fiction

Re “Film and Election Politics Cross in ‘Fahrenheit 9/11,’ ” June 11: Unconcerned about public reaction to Michael Moore’s admittedly biased movie “Fahrenheit 9/11,” Bush campaign spokesman Scott Stanzel is quoted as saying, “Voters know fact from fiction coming from Hollywood.” The question is, come November, will they know fact from fiction coming from Washington?

Rick Mittleman

Palm Desert

In his riveting book “The Insider: Malcolm Cowley and the Triumph of American Literature,” veteran book editor Gerald Howard makes a strong claim for Cowley as a crucial catalyst for the efflorescence of American fiction in the years following World War I. He’s not wrong: Working as a critic, author, essayist and editor, Cowley often provided a lone voice in the wilderness for neglected masters.

As consulting editor for publishing house Viking Press in the ‘40s, Cowley resuscitated William Faulkner’s career at a time when most of his books were out of print. Cowley also ushered in Jack Kerouac’s seminal novel of the Beat Generation, “On the Road,” working for seven years to get it published and finally succeeding in doing so in 1957.

For this week’s newsletter, I spoke with Howard about Faulkner, Kerouac and the death of criticism.

✍️ Author Chat

Your book details Cowley’s seven–year odyssey to get Kerouac’s “On the Road” published in 1957 and point out that, contrary to Kerouac’s criticisms regarding the editing, Cowley, in fact, had nothing to do with changes that straightened out his prose.

Cowley took a lot of crap from the Kerouac crowd because Kerouac, in a drunken moment, blamed all his troubles with Viking on Cowley when Cowley was innocent. The Kerouac scholars and biographers don’t quite grasp that a good part of the editing job was assigned to other folks at Viking. They added all those commas in the manuscript that Kerouac was so upset about. Cowley was not an advocate of making big changes to the book; he thought Kerouac’s voice was so vital, so fresh.

Perhaps Cowley’s greatest contribution to 20th century American literature is his rehabilitation of Faulkner’s career at a time when all of his books were out of print. In 1944, he was down and out; six years later, he won the Nobel Prize. Cowley had a lot to do with that.

There was something going on in Europe at the time that was somewhat disconnected from what was going on in the United States. Faulkner’s reputation in France in particular was very high; Andre Gide and Sartre were admirers. But in the United States, Faulkner didn’t sell, he had a very mixed reputation, and he was not well understood. Cowley’s first intention was to write a very long essay about Faulkner’s work, which was serialized in various publications, and then to assemble “The Portable Faulkner” for Viking, which sold well. So the ground was prepared by Cowley.

Critics are “so central to a useful, fruitful culture. I myself don’t particularly care to live in a culture that doesn’t have them,” veteran editor Gerald Howard tells The Times.

(Penguin Random House)

What’s remarkable is the catholicity of Cowley’s taste. He studied Racine at Harvard, but then recognizes the greatness of a disparate group of writers: Faulkner, John Cheever, Kerouac, Ken Kesey, all of whom he shepherds into print.

He didn’t have a program or a thesis. He had taste. He was just a pure creature of literature, immensely versatile and conversant with everything that seemed to matter in the literary universe. Up until the ‘60s, he had his radar up and running. He didn’t believe in a fixed canon.

Cowley was an editor of the New Republic from 1929 to 1944, a small-circulation magazine with outsized influence, featuring critics like Edmund Wilson that generated the cultural conversation. Critics have no such sway anymore. Do you feel there has been something lost from that diminishment of the individual critical voice?

We can let all the online measurements determine the things that people like and allow those things to rise to the surface. But I think the role of the critic is to sort through a vast amount of material to find the things that are really valuable, really interesting. Not just books, of course — also movies, art, music. They’re so central to a useful, fruitful culture. I myself don’t particularly care to live in a culture that doesn’t have them.

Is a maverick editor like Malcolm Cowley possible now?

Probably not. The world that he moved in was a closed world. There wasn’t a lot of room for people who were not white, male and heterosexual. It’s disappointing that he was not more interested in African American literature. He should have been. There are plenty of those people around that he knew. And just appreciating Ralph Ellison was not enough.

(This Q&A was edited for length and clarity.)

📰 The Week(s) in Books

(Los Angeles Times photo illustration; Cover by Macmillan)

Robert Allen Papinchak was enthralled by Margaret Atwood’s memoir, “Book of Lives,” in which the author of “A Handmaid’s Tale” unpacks “the challenging symbiotic relationship between life and art.”

You may have seen the Netflix series about the “OneTaste” sex cult, but that’s not even the half of it, according to Ellen Huet’s book “Empire of Orgasm,” which Julia M. Klein calls a “deeply troubling” narrative of coercion and financial ruin.

