Knew a man once, bought himself a magic hookah off the internet. You can get anything on the internet. He bought himself this hookah because it was magic. Guaranteed, so said the ad, or his money back. He was keen to smoke on such a thing.
Should’ve asked for a description, is what he should’ve done. The hookah was magic, alright. Soon as he put a fire to it the magic started to happen. He took one deep breath, and the smoke turned black. His throat turned black. The short remainder of his life was one long coughing fit that carried him to his grave, black smoke pumping from his lungs to the last heave.
I do have to wonder why he figured a magic hookah was a good thing.
It is November, and that means I can say goodbye to luxuries like friends, sanity and a consistent sleep schedule. Yes, children, it is National Novel Writing Month. For the next thirty days, I will regurgitate fifty thousand words of the roughest, most unpublishable writing possible, in the hope that I can someday turn it into a shiny finished product. Or just to prove I can. Or any of the myriad reasons people do this.
For my own part, I do it because it’s the only way I can kick myself in the ass to sit down and write for more than a day or so. Throughout the majority of the year, I have tended not to get any writing done at all. This has only recently been changed since I put the 10k Club together in August, but it’s a long road to consistency.
Of course, having to focus most of my free time on writing terrible cliched fiction means I won’t have much time to post in the next month, so this page may be a little quiet for the next few weeks.
Just a couple of posts ago, while deriding Darryl K. Sweet, I plugged a book called “Objects of Worship”. I still haven’t read it, because my reading list is long and I am easily distracted by shiny objects and the internet, but I think it’s important to take a moment and focus on the book’s publisher, ChiZine Publications.
Canadian fans of genre fiction may already be familiar with the name ChiZine. The magazine that has borne that title for years is well known for its focus on dark speculative fiction, with a preference for stories that bend the lines of genre. In short, this magazine is fucking weird. The stories I have read on their site have all been profoundly bizarre, and tend to leave me with a simultaneous desire to sit down and write, and to curl up in a corner and wait for the bad things in my brain to go away.
Not terribly long ago, in the grand scheme of things, the publishers of ChiZine decided to start focusing on the publication of novels and anthologies. Their pledge is to publish one title a month, twelve per year. For the moment, they’re being picky, inviting authors to publish with them rather than accepting submissions. Based on their list of recent and upcoming titles, they were clearly thinking of quality when they made that decision. their current catalogue seems filled with books that are innovative, original and, not surprisingly, really weird.
Just like their well-established magazine, ChiZine Publications wants to publish books that take established genres and give them a rough twist, leaving something that is one part imagination and one part heebie jeebies. For my own part, I’m looking forward to getting my hands on “A Book of Tongues”. I’ve been itching for a good weird west story, and if “A Book of Tongues” delivers like I think it will, then it will cement me as a firm follower of ChiZine’s releases.
I can’t conclude this post without talking about the covers. A colleague of mine is quoted on ChiZine’s site praising their covers, and it is praise well deserved. It was the cover that put “Objects of Worship” in the post that focused on “The Gathering Storm”, and in that post I sang Erik Mohr’s praises. You can see from their catalogue that this is not an isolated case. In a field saturated by terrible cover design, Mohr is turning out some of the most beautiful art that ever graced a book jacket. In all areas, it seems that Brett Savory and his crew are focused on bringing quality to the surface. I look forward to seeing where they take the field of genre fiction in the next few years.
Titles currently available from ChiZine Publications include:
I want a cabin. The kind that’s right next to a lake. Normally I prefer proper, rugged camping, with tents and fire and constant warfare against flesh-eating insects, but this cabin of mine would not be for camping. I envision it as the perfect writing retreat. I could disappear into the wilderness for days and do nothing but write. Within months I would have penned the perfect masterpiece.
With my opus complete, I could return to civilisation triumphant and submit this perfect work of literary art to the finest of publishing houses. Upon my rejection, I would then submit it to the second finest, and so on down the line, until my ultimate inimitable work was rejected by every publisher under the sun. Even the vanity presses! Disheartened, I would fire my agent and seek new representation, only to find that none would even look at my work.
