Jessa Crispin hates what she calls “the Emo Boy writers.” (I particularly like her observation that “emo boys namedrop because it’s the only way they know how to explain someone.” Too many contemporary authors replace the individual experience with its pop-cultural echo. Why should anyone read a story if its characters can be evoked solely by reference to punk’s heyday or bad 80’s television?)
Amanda Davis’ Wonder When You’ll Miss Me upset my world almost the way Dorothy Allison’s Bastard Out of Carolina did. (Allison’s is a much stronger book, overall, but they’re both gut-wrenching.) Unfortunately, we’ll never have another book from Davis. She died in a plane crash several years ago. But McSweeney’s is soliciting entries for its second Amanda Davis award, a $2,500 grant for a female writer no older than 32 who is finishing up a book.
Oprah Winfrey recants. “The truth matters,” she says. (And yes, I’ve seen this. Thanks for sending it along. Dana actually read the book, and I’m waiting to see if she says more about it.)
A Massachusetts librarian “prevent[ed] the FBI from seizing library computers last week, because they came without a search warrant.”