Bad Religion guitarist and overall punk legend Brian Baker has a new book of photographs called “The Road,” and Josh Chesler chatted with him about it: “I think I have a knack for being at the right place at the right time.”

Photographer Annie Leibowitz has dropped a “stunning” new book of pictures called “Annie Leibowitz: Women,” according to Meredith Maran.

📖 Bookstore Faves

Arcana has served the L.A. market for over 40 years, currently occupying space in the Helms Bakery building in Culver City.

(Joshua White)

Given the vicissitudes of the retail book market, it’s a minor miracle that Arcana: Books on the Arts has survived 41 years. Arcana, which since 2012 has occupied space in the Helms Bakery building in Culver City after a long run at the Third Street Promenade, is the best art bookstore in L.A., offering a vast selection spanning photography, painting, fashion, graphic design and much more. I spoke with owner Lee Kaplan about what is hot in his store right now.

What books are selling right now?

We are closing in on the Holidays, so lots of great new titles are showing up daily. A small selection of those which are selling well include “Bruce Weber. My Education,” “Kerry James Marshall: The Histories,” “William Eggleston: The Last Dyes” and “Jane Birkin: Icon of Style.”

Is there any particular kind of book that tends to do well for you?

Perennials tend to be more comprehensive, hardbound volumes of well-known artists such as Edward Ruscha, Andy Warhol, John Baldessari and Jean-Michel Basquiat; photographers Robert Frank, Todd Hido, William Eggleston, Ed Templeton; architects Frank Gehry, Herzog & De Meuron, Johnston Marklee, and Fashion brands like Comme des Garcons, Supreme, Dior, etc. That noted, we sell a lot of inexpensive zines by creators few have heard of, yet.

Arcana has survived a lot of the ups and downs of the retail book business. What do you think is the secret to your longevity?

Moving to a large, beautifully designed space in Culver City’s Helms Bakery in 2012 (after decades on Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade) turned out to be a fortunate decision. We have room for scores of thousands of books that we have amassed over the years situated in a lively, artistic and design-conscious neighborhood.

Given the internet, why do people still value looking at art in books?

These are two vastly different experiences, and for me, there is no substitute for holding a book as a tangible, tactile object. Thankfully, there are still many, many visitors daily that seem to feel the same.

Arcana: Books on the Arts is at 8675 Washington Blvd. in Culver City.

(Please note: The Times may earn a commission through links to Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.)

On Aug. 12, 2022, Salman Rushdie was stabbed 15 times just as he was about to give a public lecture at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Gravely wounded, Rushdie lost sight in his right eye. The following spring, he published “Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder,” which became a bestseller. His new book, “The Eleventh Hour: A Quintet of Stories,” is his first work of fiction since the attack that nearly killed him.

A showcase for his dynamic range, the book careens from social critique to ghost stories and dream-like fables. On a recent Zoom call, the writer discussed the consolations of fiction, Franz Kafka and the moral rot of the gilded class.

✍️ Author Chat

This is the first fiction you’ve written since “Knife.” How did you get that part of your creative brain going again?

I’m so happy to have fiction to talk about again! The attack kind of stopped the fiction juices from flowing. It’s as if my mind wouldn’t look back into the world of the imagination. But the moment I finished “Knife,” even before it came out, I was suddenly thinking about fiction again. It was as if by magic, I had to somehow sweep that subject away — out of the front of my mind, into the back of my mind — in order to let other stuff come in.

So you’re thrilled to be writing fiction again.

Yes. Memoir was never a form that attracted me. I don’t particularly want to write about myself.

Were all the stories in the new book written after the knife attack?

The two stores which bookend the collection were written earlier, although I did revise them. The first story I wrote for the book was “Late,” which is the first ghost story I’ve ever written.

“The Eleventh Hour: A Quintet of Stories” by Salman Rushdie.

(Random House)

That is actually astonishing to me. You have had elements of the supernatural and fantasy in your fiction, but not specifically a ghost story?

I’ve had that, but I haven’t had a ghost as a hero. And I must say, it became incredibly enjoyable to write.

I’d always wanted to write something arising out of my time at Cambridge, but I’d never really found a story. Then I had this idea of an encounter between this older academic and this young Indian woman who made friends because of their mutual love of India. When I sat down to write it, I found myself killing him. It took me completely by surprise. And the story became something else entirely.

There is in a few of these stories the character of the old don, the wizened, sage academic. Were these characters based on gray eminences you may have encountered at Cambridge?

I was lucky that my time at King’s College overlapped just a little bit with the great E.M. Forster. He was almost 90 and I was 19, but he was very approachable. He liked students to approach him and have a conversation. He would sometimes come and sit in the student common room with a little glass of beer and a little kind of flat cap. And when he discovered that I had a background in India, he became extra chatty because India had, of course, been unbelievably important to him in his life.