Alone and embittered, I would return to my cabin, the lakeside sanctuary that once served as the birthing place for the brilliant manuscript that was my undoing. There, I would pen an open letter that expressed the full and terrifying depth of my seething hatred for the world that had cast me aside. Once my written catharsis of anger and despair was complete and all my existential rage spent, I would lay down my pen; the very instrument of my downfall; and take my own life. The hateful letter would go unsent, and undiscovered until six months later, when the police had finally decided to investigate my disappearance.
They would force entry into the cabin only to discover a grim tableau: My badly decomposed body slumped over my writing desk, my head resting on the letter as though its venomous words offered the comfort of a down pillow, pen resting under my lifeless hand, surrounded by a dried pool of my blood. All perfectly backlit by the sunset. The crime scene photographer would go on to win a Pulitzer prize for his photos taken at the scene, and would embark on a successful career with National Geographic. The investigating detective would retire soon after the discovery, shocked out of jaded nihilism by the overwhelming sadness of the scene. He would spend the remainder of his days making handcrafted wooden toys and caring for his family. Every Friday he would deliver a single, lovingly carved toy to the local children’s hospital. One week a train. The next, a tiny horse with a bow in its mane.
The letter written as my last act of living defiance would be published in the Saturday paper, the impassioned hate contained therein spurring hundreds of letters of complaint. The paper would print an apology the following week, and punish the editor who allowed the letter to be printed by reassigning his attractive young assistant and replacing her with a stoned, fifty-year-old college dropout. The letter itself would gain notoriety from this controversy, and be passed from person to person via the internet, growing in popularity until mine was a household name.
The publishing houses that once rejected me would now be locked in a bidding war for my manuscript, now owned by my family. The finest and wealthiest of publishers would finally make an offer that no competitor could match, and my great masterpiece would see print at last. The first hardcover edition would include as an afterword the letter that gave me my poshumous popularity. My family would live like royalty on the money earned for them by my work, and I would be called the voice of a generation, immortalised in death as I could never have been in life.
Unfortunately, as it turns out, cabins are quite expensive.
Why must you tempt my brain in these ways, internet?
Andre Michelle has created a tone matrix that is entirely too much fun to play around with. Give it a try. If you’re not addicted within minutes, then you either lack any sense of rhythm, or simply hate fun.
Let’s take some time away from our ongoing examination of the lunatic fringe of literary culture to examine an affliction that has plagued genre fiction for decades. I am referring, of course, to Terrible Cover Design.
TCD can affect all kinds of books, from classic literature to university textbooks, but statistics have shown that the demographics most profoundly impacted by this condition are Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror. Countless works of genre fiction have suffered from symptoms that range from poorly executed medieval paintings, common to Fantasy, to terrible CGI, commonly suffered by Sci-Fi books, and the two manifestations common to all genres: failed photorealism and the ubiquitous tramp stamp in leather pants.
Today we are going to look at a recent example of all that is wrong with Fantasy cover art, provided by the latest forthcoming instalment of The Wheel of Time, “The Gathering Storm”.
This image, like all cover art for The Wheel of Time, was perpetrated by Darryl K. Sweet. Remember that name. It is the name that brings suffering to the eyes of Fantasy fans. He works exclusively for Tor, which tells me that either the decision makers at Tor know absolutely nothing about art, or that they simply do not give a fuck. I’m leaning toward the latter, because it’s Tor. They’re pretty much the biggest name in Fantasy publishing, and they know these books would sell if they put Brian Peppers on the cover in a metal bikini.
But we’re not here to examine the motivations of cynical publishing executives. We’re here to examine the many ways in which this latest example of Mr. Sweet’s work is godawful. But first, a disclaimer. I have never read the Wheel of Time books, in large part because I was put off by the terrible covers. As such, I will have to limit commentary on things like character design, as I am unfamiliar with the characters and the setting.
