WordWacky

According to a Random House funded poll conducted by Zogby, 82% of respondents favored a physical, pages-and-binding book to a digital version. A mere 3% owned an e-book reader, and 80% said they had no plans to purchase one.

The Census Bureau says sales at bookstores jumped 8% in April, and for the first four months of the year, sales were up 5.4%. [Editor's note: What the Census Bureau is doing tracking bookstore sales, I have no idea. I thought they just crawled out of the sludge every ten years to count us.]

So why are bookstores, particularly the independent ones who can’t take a loss and lean on another store to keep afloat, dying out?

From Wednesday’s Collinsville Herald, Madison County, IL:

“Piece of Mind Books has been in Edwardsville since 1991, but it is one of the last of a dying breed of independent bookstores in Madison County. The Book Nook and Faith Talk Company, both independent bookstores in Edwardsville, closed in that last few years. Main Street Books USA, in Collinsville, also closed.”

From Monday’s Republican, regarding the closure of Half Moon Books in Northampton, MA:

“At the entrance of the store, Ham has taped a New Yorker cartoon that shows a bookstore owner closing down his shop while, next door, a woman is receiving a package of books from a postal carrier. Unfortunately, he sees this as the future, which is why he is selling his inventory this month at 40-50 percent off. He decided against looking for someone to buy the business.

‘I wouldn’t feel right about selling the bookstore,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you can make enough money to live on.’”

Here’s that cartoon:

There’s the rub. It’s not the Kindle keeping people from their neighborhood cat-having, quirky-owner-presiding, local-economy-supporting bookstore, it’s the online retailers.

Also from the Zogby poll [via the P-I's Book Patrol]:

Independent bookselling did not fare so well in the survey either:
The top three retail choices for buying books were buying online (77%), buying books from a chain bookstore (76%), and buying from an independent bookstores (49%).

When asked if they “regularly” shop at an independent bookseller only 33% said yes and 64% said no!

Emphasis mine. Sigh.

I want to go on a journey across the States, documenting the independent bookstore. While it lasts. Who wants to come? I’ll need a director/videographer — and a lot of money.

To call In the City… lyrical, brilliant, epic, ambitious, and accomplished is certainly true, but also disappointing. Don’t use such ordinary words for this book. This book inspires the study of ancient languages and invention of new words to surround it. Choreograph a 1000-person line dance in Thompkins Square Park as a humble tribute. Buy a copy for every rehab and homeless shelter and gay community center in the country.

I want to live in this book. I have lived in this book. I am still living in this book. I’m in love with the characters: William of Heaven, Fiona Yet, Rose and Ruby, Charlie and True Shot. They are my Art Family, hanging out in the foundation of my memory, lovely new additions to the swarm under the jumbotron that says “Gotham.” How could new people — fictional characters, even — insinuate themselves into something so impermeable as my own history? It’s magic, but they have done just that.

Speaking of magic: I knew there was a divine tether between the Known Universe and this book, that it is somehow a hologram of the human experience twisted into a raunchy fable. That is magic enough, but here’s some more magic: In the City of Shy Hunters was published in the early months of 2001. A quote from p. 437:

“As I lit the cigarette, the World Trade Center was in the rearview mirror, and I turned around to look. The World Trade Center buildings were so beyond human they’d disappeared.”

This book is a beautiful example of contemporary urban wisdom, heart, and tragedy as it truly is — inseperable from, a celebration of Life Cafe: the ouroboros, the peace pipe, and the pungent wafts of dog shit.

OK, so that last one doesn’t relate, but for those wondering, it’s a mild expletive of Norwegian origin, used quite a bit like one might use the terms, “Oy vey!” or “Jeez.”

The reason I’m grunting and groaning in my title is to represent the many ways one pronounces ough.

I started thinking about it because of this:

My wife and I have been looking for a place to transplant some bamboo, and we found this on Craigslist (sorry, no link — we may buy it yet). I got to thinking about the word trough, and its odd pronunciation of ough.

Depending on what brand of English you’re speaking, there are as many as fourteen different pronunciations for the morpheme, ough. Someone’s even made a sentence including them all, but all the sounds aren’t different in American English (we wouldn’t pronounce trough, “troth”):

Rough-coated, dough-faced, thoughtful ploughman John Gough strode through the streets of Loughborough; after falling into a slough on Coughlin road near the lough (dry due to drought), he coughed and hiccoughed, then checked his horse’s houghs and washed up in a trough.

