MAPS AND LEGENDS

Clockwise from upper left: (1) the full phase of Maps and Legends; (2) two-thirds phase; (3) one-third phase; and (4) new phase, revealing the X that marks the spot.

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Dear Reader:

Once again, I have considered retiring Troy's Work Table and just letting it rot here. The reasons are many—varied, mostly uninteresting and personal and irrational.

I could shift some of the blame to wunderkind Matthew Stadler and what he wrote upon his own abandoned blog for planting the idea within me, but that would be unfair. It would also show how unoriginal I truly am.

I could tell you of the books that I have read that I really want to review and tell you about, but haven't found the "correct" words or the time to do so. The magic and wonder of Toby Barlow's Sharp Teeth, with its werewolves and gang warfare, and the way that I am reminded of Martin Scorsese films. The surreal tenderness and love of cinema enfleshed in Steve Erickson's Zeroville, and the complete reworking of the prior short story "Zeroville" into the novel, although most of the pieces are intact, yet shuffled, transformed. The masterful short fiction of Etgar Keret in his collection The Girl on the Fridge.

I could delineate the imbalance of Books versus Art versus Beer versus Wanderings within these posts. The geographical shift from word to image, from dream to the concrete. How I wrestle

I could inform you of the back pain that ravages my body from time to time. I could declare the depression that seized me periodically. I could explain my lethargy, my laziness, my lack of discipline. I could share tales of the writing workshop of which I am currently a participant, its teacher, the eight other "students" and their amazing work, collectively and individually, the time and energy that I am pouring into "real writing." I could produce a myriad of excuses, defenses, apologies.

They would all be the truth and they would all be lies.

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The truth is that I write these posts for myself. Not in any sense of narcissism or masturbation, but in order to think out loud. It is also a lie because then, you, dear reader, say something that encourages me to keep at this. You pat me on the back and I realize that perhaps I am not writing for myself. Perhaps I am writing for you. Or the accolade. Or the fame. Or, perhaps, I am using you as a mirror, a sounding board of sorts.

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Then, something will come along that helps me see through my own cynical ramblings and self-absorption.

It will come in the form of Zak of Shmaltz Brewing Company leaving comments on my tasting notes of He'Brew Lenny's Bittersweet R.I.P.A.

Or, it will come in the form of the child waking me up at three in the morning when I have fallen asleep on the couch while reading, the child having had a bad dream, and then finding that I have to go and write for a few hours in the stillness of early morning because my Writer is suddenly inspired. (Here I am.)

Or, it will come in the form of a book, one of the many whose pages I am simultaneously drawn into.

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Michael Chabon's Maps and Legends is a delight.

It is a pleasure to behold in its very physicality. McSweeney's has once again produced a book that it visually appealing and a great complement to the contents held within. It has three layers of book jacket that overlap and reveal one another. The longest is brown and orange, representing mountain, desert, wilderness; the middle one is green and shows forest and jungle; the shortest is blue and displays the ocean and its multitudes. The scene of each jacket is filled with the appropriate gods, monsters, and heroes. If all of the jackets are removed then a large gold X is revealed, marking the treasure that is within.

The treasure within consists of essays on the notion of entertainment, various authors and their works, the joys of reading, the interplay between genre fiction and literary fiction, and elements of graphic novels. I have only read three or four of the essays, and skimmed through a few others, but am already hooked. Michael Chabon insists that it is okay to just read for pleasure. I have to wholeheartedly agree.

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So, for the time being, Troy's Work Table will continue to falter and stumble along. You and I can both thank Zak, the child, and Michael Chabon for seeing it through to another post, another day.