The very first things that jump out at me are the layout and colour scheme. The old artistic cliche of putting the title at the top of a generic medieval painting is deeply aggravating to me. From that image, I learn nothing about the book except that it probably contains a man and a woman, and that the man might only have one hand. Beyond that, the cover says “completely unremarkable medieval Fantasy. Move along.” The colours only make it worse. According to Sweet, no one in Robert Jordan’s Fantasy Universe knows how to colour coordinate their renn faire costumes. On the dashing, constipated gentleman, we see bright red, blue, brown, white and purple. Seriously, pick three and stick with them. And primaries pretty much never match. Anyone working in a visual medium ought to know that. Combining such terrible colours with the generic medieval painting cover layout leaves me with the strong impression that this picture was painted in 1974, rather than 2009.
The next most grievous flaw I can pick out is the people. The gentleman standing front and centre, apparently offering to fist the sky, is presumably the protagonist of the story, or at least one of them. That being the case, these books might actually be interesting, if only because I’ve never read a fantasy novel centred around a hideously deformed hero. The arms are the first problem I notice. I’ve been told that he’s supposed to be missing a hand, so I’ll ignore that. What I cannot ignore is the fact that his forearms apparently stopped developing when he was fourteen years old. His head, meanwhile, kept growing independently of his body until he was twenty-five. According to his facial expression, he is either trying to pass a kidney stone, or wearing a vibrating codpiece. I can’t tell.
As for his lady companion, I can’t help wondering how she hasn’t exploded out of that blouse yet. Frankly, it looks like someone tried to rip it open, but lacked the strength to overcome her girdle. Judging by her messy, straw-like hair and the possibly-eager expression on what I assume was intended to be her face, I can conclude that she was interrupted in the early stages of a vigorous sexual romp.
Actually, everything I’ve listed up to now makes a strange sort of sense if you put it all together. Maybe this cover isn’t the atrocity it appears to be. Maybe it’s a candid tableau, taken from the scene of a moving personal drama. Two medieval detectives, investigating a mysterious Victorian house with a hole in it, are overwhelmed by their desire for one another. Their passionate encounter is interrupted by the young man’s frustration as he realises his underdeveloped arms are unable to rip open her blouse in proper manly fashion. He raises a fist to the heavens, but chronic degeneration of his facial muscles makes it impossible for him to truly show his anger and misery. If only we could hear their conversation in this moment.
“It’s okay, I can just untie it! Your childlike forearms are very sexy. Really!”
“Why, God?! Why can’t I have the arms of a grown man?! Or make proper facial expressions?!”
Being totally honest here, that’s a book I would read.
It is possible that some of these qualms are settled by the content of the book. There could be a perfectly good reason for a medieval setting to contain a house that looks like it was built in the 1800s. I can only assume there’s a reason for said house to have a gaping black hole in place of a front door, even though the windows clearly demonstrate that there are lights on inside. Perhaps the hole is a portal to a dimension of pure darkness. Or maybe they hung a black curtain over it to keep the bugs out until the repair guy shows up. So maybe a few of my complaints are less valid than I purport.
That possibility does not excuse the basic issues of layout, colour and elementary human anatomy. Any professional artist should be well educated in those areas. Hell, I know professional artists and graphic designers who get queasy at the sight of Darryl K. Sweet covers. People who could outdraw him with broken fingers, but don’t make a quarter of what Sweet probably takes home for one of these covers. Why is a guy who would fail a high school art class responsible for the covers of one of the biggest Fantasy series’ of the last twenty years? It’s disheartening, to say the least.
To make me feel better, I will close with an example of cover art that doesn’t suck.
Solid grasp of both human and animal anatomy, inspired combination of negative space and minimal colour, contrasted against a strong splash of red positioned to draw the eye to the title. A simultaneous balance of beautiful symmetry and deep-level creepiness that is as attractive as it is repellant. This, my friends, is a cover.
Okay, I’ve had a few drinks, I think I’m ready for this one.
That link has had a lot of circulation since the article was first posted more than a week ago. I’m not going to put too much time into commenting on the misogyny that saturates the article, or the obvious delusions of the charmingly nicknamed writer. Countless bloggers have done that already. I am instead going to focus on an aspect of the popular reaction to the article, best expressed in John Scalzi’s response.
