ain't no sunshine
camilla and i are exploring the topographies of each other's hands--hers soft, warm, their touch maddeningly sweet--feet dangling above the canal and three slices of congealing pizza welded by the post-rain chill to a paper plate nearby, accompanied by beer bottles on the damp stone. we murmur in german, the parlance of affection.
me: and for why is it you are returning to copenhagen again?
camilla: my cat is dying.
me: and for how long. i am remembering you should say two days.
camilla, forlornly: at least a week.
me, in english: ?!!!?
camilla: i am not sure if i will return.
me: FUCKDAMMIT.
in her absence, i have rediscovered the art of pining, which thankfully leaves me too morose to do housework. yesterday i also rediscovered my commitment to cnn, whose coverage of the london bombings was kind of stunningly inept; the lasting impression of the day, for me, was a ten-minute press conference on the bombings by an unnervingly LBJ-looking jacques chirac, the first eight minutes of which went untranslated from the french. for the last two, the anchorwoman stepped in and began translating herself:
"the... um, the global warming, yes: it is principally manmade, and... thus it is man, who is, urmm, responsible, man. and so we must... defile... defy, rather, efforts... efforts to, it seems, not respond... to her. IT. to it." then, cheerily: "jacques chirac on the london terror bombings."
there was also an entertaining 30 minutes of footage of a grounded helicopter that tony blair may or may not have been preparing to enter, plus maybe twenty interviews between cnn reporters and civic officials communicating exclusively through static. all in all, i give cnn a C-. cnn, what happened to you? you used to be cool.
work keeps happening, via alternating bouts of hostel work (me getting yelled at) and walking tours (me yelling at people). the most recent tour was my first private job ever: an architecture-themed four hours (which ran into five) for two english girls and their polish mother, and it was completely sweet. from now on i only want to do private tours. the mother had advice on quitting smoking (NOTE TO MY PARENTS: i already quit at least two years ago), and the daughters were fun and smart and, it turns out, had gotten each other the tour for their 18th and 19th birthdays, respectively. the next tax form i fill out will list occupation as "birthday present." also, my bosses seem to have disappeared and i don't believe i will ever get paid.
here is yet another exhortation to read my novel and send me comments, from (of all people!) jeremy todd:
I like your novel a lot, I think.
[irrelevant] I'll have more detailed notes in a while, but one big thing I can say now in [praise and not] criticism is that I, having read the novel and being incredibly smart, have no idea of the [superbly drawn character of] Alex and her [awesome and tremendously readable] qualities. I don't know the rules there, or [whether I can adequately express how much reading this novel makes me respect you as a human being and - yes - a friend]. The mechanics of the plot don't [not] tie together in a package - I realize you're "an artist" now, and thus don't want it to tie together too neatly - but I think as it stands its less "provocative" what the fuck than "what the fuck" what the fuck, if that makes any sense. [I have read the novel eight times now and its limitless depth and tightly-paced, compelling narrative have caused me to lose my job.]
[As many people should read your novel as possible and send you comments, and those who have already done so are kings and queens among men and women. Additionally, I am a looser [sic].]
me: and for why is it you are returning to copenhagen again?
camilla: my cat is dying.
me: and for how long. i am remembering you should say two days.
camilla, forlornly: at least a week.
me, in english: ?!!!?
camilla: i am not sure if i will return.
me: FUCKDAMMIT.
in her absence, i have rediscovered the art of pining, which thankfully leaves me too morose to do housework. yesterday i also rediscovered my commitment to cnn, whose coverage of the london bombings was kind of stunningly inept; the lasting impression of the day, for me, was a ten-minute press conference on the bombings by an unnervingly LBJ-looking jacques chirac, the first eight minutes of which went untranslated from the french. for the last two, the anchorwoman stepped in and began translating herself:
"the... um, the global warming, yes: it is principally manmade, and... thus it is man, who is, urmm, responsible, man. and so we must... defile... defy, rather, efforts... efforts to, it seems, not respond... to her. IT. to it." then, cheerily: "jacques chirac on the london terror bombings."
there was also an entertaining 30 minutes of footage of a grounded helicopter that tony blair may or may not have been preparing to enter, plus maybe twenty interviews between cnn reporters and civic officials communicating exclusively through static. all in all, i give cnn a C-. cnn, what happened to you? you used to be cool.
work keeps happening, via alternating bouts of hostel work (me getting yelled at) and walking tours (me yelling at people). the most recent tour was my first private job ever: an architecture-themed four hours (which ran into five) for two english girls and their polish mother, and it was completely sweet. from now on i only want to do private tours. the mother had advice on quitting smoking (NOTE TO MY PARENTS: i already quit at least two years ago), and the daughters were fun and smart and, it turns out, had gotten each other the tour for their 18th and 19th birthdays, respectively. the next tax form i fill out will list occupation as "birthday present." also, my bosses seem to have disappeared and i don't believe i will ever get paid.
here is yet another exhortation to read my novel and send me comments, from (of all people!) jeremy todd:
I like your novel a lot, I think.
[irrelevant] I'll have more detailed notes in a while, but one big thing I can say now in [praise and not] criticism is that I, having read the novel and being incredibly smart, have no idea of the [superbly drawn character of] Alex and her [awesome and tremendously readable] qualities. I don't know the rules there, or [whether I can adequately express how much reading this novel makes me respect you as a human being and - yes - a friend]. The mechanics of the plot don't [not] tie together in a package - I realize you're "an artist" now, and thus don't want it to tie together too neatly - but I think as it stands its less "provocative" what the fuck than "what the fuck" what the fuck, if that makes any sense. [I have read the novel eight times now and its limitless depth and tightly-paced, compelling narrative have caused me to lose my job.]
[As many people should read your novel as possible and send you comments, and those who have already done so are kings and queens among men and women. Additionally, I am a looser [sic].]
posted by jesse at 4:27 AM
4 Comments:
I know I am Jesse's mother, but I am also a devoted reader of literature, and as I am on my third reading of Jesse's novel, I will say to you all that it is compelling, atmospheric, suspenseful, thought-provoking, clever, and for the most part expertly written. Not for nothing did Jesse spend many evenings listening to David Copperfield being read aloud. Do read it!
A few criticisms: an awful lot of vomiting, and frequent blithe utilization of the f-word - which I suspect that Camilla may not appreciate either.
Jesse, (this has nothing to do with your novel) are you living near Kotbusser Tor? I used to live there a few years ago (a block from where that Penner-Party goes on just about 24/7), but now I just moved into a place on Urbanstraße and my landlord informed me that if I went near Kotbusser Tor I would likely be killed.
(Note to Jesse's mother: my landlord has an overactive imagination.)
Meow meow meow meow meow ... I read Jesse's book and found it deeply moving, though very, very sad. We can begin with the fish. Remember when they ran out of fish at dinner? And Lefteris had told them that they would! And they didn't listen! THEY DIDN'T LISTEN! To run out of fish ... Need I say more?
The other thing I didn't like was that there are no cats in the book. None at all. What kind of a bleak, monochrome existence is that? And as if that weren't bad enough, now we learn that Camilla's cat is dying. Dying! When will the healing begin?
Other than that, meow meow meow meow meow meow. Once more, with feline ...
Always,
K
i read jesse's novel. it is good, there's a lot of good stuff in there (your mom has a lot of nice adjectives for you), but the characters at times are hard to distinguish. it seems, knowing jesse as i do, that most of them are jesse himself. not that that's a bad thing-- it just makes for a book where all of the characters are struggling with the same thing in the same way.
that said, i would purchase it if it were published.
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