just astounding that these two were able to produce any work at all in their later years, given the degree of their alcoholism. The latter half of Rhys’ Letters was especially fascinating to me, as it covered the decade or so she was writing Wide Sargasso Sea. At the time she was drinking a great deal and often stayed up all night writing, “in her cups.” And yet to read the final product, the novel Wide Sargasso Sea—well it truly is a masterpiece. It's just mind-boggling given her mental & physical condition she was able to craft something like that. She was a genius, meant to be a writer, so gifted IN SPITE of her drinking, which pretty much crippled and incapacitated her for huge chunks of time. So sad--to think what she could have produced...

The other tragedy that comes out in her letters is what happened between her and the actress Selma Vaz Dias, who adapted Good Morning, Midnight for the BBC radio in 1957—at the time most people thought Jean Rhys was dead—she had vanished into such obscurity Vaz Dias had to take out newspaper ads seeking any information about her, in order to track her down. Vaz Dias hoped to adapt other of Rhys’ novels for the stage or film, and after Rhys suffered a heart attack in November 1964, Vaz Dias went to see her where she was convalescing in a nursing home in Devon—and there (in my opinion) a bit of a swindle took place:

(this from a footnote on page 289 of her Letters):

“When Selma visited Jean in Devon in July, 1963, she asked her to sign a paper about the broadcasting rights of Voyage in the Dark, Good Morning Midnight and the novel which Selma called The First Mrs. Rochester (Wide Sargasso Sea). Jean (who later said that she was rather drunk at the time and thought the whole thing a joke) did so. What she had actually signed was an agreement giving Selma fifty percent of all proceeds from any film, stage, television and radio adaptations of any work by Jean, anywhere in the world, to last until the works came out of copyright, and also granting Selma sole artistic control of such adaptations (which would probably have meant that Selma would insist on doing the adaptations and on playing the leading roles). Selma had now got the agent John Smith to prepare a more formal document stipulating the same terms. He asked Jean if she really wanted to sign it, and apparently she felt bound to do so. Later, when she had finished Wide Sargasso Sea and it was about to be published, Jean understood the implications of the agreement, and her anxiety about these, and her feeling that Selma had tricked her, clouded any pleasure she may have had from the success of the book. Repeated attempts were made by Jean’s publishers to persuade Selma to cancel, or at least to modify, this agreement, but she remained obdurate and legal advice taken on Jean’s behalf confirmed that the document signed by Jean had the binding force of a contract. Diana Athill asked the distinguished theatrical agent, Margaret Ramsay, to intervene, because she was an old friend of Selma’s as well as having been her agent; and she, by her tact and firmness, was able to persuade Selma to waive the clause giving her complete artistic control and to reduce her share from fifty percent to thirty-three and a third. This final agreement is still in force, and a large proportion of the posthumous earnings, which Jean was anxious should go to Maryvonne (her daughter) goes instead to Selma’s heirs…"

Horrifying. If I was Selma Vaz Dias’ heirs, I’d be on my knees to Ellen Ruth Moerman (Rhys’ granddaughter) begging for forgiveness and offering back those rights—Selma might have been entitled to a percentage of the rights for the radioplay of Good Morning, Midnight—but fifty percent of all proceeds from any film, stage, television and radio adaptations of any work by Jean, anywhere in the world, to last until the works came out of copyright?!!!  Makes me so angry I want to shout it from the rooftops—okay, so my blog…

Anyway. I’ve also been thinking the whole relationship between Jean Rhys and Selma Vaz Dias would make a great play.

And God bless Diana Athill, one of the classiest women in literature and publishing. Athill’s memoir Somewhere Towards the End is wonderful and has been getting a great deal of attention, but I will always love her for her first and only novel, Don’t Look at Me Like That.

It’s a little hard to find, and when I went to see Diana Athill read at the Southbank a few years ago, I brought a copy for her to sign, and she seemed a little confused or surprised—like she didn’t want to acknowledge the book or something. I confess I was disappointed—but I may have completely misread the situation and she was probably exhausted after having an audience of 300-plus hanging on her every word for a good hour. 

She’s something else—and Don’t Look at Me Like That is an overlooked and exceptional novel.

More:

Jardine Libaire’s Here Kitty Kitty and Helen Walsh’s Brass. I love the pull quote from the Guardian on Brass: “She will knock you sideways.” Indeed! And then some. There’s a scene towards the end, where the main character Millie squares off with this guy in the back of a car—one of the sexiest scenes I have ever read. Will leave you throbbing. I absolutely loved this book—it was so reckless and raw and alive—so exciting, shocking and brave brave brave. 

Walsh’s second book, Once Upon a Time in England is also excellent and definitely worth reading, although I felt like they told her, okay, now you have to write a grown-up book. It’s meticulously edited, the prose is flawless—but for me personally, I missed the rawness & hurtling language of Brass, the rambunctious, unpredictable narrative that was like Millie—a bit of a loose cannon.

And Gwendoline Riley – I came to her late. When I lived in Manchester my boyfriend at the time was friends with her and made a point of dropping her name all the time. So of course I was wildly jealous. Only years later did I actually read anything she had written. And I was instantly mesmerized, completely in awe and in love with her work. 

Of all her books, I think Cold Water and Joshua Spassky are the best--they are absolutely perfect. If I had written even one of those books I could simply die right then, die happy—just knowing I had accomplished something so sublime and exquisite.

More all time favs/influences:

I Love Dick by Chris Kraus – Chris Kraus is another one of my idols, a woman of tremendous intellect and strength, she’s a rock star. As far as describing I Love Dick, I’m with Rick Moody who says it’s “one of the most explosive, revealing, lacerating, and unusual memoirs ever committed to the page . . . I Love Dick is never a comfortable read, and it is by turns exasperating, horrifying, and lurid, but it is never less than genuine, and often completely illuminating about the life of the mind."

Who could say it better? It’s a masterpiece. I wish I had read it back when I was still in high school. It would have helped.

And while we're on influences, another exquisite book of big heart, one I have read and reread, return to often, like all the books discussed above, is Stephen Elliot’s Happy Baby. Again, like the others, the writing is so fluid and gorgeous, the story brutally honest--brutal and beautiful…

Finally, always on my bedside table, keeping it real:
The Letters of John Keats
The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald

I know there's probably tons more that will come to me as I lie in bed tonight...
but that's plenty for now. 
xx