“I’m not going to link to it, as abject misogynist stupidity should not be rewarded with links. You can track it down on your own if you like.”
I am generally okay with this sentiment. “Pro-male/Anti-feminist Tech” and the website he represents are surely hoping to gain some attention from this article, among others. Why should we reward them? This is a perfectly valid viewpoint. I am also entirely in agreement with Mr. Scalzi’s “point and laugh” suggestion. However, I have seen a few bloggers and commenters suggesting that we are making a mistake by posting any links to the article at all, and there I begin to see a problem.
My generation has been raised in an atmosphere where we are taught that those who act out are seeking attention, and that if we ignore them they will go away. Being the son of a highly experienced behavioural specialist, I know that there is truth in this. Many people, particularly children, individuals with developmental disabilities, and particularly stupid people who are still considered more valuable than those with developmental disabilities for some reason*, act out in overtly noticeable ways to gain attention. In many of those cases, it is best not to reward that behaviour with the attention they seek. And I can see how the writer of the above article might be ranked among children or particularly stupid people. This, however, is not the whole of the issue.
Our society, in its current iteration, believes that it has progressed far beyond the prejudices of generations past. In many ways we have. We are a far more progressive society than that of our grandparents, or even of our parents. It is a mistake, however, to think we have overcome all of our prejudices, and I have noticed that our modern culture has a tendency to rest on its laurels, indulging in self-congratulation for how much better it is than generations past. It is far too easy to grow complacent, and assume that all opponents of equality have been vanquished.
Now, I’m not saying that The Spearhead, wonderfully named site that it is, is a significant threat to social progress on its own. It’s just one site, populated by a fringe group of deluded wingnuts, after all. It is, however, a symptom of a more serious problem. There are people in this enlightened first world who believe the things this writer is saying. Look at the comments section for the article. People are agreeing with this. It has been argued that some of those people have positions of power over the literary field being discussed. Despite what we want to believe, the problem has not gone away.
So what good does it do to ignore it? Why is that the better option? Frankly, ignoring them won’t make them go away, and if we leave these sorts of people to their own devices, they’ll keep shouting until someone listens. Eventually, they might even get some kind of movement. It’s certainly not likely, but it’s not impossible. Ignoring them accomplishes nothing. We’re not really depriving them of attention, because they’re getting it anyway, from the people who agree with and encourage them.
On the other hand, drawing attention to intellectual failures like the article in The Spearhead raises awareness of a problem that isn’t buried as deeply as some people might think. It’s important, in my opinion, to shine the cold light of day on people like this. When they exist only on the very edge of our perception, they can appear much larger and more formidable than they really are. When we pull back the curtain, we can show them for what they are: small, scared men, unwilling to let go of a past that never even existed.
Link to the article. Link to it in as many places as you can. The benefit you will give to the site is miniscule compared to the opportunity you’ll give to others to debunk its claims. Or ridicule them. Or simply to be aware that such opinions still exist and must be contended with. Communities like The Spearhead can stew in ignorance all they like. We don’t have to do the same.
*I have, in my life, known individuals with developmental disabilities who have been valuable contributing members of society, and wonderful people. The same cannot be said for those who engage in the willful idiocy I refer to in the case of “particularly stupid people”.
According to this very clear and entirely unbiased article, we are on the verge of a cultural holocaust. As the electronic book gains in popularity, the traditional paper book will be inexorably wiped out of existence, taking all the value of human achievement with it and leaving our society drained of all meaning. We will live in a media reich in which all culture will be scrubbed soulless and trapped in the plastic shell of electronic delivery. Already, devotees of print media are looked down upon as social anachronisms, clinging to a destructive and worthless medium!
Did that sound a little crazy? Maybe more than a little.