Here are some other examples:

Uh - Poughkeepsie
Aw - Bought, brought, fought
Oh - Although, thorough
Off - Cough, trough
Uff - Enough, tough
Ooh - Through, slough
Ow - Bough, plough
Up - Hiccough

This quality of having so many possible pronunciations for one morpheme is notoriously frustrating for new English speakers, but can also be challenging for native speakers like me. In an English class my freshman year of college, I made some point that included the word, “antithesis,” which I pronounced as if my dear Greek Aunty, Thesis, were in town for a visit. Nobody but the professor appeared to notice. She smirked, which corrected me more loudly than if she’d spoken.

Although now, wrapped in my wrinkled crone cloak I say, “These things happen,” and slough off such embarrassments, in that classroom I became a heat source, a silent, spinning, radioactive lump of carbon, burning a hole through the seat of my chair.

Uff, da!

Here are some etymology posts from the past week:

Gringo/folk etymology - “I’m pretty sure the dictionary is right about the word’s etymology. But I had learned a more colorful story: that Mexican-American vaqueros came into contact with Irish-American cowboys after the United States acquired first Texas, and then New Mexico and California. The Irish cowboys were constantly singing the song, “Green Grow the Lilacs.” The first two words of the song were slurred into gringo.”

Crunk - “Traditionally, crunk meant a hoarse, harsh cry. The term is often used as slang to mean intoxicated. Folk etymology suggests the modern usage of crunk originated as a portmanteau of the words ‘crazy’ and ‘drunk’ or having been ‘cranked up’ to a level of excitability at which one becomes ‘crunk’. Rapper Lil Jon defined crunk as a “state of heightened excitement.”

Good/Bad - “Here’s the Oxford English Dictionary’s etymology for good, which turns out to derive historically from ‘fitting, suitable’, not from ‘noble, aristocratic’…

The American Heritage Dictionary joins in relating good to IE ghedh- ‘to unite, join, fit’, also at the root of together and gather….

And here is the OED’s etymology for bad, which turns out to come not from “lower class” but from ‘homosexual’…”

Hocus - “The two-word phrase ‘hocus pocus’ seems to have entered the language a century or so before the word HOCUS as a stand alone. In medieval times, the Latin words spoken by priests in the Eucharist included ‘hoc est corpus meum,’ meaning ‘this is my body.’”

And more politics, for those so inclined:

Counterinsurgency - “The term counterinsurgency gained currency under President John Kennedy in the 1960’s, and referred initially to countering “communist inspired, supported, or directed insurgency, defined as subversive insurgency” by Soviet-aligned guerillas against western colonial nations. (When the US aided indigent forces in the overthrow of unfriendly governments it was called paramilitary operations.) As in the above quote the US involvement in Vietnam was called a counterinsurgency.”

Yesterday I wrote an e-mail to William Safire, the conservative writer and linguist who has contributed to a column in The New York Times Magazine, “On Language,” since forever. Reading up on him in Wikipedia, I am informed that he graduated from the same high school from which I dropped out. This strikes me as symbolic, though I don’t want to belabor that point too much.

I also found this piece of information:

After voting for Bill Clinton in 1992, Safire became one of the leading critics of Clinton’s administration. Hillary Clinton in particular was often the target of his ire. He caused a mild tempest when he called her a “congenital liar”; Hillary responded that she didn’t feel offended for herself, but for her mother’s sake. According to the president’s press secretary at the time, Mike McCurry, “the president, if he were not the president, would have delivered a more forceful response to that on the bridge of Mr. Safire’s nose.”

My letter was in response to the latter half of this Sunday’s “On Language,” subtitled “Misogynist.” In response to Hillary Clinton’s assertion that she had been subject to misogyny during her campaign, “It does seem as though the press at least is not as bothered by the incredible vitriol that has been engendered by comments and reactions of people who are nothing but misogynists,” Safire wrote:

The word misogyny has since its earliest recording in 1656 meant “hate or contempt for women.” The etymology of misogyny is straightforward: In Greek, miso means “hatred,” and gune means “woman.” A misogynist is a woman-hater. I thought Clinton’s choice of the word was in error, and that the word she meant was sexist, meaning “one who discriminates based on sex” - that she had been treated unfairly because she was a woman. When I looked up the word she chose in the Oxford English Dictionary online, however, I noted that the meaning of misogynist had changed slightly but significantly. In 1989, the definition was “hatred of women”; in the 2002 revision, the definition was broadened to “hatred or dislike of, or prejudice against women.”