“Oklahoma” is perhaps the most dream-like story in the collection, about a young man searching for an older man, a famous writer, who has disappeared. It’s a dense piece, with a distinct Kafka influence.

There was an extraordinary exhibition at the Morgan Library here in Manhattan, of the manuscripts of Kafka. They had “The Trial,” “The Castle” and “Amerika,” an unfinished novel whose original title was “The Man Who Disappeared.” And that stuck with me. So I found myself writing a story in which Kafka makes a guest appearance, but it’s basically in the end about two men who disappear. “Oklahoma” is taken from “Amerika,” but Kafka never set foot in America, of course. It’s an Oklahoma of the mind and spirit, the place where you find satisfaction and fulfillment.

In “The Musician of Kahani,” about a marriage between a middle-class pianist and wealthy playboy, it feels like you are describing this new class of what you refer to as the “rich-rich,” the new vulgarian wealthy class. In the past, rich people were associated with glamour, but now it feels like a kind of boorish narcissism.

Yes, in the past, there was a kind of Gatsby-level glamour attached to the wealthy. One of the things that used to be the case in India after independence is that Gandhian ideas were very prominent. Indian weddings tended to be quite modest affairs. There was a Gandhian idea that you don’t flaunt your wealth. Well, that’s gone out the window, right? All the Gandhian notions are very much out of favor in India now. This has resulted in fantastically flamboyant weddings. And when you get to this level of the ultra-rich, there is a kind of surrealism on display.

Do you read much contemporary fiction?

I’m a huge admirer of Toni Morrison, if that’s contemporary enough. I’m also very keen on James McBride, especially “The Good Lord Bird” and “The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store,” for the range, the detail and the comedy in his writing, which is profound. I read two 700 page books this summer: Kiran Desai’s “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” — which took her 19 years to write and I think is a kind of masterpiece — and Nicholas Boggs’ biography of James Baldwin, which I loved.

(This Q&A has been edited for length and clarity.)

📰 The Week(s) in Books

“She comes across as preaching to her peers rather than seeking converts,” Hamilton Cain writes of Smith’s new book.

(Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)

Patti Smith’s new memoir, “Bread of Angels,” is “mesmerizing,” Leigh Haber writes for The Times. The book “deepens the mystery of who this iconic artist is and where her singular vision originated.”

Susan Straight’s new novel “Sacrament,” about a clutch of ICU nurses battling COVID in a San Bernardino hospital, “broadens the reader’s understanding of community beyond flesh-and-blood friends, family and neighbors,” according to Merdith Maran. “The love and care that flow within her community of characters draws the reader into their bright, tight circle, making the characters’ loved ones and troubles feel like the reader’s own.”

Robert Dowling’s new biography of actor and playwright Sam Shepard “expertly untangles the history of a man who contained multitudes,” writes Mark Athitakis.

Hamilton Cain has mixed emotions about Zadie Smith’s new collection of essays, “Dead and Alive,” writing that “the book’s finest pieces wrangle, in elegant prose, with humanity’s contradictions,” but “the weaker ones indulge in name-dropping, footnotes and op-ed invective.”

📖 Bookstore Faves

Zibby’s Bookshop is on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica.

(Courtesy of Zibby Media)

In the two years since Zibby Owens opened Zibby’s Bookshop, the Santa Monica store has become a vital hub for booklovers on the Westside who are drawn to the quaint, well-curated selection of books and the numerous events that take place throughout the year. I asked Zibby’s store manager Kartina Leno to tell us what book buyers are scooping up.

What’s selling right now?

Our customers are loving memoirs. “They All Came to Barneys” by Gene Pressman and “I Regret Almost Everything” by Keith McNally are flying off our shelves. By far the biggest fiction seller all year has been “The Wedding People” by Allison Espach. It’s smart, funny, and has a beautiful message.

How does the store foster a community of readers?

Our author events are such a place of community and comradeship to our customers. We have anywhere from three to five per week, and they feel like such a safe and welcoming space. We also offer a once-a-month book club that meets in person and also sees a great turnout. We have people who’ve been coming now for almost three years!

What genres have readers excited right now?

Our customers love a good cozy mystery and we’re still selling tons of “The Thursday Murder Club” by Richard Osman and “Everyone in My Family has Killed Someone” by Benjamin Stevenson. The romantasy bug has also been going around, so we make sure to have plenty of copies of Sarah J. Maas in stock.

Zibby’s Bookshop is at 1113 Montana Ave. in Santa Monica.

(Please note: The Times may earn a commission through links to Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.)