If Alan Kaufman is to be believed, the rise of the ebook is equivalent to Nazi Germany, Christian expansion and 9/11 all rolled into one. I assume his article was intended to convince readers to spurn the ebook and hold fast to the holy grail of printed paper. It succeeded, in my case, at convincing me that even the most banal of subjects can be made outrageous by someone whose grasp of reality is best described as “neglected”. But no amount of apocalyptic wording or comparisons to cultural upheavals and human atrocity will alter the inherent flaws in the article.
From the first, Kaufman makes entirely baseless assumptions. Yes, numerous small bookstores have closed down in recent years. That is difficult to credibly deny. Kaufman’s association of this phenomenon with the development of the ebook is not so irrefutable. Small bookstores are closing because of big bookstores. Amazon.com certainly contributes to this, but the vast majority of their book sales are still in printed form. Frankly, ebooks have barely begun to catch on, and are nowhere near the ubiquity needed to have a drastic impact on the book market.
The article goes on to make its connection between ebooks and Hitler by calling print media “the despised Jew of our culture”. That’s certainly a compelling bit of phraseology there, but can Kaufman back it up? I don’t know if he believes he can, because he seems content to let his alarmist proclamations speak for themselves. Whatever he believes, the reality is that he’s pulling this idea out of his ass. Books are not a cultural outcast, at least not in the sense to which Kaufman is referring. Certainly, there is a small subculture of early Kindle devotees who believe that print media should immediately be supplanted and fade into history. To keep the Godwin theme going, there is also a small subculture of people who believe Hitler was right. I will concede that these groups do have one thing in common: they do not represent society in any significant way.
There are times when I feel the art of the book is threatened on a cultural level. This feeling is brought on not by new technology, but by a cultural trend that, as a bookseller, I can’t help noticing on a daily basis. We live in a society that does not value its literacy. In this, our enlightened first world, there are people who disdain reading as an unpleasant chore to be completed only when necessary. Note, this disdain is directed not at the printed page, but at the act of reading itself. I could rant for hours about this particular problem, but that’s a post for another day. The point here is that where Kaufman sees a cultural aversion to books and blames the ebook, I see the same and attribute it to a much deeper problem of anti-intellectualism in popular culture.
Kaufman goes on to blame the market for the supposed downfall of the book, claiming that the more people buy ebooks, the fewer people buy print books. That much is true. As more people purchase ebooks, sales of printed material will likely decline. And I agree that this will eventually happen. I don’t see it happening in the next ten years, however, and there is certainly no noticeable sign of it now. He is correct that publishers see books as a profit-venue first and artistic expression second if at all. This explains why Dan Brown and Stephanie Meyer are bestsellers while some of the best writers you’ll ever read labour on in obscurity. Selling to the lowest common denominator is a surefire way to maximise profit. When the lowest common denominator accepts the Kindle, I can see some sort of visible shift occurring. That hasn’t happened yet, and I doubt it will happen soon. The human mob has always been resistant to change.
A summary of the paragraphs above: Small bookstores are closing because they cannot compete with larger businesses, not because electronic books are impacting book sales. Literature has fallen to the fringe of pop culture because people would rather watch TV than read, not because ebooks are forcing paper into obsolescence. Publishers are in it to make money, which results in truly terrible but marketable books getting more love than good books that won’t reach a large demographic, but has no impact on the print vs. electronic argument.
Now that we’ve clarified the ways in which Mr. Kaufman is wrong, I would like to take a moment to explain why this article bothers me. Clearly, the writer has a problem with ebooks. Based on his choice of wording, I would say he has a monumental problem with them. As one nears the end of his article, it becomes clear that the agenda is personal. He considers printed books to be “sacred”, and integral to culture. According to Kaufman, as soon as books are transferred to an electronic medium, they lose all cultural value. Therein lies one of my two problems.
What is so important about paper? At the moment, I would rather buy a printed book than read an ebook, but that’s because I find reading off of a computer screen uncomfortable, and am uninterested in spending however many hundred dollars it would take to buy an ebook reader. The problem with ebooks right now is one of practicality and convenience, not of morality. If a book is read electronically instead of on a page, is the content affected in any way? No. You might not enjoy reading ebooks, but don’t use the content to excuse your disdain for the medium. It is naive at best and deceitful at worst.