Safire does not argue that there has not been “incredible vitriol,” yet he describes his immediate reaction to the word misogyny as incorrect, and only justifies her usage of the word as a synonym for prejudice. Thus, my letter, subject line: vitriol/misogyny.

Mr. Safire:

Relevant definitions of vitriol:

OED Online:
5. Virulence or acrimony of feeling or utterance.

Dictionary.com:
3. something highly caustic or severe in effect, as criticism.

American Heritage:
2. Bitterly abusive feeling or expression.

Worldnet:
2. abusive or venomous language used to express blame or censure or bitter deep-seated ill will

What about “incredible vitriol” does not imply hatred to you? Bitterly abusive? Venomous?

I heard many such press and non-press attacks. Dismiss me as one of Hillary’s feminists if you will, but your column is misguided in implying that vitriol does not suggest hatred, merely prejudice. I understand that you eventually accept the usage, but you imply that it’s politicized.

Perhaps it is your article that is using words to politick.

Having now read the Wikipedia entry on Safire, I would only alter my letter to remove the word “perhaps.”

Update: Here is my response from William Safire, dated June 22, 2008:

Dear Lexicographic Irregular,

You were good to respond to my invitation for comments and suggestions. A great many other readers have pitched in, too. Although I can’t answer mail individually, I read every letter and am most grateful for yours.

Sincerely,

William Safire

The boldface is his.

Last week my wife Ami and I went to the First Thursday Artwalk in Seattle’s Pioneer Square. We saw a terrific letterpress exhibit at the Design Commission, a tribute to Chris Stern.

From Easily Amused:

Chris and his wife and partner, Jules Remedios Faye, formed Stern & Faye, Letterpress Printers, and founded their “printing farm” in the Skagit Valley north of Seattle. Each of them was a fine, and unusual, printer and artist before they met, and their work together has been amazing. When Chris died of cancer a year and a half ago, many of us lost a friend and we all lost an original talent.

The exhibit featured a number of artists’ letterpress works — Ami and I bought two postcard-sized pieces — and a real working letterpress!



Here are a few of the letterpress creations we saw:



Anyone got a letterpress they want to sell me — or better yet, give me?

Tomorrow is Richard Hugo House’s Write-O-Rama, a day of rapid-fire writing workshops to get you started or keep you going on your writing projects.

Write-O-Rama is a full day of hour-long workshops offered to anyone who wants to write by the creative writing teachers at Hugo House. On June 7 we will hold over 30 writing workshops, and to sustain you as you write we will also have free food, beverages, two open mics, and a wrap party following the last session. Guests will have the opportunity to generate new writing, meet fellow writers, share their work, sample the work of Hugo House writing teachers and find new motivation to write.

If you’re too far away to get there, Write-O-Rama is also a fundraiser. You can donate to my campaign by visiting the Write-O-Rama Laureate page and designating me as your sponsoree (under Dedication).

Some favorite etymology posts from recent days:

Alcoholism - “The term “alcoholism” was first used in 1849 by the physician Magnus Huss to describe the systematic adverse effects of alcohol.”

Campaign - “I’d never noticed the similarity between the words campaign and champagne but their connection is indeed etymological, based on the Romans’ influence in France both in the naming of the region and getting wine making going there.”

Suicide Girls - “A Curbed reader points us to Forgotten NY, where, as part of an excellent walking tour of the Bowery, there are great details about the famous (and doomed) 295 Bowery, aka McGurk’s Suicide Hall…”

Kid - “The root of the noun kid – of 12th century Scandinavian origin – does indeed denote the young of a goat, or of a related mammal such as the antelope. But this definition is obviously not what people mean when they use the word to talk about children.”

Immigrant - “The word “immigrant” has nothing at all to do with legal status. It means, simply, to move from one place to another for the purpose of settling down.”

Months and Days - “March - Named for Mars, the Roman god of war. Originally first month in Roman calendar, as January and February did not exist until 153 BCE (the winter was monthless).”