As one century gives way to another, a child is born in Mumbai. “The millennium’s gift,” Chandni Contractor, is a source of joy to her parents. When Chandni turns 4 and reveals herself to be a musical prodigy, she becomes a source of wonder. At the age of 13, she dazzles audiences across India with her piano and sitar performances. Five years later, she enthralls Majnoo, the playboy son of billionaire parents, and the pair go on to have a spectacular wedding. But their marriage sours and her in-laws turn overbearing. Eventually Chandni snaps and wreaks havoc by playing a different kind of music, one that has the power to destroy livelihoods and lives.

“The Musician of Kahani” is one of five stories in a new collection by Salman Rushdie. “The Eleventh Hour” sees the acclaimed Indian-born British American author exploring the weighty matters of life and death. That he should choose to craft tales around these twin themes is hardly surprising. In 2022, he was nearly killed in a frenzied attack at an event in upstate New York. Two years later, in his up-close-and-personal memoir, “Knife,” he recounted his ordeal and told how he had come to embrace what he called “my second-chance life.” Rushdie’s brush with death and new lease on life renders his latest stories — his first fiction since the attack — all the more potent and poignant.

The collection’s opener, “In the South,” gets underway both innocently and ominously: “The day Junior fell down began like any other day.” What follows is a chronicle of a death foretold. Senior and Junior are two octogenarian neighbors in Chennai, India, who spend their time together arguing. The former has had a rich and fulfilling life, but as so many of his friends and family have died — or “gone to their fiery rest” — he now longs for death. The latter, afflicted by “the incurable disease of mediocrity,” has led a disappointing life yet still possesses a lust for it.

When a tsunami hits the city, it kills Junior. At first Senior is angry (“Why not me?” he rages), but his dominant emotion turns to sadness after he realizes he has lost a man who was his “shadow.” Or so he believes. For Junior’s passing is not the end. Senior continues to see, and quarrel with, his fallen friend. As Rushdie puts it: “Death and life were just adjacent verandas.”

One of the finest stories here, “Late,” involves another apparition. English academic S. M. Arthur wakes up in his university college (an unnamed King’s College, Cambridge) and discovers he is dead. Feeling like “a broken entity trapped in a kind of prison,” he finds peace by communing with the one person who can see him, Indian student and fellow lonely soul, Rosa.

The pair form a bond in the empty college over the Christmas holidays. Despite their affinity, Arthur harbors secrets. When Rosa is tasked with sorting his papers, she comes across a mysteriously locked box file, the contents of which he refuses to disclose. Then Arthur takes stock of his situation and decides he can’t rest until Rosa helps him get even with a past persecutor. What is in the box and why the need for revenge?

Weighing in at over 70 pages, “Late” constitutes more a novella than a story, as does “The Musician of Kahani” and the equally substantial “Oklahoma.” This last offering about writers, writing and elaborate vanishing acts is artfully structured and formally daring, made up of multiple layers, diverse references, literary ventriloquy and slick twists and turns. In a lesser writer’s hands, this novella might have been too clever for its own good; however, Rushdie, a seasoned pro, achieves the perfect balance.

He hasn’t done so in recent years in his long-form fiction. “The Golden House” (2017), “Quichotte” (2019) and his last novel, “Victory City” (2023), were blighted in places by digressive riffs and monologues, bottomless subplots, “humorous” character names (Evel Cent, Thimma the Almost as Huge) and excessive magic-realist high jinks comprising talking revolvers, ferocious mastodons, an Italian-speaking cricket and a demigoddess who grows a city from seeds and lives for 247 years. Sometimes this hocus-pocus worked wonders; at other times it felt like cheap tricks.

Rushdie has far more success in “The Eleventh Hour.” His narratives are more streamlined. His flights of fancy— malevolent music, undead scholars, imaginary brothers, a cult led by a guru with 93 Ferraris in an “experimental township” called the Moon — are more controlled and add subtle strokes of color. Some groan-inducing puns aside, Rushdie’s comic touches are deftly managed, appearing as sharp satirical swipes or witty repartee. “You look like a man who is only waiting to die,” says Junior to Senior, who in turn retorts: “That is better than looking, as you do, like a man who is still waiting to live.”

Rushdie exhibits further playfulness by scattering clues and inviting his reader to trace connections. Arthur is in part a crafty composite of the writer E.M. Forster and the computer scientist Alan Turing — all three being, like their creator, King’s College alumni. “And at midnight, the approved hour for miraculous births in our part of the world, a baby was born to a Breach Candy family,” Rushdie writes of Chandni, with a knowing nod to the key time, place and circumstances in his 1981 masterpiece “Midnight’s Children.”

The book’s last and shortest entry, the fabular “The Old Man in the Piazza,” makes for a somewhat slight coda. Otherwise, this is an inventive and engrossing collection of stories which, though death-tinged, are never doom-laden. With luck this master writer has more tales to tell.

Malcolm Forbes is a freelance writer and critic from Edinburgh, Scotland, who writes for the Economist, the Washington Post and other publications.