The other, more obvious problem with the article is the repeated use of alarmist comparisons, to fascism, terrorism and unpopular history, to inflate the perceived problem. I cannot, with a straight face, compare ebooks to the Third Reich. To call this embryonic technological movement “a catastrophe of holocaustal proportions” is ridiculous to the point of absurdity, and I find it insulting that the writer apparently thinks we will simply accept these statements and be appropriately terrified. Far worse is the realisation that, somewhere on the internet, there are readers impressionable enough to believe Kaufman’s claims without seeking to verify them. Even if we are not all foolish enough to jump on this particular alarmist bandwagon, someone will be, and Kaufman seems content to exploit that credulity if it means people will agree with his narrow and poinless ideal.
So, Alan Kaufman, you are at best either an idiot or a self-important jackass who would manipulate the gullible and small minded to gain a following. At worst, you are both. If asked for my opinion, I would suggest the latter.
It is possible that my last post was slightly misinformed. It is possible that David Wong, the author’s name according to the cover of John Dies at the End, and also the name of the narrator within the book, is a pseudonym for Jason Pargin. It is possible that Jason Pargin, who does use David Wong as his penname for all things, is a contributor to the popular humour magazine National Lampoon, and that he is the editor in chief of Cracked.com, a popular humour website. It is possible that all of this information was available in a short blurb on the back flap of the book. It is even possible that I read this blurb, determined that the pseudonym was not an important detail, and completely failed to notice the remaining information.
In my defense, I was completely out of it today.
Obviously, Wong’s existing writing credentials, particularly his position with Cracked.com may have had an influence on the publication of his book, and on the format in which it was published. I cannot say with confidence that the high quality hardcover release of John Dies at the End was such a direct result of its online popularity, and not of Wong’s position. Admittedly, editor in chief of a humour website isn’t a position closely connected with the publication industry, but the website in question is a pretty solid operation. It could have an effect.
This does not invalidate the ultimate point of my post. I remember when John Dies at the End made its small press debut. I had seen it in banner ads on the Something Awful Forums for months at that point, but hadn’t gotten around to checking it out. It was, at the time, quite popular on the forums, and in other places. When the paperback was first advertised, it inspired me to check out the website. I didn’t stay long, as I mentioned in the previous post, but I liked what I saw. So did many other people.
Davind Wong was added to the Cracked staff in 2007, the same year as the small press publication of the book in question, and several years after John Dies at the End first gained popularity. His work on his own site, Pointless Waste of Time (absorbed by Cracked in 2007), was not so high profile, and unlikely to have as significant an impact. So, even if his current position with Cracked influenced the manner in which St. Martin’s Press chose to deal with Wong, it is clearly not responsible for the 70,000 people who read John Dies at the End long before the publication deal was inked.
Despite my apparent lack of reading comprehension when faced with single-sentence blurbs, John Dies at the End is still a great example of what the internet can do for an author. If, in the weeks and months to come, the book demonstrates strong sales, it will be because Wong did an excellent job of reaching his audience, and did so through the unorthodox method of letting them read his book years before he asked them to buy it. Since we’re talking about the future now, the results are not so definite, but the example remains important.
And it’s still a really good book.
While loading up a cartful of books to put on the shelves today, I came across a surprising new arrival: the freshly released hardcover edition of John Dies at the End, by David Wong, published by St. Martin’s Press. I wasn’t surprised that the book was out; I knew it was coming; I was surprised to see it in hardcover, with arguably some of the best cover design I’ve ever seen on a horror title. This is not to say that John Dies at the End is not deserving of such treatment, but writers, like most creative fields, rarely get what they deserve. The industry makes its decisions based on perceived market value, rather than creative value. Some of the best written work the world has ever seen may languish in obscurity, never seeing release in any release beyond the cheapest format, while formulaic shit that may or may not be worth the paper it’s printed on gets media-hyped hardcover release and an “Oprah’s Book Club” stamp.