It’s a truism of writing a novel in this post-everything literary climate. There are no new stories, no truly unexpected twists, not a single surprise, anywhere. The butler did it. He gets the girl in the end. After his circular journey, the hero comes home.

Here’s an old story:

One of my heroes was caught retelling that old yarn at a literary festival in Wales.

Ian McEwan — whom I read voraciously, and who is almost prolific enough to keep up — read a passage from a work in progress. One attendee spoke up, reporting that the anecdote had been written about before. Most famously it was told by Douglas Adams in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, and so many times in all that it’s a standard short film assignment for would-be directors. McEwan’s version uses crisps instead of biscuits, but it’s the same old story.

It’s something of an urban legend, this story. McEwan says he overheard it. And though the festival incident may seem embarrassing for McEwan, there are two other writing truisms well illustrated by the story.

First, always have readers. Is it so impossible that this very thing may happen in the world? No. Could he have gotten away with printing the story? Probably. Would it have been awful? Certainly. He was saved from a much greater embarrassment — a McEwan-sized printing of that story in his next novel.

Second, yes, we’re back to “kill your darlings.”

The mix-up over the crisps had the feel of an urban myth to it, McEwan said, adding that he would be grateful for any more information about the anecdote’s provenance.

[Ed: Provenance. Don't you just love that guy?]

Folks, if it sounds like an urban myth to you, it should likely be cut. I’ve learned that myself, and I have the darling carcass to prove it.

On the other hand, if there aren’t any new tales to tell, then why not just retell the good ones — the ones with adages to sum them up and all of the characters neatly paired off in the end?

Growing up in the Bronx, there was a bookstore in my neighborhood. It was exactly four long blocks away: past Stubies, the corner grocery store; past P.S. 56 and the row of private houses across from it, including my favorite, the one with the hex sign; down the hill and over to 204th St (pronounced by the neighborhood kids “two-fourth street”). Two-fourth was where the best sneaker store was, and the McDonald’s, and the Woolworths. It was also the home of a bookstore whose name I have since forgotten.

At the bookstore on two-fourth, the shelves were very sparse. Books appeared mostly cover-out, with book-sized spaces between them. I only remember visiting the young adult section, so it had to have been gone before I was a teenager. The owners weren’t particularly friendly — or particularly anything to me, and I don’t remember them at all.

This weekend a New York Times story reported on the imminent closing of the last independent, general interest bookstore in the Bronx. [via Lost City]

…because Paperbacks Plus is the only independent general interest bookstore in the Bronx, local bibliophiles will have to look elsewhere for their literature in a borough notoriously lacking in bookstores. Options include outposts of Barnes & Noble in Co-Op City, Yonkers and White Plains, each a 20-minute drive.

Drive? Did someone say drive? What does that mean? [Editor's note: Only one of those options is actually in the Bronx -- Yonkers and White Plains are both outside the City.]

To call Riverdale, where the bookstore resides, the Bronx is technically accurate, but ignores the spirit of both places. Riverdale, just over the bridge from Manhattan, is the most exclusive neighborhood in the Bronx. An even more exclusive neighborhood is tucked within the safe bosom of Riverdale: Fieldston. There are mansions in Fieldston, and it lends its name to a chi chi private school. Kids I knew from Riverdale wouldn’t write Bronx, NY on their return address — instead they created the fictional borough of Riverdale.

So if there ain’t a bookstore in Riverdale, there ain’t one in the Bronx. And despite the elitism of Riverdale, with its high rise buildings that had their own pools, the fact that the last mom-and-pop bookstore in the Bronx is gone makes me very very sad.

“So the store’s on sale for 20 percent off, huh?” Mr. Martin said, referring to the sign in the window, which bore the words “Everything on Sale — Even the Store!”

“Not quite,” Mr. Norberto replied. “But we’re hoping somebody steps up. Let me tell you something: This neighborhood, there’s a huge outcry.”

Jane Andersen, a nurse retired from Columbia Presbyterian Hospital who has lived in Riverdale for 18 years, echoed that sentiment.

“I think most Riverdalians do define themselves as being interested in reading,” Ms. Andersen said.

Riverdalians!

Riverdale is no closer to most Bronx residents than Yonkers or Co-Op City; this isn’t about access so much as it is about the death of a business model. The neighborhood bookshop is rare, and it’s dying out rapidly.