Ragged But Right

Because the internet keeps the things I used to leave on trains.

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  1. Hilary Rubinstein Obituary

    Hilary Rubinstein, Literary Agent, represented Kingsley Amis and PG Wodehouse, which is my personal idea of the best possible career in publishing.  He died last week, at 83.  He was also my boss’s father, which means that the loss resonates in our offices in an entirely different way.  Even though he was fabulously unobtrusive, I’m pretty sure that the skills I learn every day from my boss, she must have learnt from him at some point.  Some of them, at least!  The way she combines a hard head for negotiation with an open, nurturing relationship with writers:  all that was Hilary, I think.  The best thing about my boss is that those two sides of the job don’t seem to fight with each other, rather, they seem almost the same as each other.  Love and sales.  He will be missed. 

     
     

  2. Chad Harbach In The House

    We have Chad Harbach coming into the shop this evening to Do an Event.  Of course, we really shouldn’t as we’re much too small an operation to be worthy of such bigtime, but my boss has cajoled and pestered and all-round insisted, and finally his publishers relented.  Hooray for giving indie booksellers big writers every now and then, HarperCollins!  Next on the list: make it easier to order books in bulk from your sales department, you f***s.  

    I have been thinking about collating a list of Types of Bookshop Event, but in the meantime, after the break, the funniest possible description of how essential it is for Publishers to get their books to stores in time for readings, courtesy of Bookseller Crow:

    Read More

     
     

  3. On my way to a Bachelorette Party

    Boyfriend: “Have fun! Try not to touch anyone’s dong! “

    Me: “Please, there’ll be no dongs there.  My mum is coming.”

    Boyfriend: “That, is no assurance.”

     
     

  4. Sunday

    This Sunday, my George Herbert day:  Riding my bike to church with Dad through the May countryside, forget-me-nots and cow parsley and dandelions rioting through the hedgerows, then back for leftover soup and a thorough gossip with Anna on the phone.  Planting tomatoes and lettuce and courgettes in planters, and repotting the rosemary.  A walk through the sheep-fields to hear the ewes calling their lambs and come so close to a few that I might have touched them.  Home, to a toasted teacake and more of the new Hilary Mantel, then cooking pasta and drinking beer in the twilight.  Sometimes when you miss a place it is exactly the way you imagine it to be when you’re not there.

     
     

  5. Now this, THIS , is the way to thank someone for donating a thousand dollars to your shooting budget for your comedy pilot.  Anything less will be laughed out of the room. Banjacks and Pervis!  Being blonde and funny and half from Hackney for the last 3 years.

     
     
  6. "

    How funny you are today New York
    like Ginger Rogers in Swingtime
    and St. Bridget’s steeple leaning a little to the left

    here I have just jumped out of a bed full of V-days
    (I got tired of D-days) and blue you there still
    accepts me foolish and free
    all I want is a room up there
    and you in it
    and even the traffic halt so thick is a way
    for people to rub up against each other
    and when their surgical appliances lock
    they stay together
    for the rest of the day (what a day)
    I go by to check a slide and I say
    that painting’s not so blue

    where’s Lana Turner
    she’s out eating
    and Garbo’s backstage at the Met
    everyone’s taking their coat off
    so they can show a rib-cage to the rib-watchers
    and the park’s full of dancers with their tights and shoes
    in little bags
    who are often mistaken for worker-outers at the West Side Y why not
    the Pittsburgh Pirates shout because they won
    and in a sense we’re all winning
    we’re alive

    the apartment was vacated by a gay couple
    who moved to the country for fun
    they moved a day too soon
    even the stabbings are helping the population explosion
    though in the wrong country
    all all those liars have left the UN
    the Seagram Building’s no longer rivalled in interest
    not that we need liquor (we just like it)

    and the little box is out on the sidewalk
    next to the delicatessen
    so the old man can sit on it and drink beer
    and get knocked off it by his wife later in the day
    while the sun is still shining

    oh god it’s wonderful
    to get out of bed
    and drink too much coffee
    and smoke too many cigarettes
    and love you so much

    "
    — 

    There are many shockingly boring things about marrying a foreigner, one of them being that you have to account for all sorts of financial activity and official business.  Sadly it goes without saying that if you are the sort of person who is marrying a foreigner, you are also really really unlikely to be the sort of person who is good at accounting for official business or financial records of any kind.  Going back today over our emails, though, in order to expose the extremes of our puppy-love to the immigration authorities, I found the above Frank O’Hara poem, which my my fella sent to me when we first met.  It was like this.  It was perfect.

     
     

  7. F***ing Slytherin

    End of Days.  I can never show my face in public again.  And the worst part is, I answered all the questions honestly, really, honestly, which confirms my life-long suspicion that I am actually evil at heart.  

     
     
  8. "I feel so relieved to be at the stage I’m at in my life right now. Because you know if I want to wear my glasses I’m wearing my glasses. If I want to wear my hair back I’m pulling my hair back. You know at some point it’s just not something that deserves a lot of time and attention."
    — 

    Hilary Clinton addresses ‘au naturale’ moment | CNN <3 (via somethingchanged)

    So true, and I think also worth noting that the point doesn’t even have to be when you are the Secretary of State; it can be long before that. 

    (via jeanhannah)

     
     

  9. Things I Said To My Boyfriend During The Avengers

    • Hey, that’s Robin! hey babe, babe, that’s Robin!
    • Do you know who all these people are?
    • How?
    • Is this a sequel?
    • Who’s that guy?
    • Who’s the big guy?
    • Who’s the other guy?
    • I should get bangs again.
    • Woah!  That’s dope!
    • Oh snap!
    • How long does a flight to DC even last?
    • Another vagina dentata!
    • Lots of them!
    • Did you just finish the popcorn?
    • Hey babe!  There’s Robin again!
    • That was AWESOME

     
     

  10. Terrible Confessions

    So this weekend in honor of my fella’s bachelor party I went down to New York and saw an old friend, who offered me a job (which I might take!  But I might not) and in order to get over the hump of talking about the offer all night we got very, very drunk.  I don’t remember much from the end of the night except we found a cat who had lost its collar so we caught the cat and replaced the collar, and also that we told each other the plots of our novels which is always a very bad sign.  After my 4th drink I ran completely out of words and could only say say “Drunk.  I am so drunk”.  The next morning I woke up and for the first time in about 7 years  was SICK, then lay in bed until 2, then caught the bus back up to Ithaca.  I was so ill that I couldn’t see or hear, and I watched an episode of Hart of Dixie on Hulu and then I watched another one and when I got back to the treehouse, I watched 7 episodes of Hart of Dixie in a row, and now I am obsessed, obsessed with Hart of Dixie.  

    I realise that this is not cool, and that this is a problem, and that I am 30 and none of this shit should be happening.  But hey, if you are so hungover you can’t walk, Hart of Dixie, man.  Then see me so we can talk about it.