That is, hopefully, all of the ranting I will do in this post. My surprise at the sight of John Dies at the End in gorgeous (if somewhat horrific) hardcover was the pleasant sort. David Wong is not a Dan Brown or a Stephenie Meyer. He doesn’t have a fistful of successful titles to prop up his latest release. As far as I’m aware, John Dies at the End is Wong’s first book. First time genre fiction authors do not get hardcovers. They do not get top-dollar cover design. They do not get ordered by the dozen by bookstores. But David Wong has gotten all of these things, despite being a horror author (comedic horror, no less) without another title to his name. So what’s different? What makes Wong so special? For the answer, we look at the book itself, and the not-entirely-unique but still remarkable history of John Dies at the End.
It did not begin as a book. It began in 2001 as an online serial, freely available for anyone to read. I remember reading the first chapter in 2007, never getting any further due to my aversion to reading lengthy works on a screen. Wong edited the serial into a manuscript in 2004, but it wasn’t actually released in print until 2007, and then only via small press. Small press and self published releases don’t tend to get a lot of attention in the vast and terrible book market of today. This, however, is what makes Wong’s work special. John Dies at the End was read by tens of thousands of people before it ever saw release in print. When it became available on Amazon via Permuted Press, there was an audience already waiting. According to Wikipedia, by the time the free online version was removed in fall of 2008, it had been read by 70,000 people. That kind of number is hard not to notice. St. Martin’s Press noticed first, apparently.
I’m not terribly familiar with St. Martin’s. A quick perusal of their author lists brings up a few familiar names, including thriller writer Faye Kellerman, fantasy author Caitlin Kittredge, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Yes, those are all from the Ks. Larry King was in there too. Now, I don’t know if St. Martin’s approached Wong, or if it was the other way around, but they clearly saw fit to give him a chance. Not only did they give him a chance, they gave John Dies at the End A-list treatment, at least as far as publication standards. I haven’t heard any particular hype attached to the book, but there’s only so much we can ask. Regardless, in my admittedly short time in the industry, I have never seen anything like this. It may not be unprecedented, but it’s certainly rare. And it all began online.
For the past several years, there has been constant discussion regarding the value of the internet for the publication and promotion of creative work. Many have tried to do what David Wong accomplished. Most have failed, and a few have taken this as an indicator that the advent of internet culture has done little to impact the publication industry. The impressive journey of John Dies at the End; from humble internet serial, to small press paperback, to legitimate, money-making hardcover; is proof that the web is the creative and promotional tool we always hoped it would be. As a writer, you can use it to bring your work to audiences you could never have dreamed of without it. That is, if you use it right. David Wong did, and he’s got the fancy book to prove it.
Addendum: With all that talk about what John Dies at the End has accomplished, I’ve failed to say anything about the book itself. I haven’t read beyond the first chapter yet, but what I have read so far is excellent. The prose is razor sharp, and the narrative is darkly witty. It is as disturbing as it is hilarious. From first impressions, I can definitely recommend this book.
Autism’s False Prophets: Bad Science, Risky Medicine, and the Search for a Cure by Paul A. Offit, M.D.
At my workplace, I have found no fewer than half a dozen books championing the notion that vaccines are somehow responsible for autism, most of them authored by the ever-so-credible Jenny McCarthy. So far, I have found only one book on the shelf that offers the much-needed rebuttal. I feel this book needs publicity, if only so the public at large can see that science does have an answer to these ridiculous claims.
I have to wonder what sort of society I’m living in when it seems like McCarthy, who has repeatedly demonstrated that she lacks even the most basic knowledge of the subject for which she claims to be a spokesperson, is considered more credible than the entire medical community. Of all the misguided causes and pseudoscientific movements in the western world, this one disturbs me the most, due to the rising count of preventable illnesses and deaths associated with the anti-vaccination movement.
Encouraging parents to forego vaccinations for their children is irrational, ill-informed, and dangerous. It places more than the individual children at risk, and diverts funding and attention away from realistic efforts to understand and treat autism. Education and critical thinking are all it should take to deflate these fallacies. Why is this so difficult?