Category Archives: The Evolution of Bruno Littlemore
After what feels like several weeks on planes, I’m finally back home for a little downtime, and figured I should post something on this blog that I update with a religious frequency of about every never. In recent weeks, I had the great pleasure to read at some amazing bookstores: The Tattered Cover in Denver, The Boulder Book Store in my hometown, Boulder, Colorado (and there were so many people from my past in attendance at that one that it almost, weirdly, felt like a wedding or something — all my high school teachers! — Bill Burns, Susan Hellie-Jacobs, Russell Croop, Bob Larue, Sue Max, Janet Orton…), then another homecoming of sorts in Iowa City, where I read at Prairie Lights, which of course felt like a veritable rite of passage of sorts… Then Chicago, Anderson’s in Naperville, and then an event supporting the journal run by my friends Adam Whitney Nichols and Samantha Hinds, Fortnight Journal (do check it out — Adam and Samantha are incredibly impassioned folks, and it’s a very cool thing they’re doing; and not just because I’ll be contributing some essays and other stuff to the next quarter of the journal; and I’m honored to be involved with anything in any way associated with Patti Smith).
Now, after a visit to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, by which I mean San Francisco, where I read at the fantastic bookstore Book Passage in Marin County, I’m back in action in New York. Or at least sitting around drinking coffee and struggling out from under a pile of unanswered emails and thinking about cleaning my sordidly messy apartment.
But for more plugs. I’m giving a couple of readings here in New York next week, to which, if you live here or near here, you should come. The first is at the official two-year anniversary of the Franklin Park Reading Series, officiated by Penina Roth, at Franklin Park in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. It starts at 8, on Monday the 14th. I’m reading with Jami Attenberg, Susan Shapiro, Ophira Eisenberg and Moshe Schulman, and I promise it’ll be a trip and a half.
And that ain’t all!
On Thursday, March 17th — that’s St. Patrick’s Day, honoring the rich heritage of my Irish ancestors, who left the Emerald Isle because they were starving, having run out of potatoes (See? ) — I’m reading at Pete’s Candy Store, in my own northside Brooklyn stomping grounds, along with J Milligan. You should absolutely come to that and do a few Irish Car Bombs with me and the ghost of Flann O’Brien, who may be making a secret celebrity guest appearance.
That’s the news. Goodnight and good luck.
This is from Vicky Raab’s post on The New Yorker Book Club blog:
When I started “The Evolution of Bruno Littlemore,” I began to have worrisome Proustian flashbacks of being a chimp in a weird but normal family of very cute chimps in very cute outfits who lived in my house and ate coveted breakfast cereals with me—Wheat Chex, Corn Chex, and Rice Chex—who are maybe on “The Ed Sullivan Show” around the time of the Beatles?
Flash. Gnaw. Niggle….
Ah-ha!Thanks to mass connectivity, I am able to figure out fairly quickly that I’m flashing on possibly the first TV show I ever saw, a short-lived flop I never knew the name of, but, apparently, admitted entirely into my evolving consciousness, as Bruno does “Sesame Street,” peaches, Lydia, and much else. Sponsored by Ralston Purina, the show was called “The Hathaways,” and it featured the Marquis Chimps: Candy, Enoch, and Charlie (who, I think, may be Hale’s models for Hilarious Lily, Hilarious Larry, and Clever Hands).
I had never heard of that TV show before. Like she said, it was apparently a complete flop. I wonder why:
In fact, the model for the former chimp-actor characters she mentions was more this bullshit:
In any event, I’m strongly against the use of chimps in entertainment. Putting them in movies psychologically fucks them up, probably even worse than it fucks up child actors, and they don’t even get trust funds they can later turn into mountains of coke and roomfuls of Jimmy Choos.
Despite the accusations of Wesley J. Smith, I do not consider myself a pornographer (per se). But it’s not like the word “porn” even carries a negative connotation to my ear. This is my first NSFW post here, I suppose, and I admit I hesitated slightly, but the image is so hilarious that I could not help but post it.
Flavorpill included my book in a list of “The Best Literary Sex Scenes Not Penned by a Great Male Novelist.” I’m deeply honored! Though of course my presence on the list must imply I’m either not “Great” or not “Male,” and last I checked my plumbing was of the external type. I’d be fine with Pretty Good Male Novelist. Though she also has Milan Kundera on the list, and if he’s not a Great Male Novelist I don’t know who is.