Only as good as your word

My friend Susan Shapiro's new book, Only as Good as Your Word, is out now. Sue traces the effect mentors had on her life, from when she was a misfit high-school student to her arrival in New York as an aspiring poet to the present day--in which she finds she has become a mentor.

Although Sue’s career has been as a writer and teacher, the stories of her relationships with mentors are instructive for anyone in any industry who has thought to seek out the wisdom of a mentor to guide his or her career. I wish this book existed when I came to New York as a young, starving, unemployed writer. ("[Shapiro] doles out invaluable advice for aspiring scribes. Pulling back the curtain to reveal what it takes to earn a living with words, she emphasizes the usefulness of exploiting one's obsessions, writing about people you love and realizing that a page a day is a book a year. Shapiro's engaging stories about her career trajectory are replete with missteps. She provides guidance on transforming private humiliations into hilarity for the public forum and asserts that when it comes to getting published, 'no' never actually means 'no.' . . . The book's final chapters, which explain how to find a great mentor and be a good protégé, should be required reading for all would-be writers"--Kirkus Reviews.)

I just hope . . .

. . . that the end of the world has not descended upon us like the first five minutes of a cheaply made science fiction movie. But if it has, I also hope there are two teenagers somewhere--misfits, let’s say, or a nerdy guy and the cheerleader who would never give him the time of day--who will spring into action and save us.

What Tony is reading

I enjoyed Great Expectations, and I am now reading Jane Austen’s Emma. This is my home reading. On the train into work I am still brushing up my German. Actually, “brushing up” suggests that I have retained some level of German and just need to remind myself. I’m afraid my situation is more desperate than that: I’m just trying to cram as much German as I can prior to my trip in the fall--which might get pushed back to winter.

To that end, I am reading Ranier Maria Rilka’s Letters to a Young Poet. I found a decent translation on the Web and what seems to be a reliable copy in German. I copied these both onto a Word document so that I have English on the left and German on the right. (O.K., I barely know German at all. I just hope that when they find me I can get out the words “Essen, bitte!” before losing consciousness.) Anyway, on the subway I am both reading this marvelous insight on writing and art and studying German. Here is a little of what I read this morning:

Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Things aren’t all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.

Mit nichts kann man ein Kunst-Werk so wenig berühren als mit kritischen Worten: es kommt dabei immer auf mehr oder minder glückliche Mißverständnisse heraus. Die Dinge sind alle nicht so faßbar und sagbar, als man uns meistens glauben machen möchte; die meisten Ereignisse sind unsagbar, vollziehen sich in einem Raume, den nie ein Wort betreten hat, und unsagbarer als alle sind die Kunst-Werke, geheimnisvolle Existenzen, deren Leben neben dem unseren, das vergeht, dauert.

Little Pinky visits Golden Gate Park

There must have been 30 types of grass for sale at the garden shop my friends took me to near Golden Gate Park today. (Yesterday was my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary, and we celebrated it in San Francisco.) We bought Little Pinky in a pint-sized container. Here is a picture of Little Pinky (Pennisetum macroctacium):

Then we had dinner at the Beach Chalet as the sun set and parasailers swooped over the water. After dinner, as the sun was still declining, we went out on the sand. The wind was blowing in strongly from the Pacific Ocean, but the water was calm and the waves were very tame. I dipped my toe in the water. I think it has been ten years since I dipped my toe in the Pacific, although I have been to the West Coast quite a few times--it seemed a shame to come thousands of miles again and not actually touch that ocean.

The sun set beyond the water. There wasn’t a green flash--I think maybe because there was too much fog. Then we drove by the de Young Museum. I had the little pot of Little Pinky in my lap. In front the de Young it’s a loading and unloading area only, and they are very strict about enforcing their rules. To avoid getting ticketed for merely stopping, I got out of the car. I showed the museum’s façade to Little Pinky: “Look, Little Pinky, it’s a beautiful new museum. And look at all the grass they have!” The kids in the backseat got a kick out of that. Then I got back in the car and we were on our way.

Here is the regular Pinky:

. . . although she is at the Huntington, not the de Young.

Hey, Hotshot!

My friend Beth Herzhaft is a Hey Hot Shot winner this summer, and her work is being shown at the Jen Bekman Gallery (6 Spring St., at Bowery). The opening is September 12--this Wednesday. (Beth, you are always a hotshot winner to me, this summer and every other season.)

St. Agnes's farewell book sale

The used-book sale this weekend at the St. Agnes Branch (Amsterdam Avenue & W. 81st St.) of the New York Public Library is not only the last before they close for renovatons, it is apparently the last ever (after a 25-year run). I will definitely be there:

September 7, 8, and 9, 2007
Friday and Saturday, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m.
Sunday, noon - 5 p.m.

The books are plentiful and cheap. And good: Some smart people live on the Upper West Side and when they’re done with their books, they donate them to the library to be sold. I don't know what they're going to do with their old books now. I will certainly miss their sales twice a year.