This post will be sticky in the “reviewing” category.
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This post will be sticky in the “webwork” category. I’ve had a site on the web since December 1994. The beginning was the first Mercury House website, on which I had some personal pages that grew into the current site. I favor an artisanal web presence over the cooky-cutter prefab web sites you often see. But I’m hardly a hardcore coder. Still, over 22 years you do pick up a trick or two.
Rightreading.com exists in two versions: the desktop version is mainly a simple image map (old school!) while the mobile version is based on the 960 griid system. Since 2006 I’ve used WordPress for much of the new material (exceptions are mainly extended content), and increasingly links go to WordPress category pages, where sticky posts like this one provide additional links.
This post will be sticky in the “photography” category. Most of my photography these days is either travel or garden/nature. There are a lot of the latter at Tom’s Garden: recommended! At one time I had a photo-specific blog on this site, and there was a lot of travel photography here and there. I will gradually make all of that accessible from this sticky post on the category page.
A few years ago I redid my home page and other parts of my rightreading.com site. Mainly I was bored and decided to learn the 960 web design system. But now I feel the new home page is too static and not as much fun as the old one, and I’m reverting. The new (ancient, really, and now revived) home page looks like this (I might upgrade the quality of the Goya image, if I’m not too lazy; images in this post, BTW, are also links):
Here’s the 960-grid homepage. I do like the carousel. I think I will convert this into my bio page.
It would replace the current bio page, which looks like this:
The one thing I need to figure out how to do is to use the 960 page for mobile devices and the Goya page for desktop. I’ll have to research how that is down (unless someone want to save me the time and just tell me).
And so we move on . . .
In London in December 1598 a group of actors and other theatrical professionals, part of a company called the Chamberlain’s Men, armed themselves with “swords, daggers, bills, axes, and such like.” In the bitter cold they waited for nightfall in the northeastern suburb of Shoreditch, “a disreputable place, frequented by courtesans.” Their target was an abandoned entertainment complex called The Theatre, where they had performed for several years until being barred by their landlord over political and financial disputes. Now, under cover of night, they systematically disassembled the theater and transported its timbers to a warehouse by the Thames. Within months they would use them to build a new theater south of the river.
But what to call it? The group felt the need to rebrand. Competitors had sprung up all over town. The generic name “The Theatre” would no longer distinguish the company. Their creative team, which included the shareholder, playwright, and actor Will Shakespeare, set to work. The name they came up with was “The Globe.” It would be “a wide and universal theatre.”
What made the globe such a compelling brand at the turn of the sixteenth to seventeenth century? For one thing, it was during this period that the world became truly global in the sense that regular trade — of ideas as well as goods — connected all of the inhabited continents. Thanks to the new maritime traffic, adventurers, diplomats, traders, and missionaries spread throughout the world. Among them was a group of Jesuits who gained access to Ming China. The most famous of these was an Italian, Matteo Ricci, who arrived in Macau in 1583, established connections with Chinese literati, and lived in that country until his death in 1610 (when Shakespeare was working on The Tempest).
China had once explored the far reaches of the world in giant ships under the direction of the eunuch Zheng He, but the Chinese had concluded that there was little in distant parts that was up to their standards, and they had officially curtailed such oceanic expeditions. An illicit maritime commerce based in south China was winked at, but it extended mainly from Southeast Asia to Japan, leaving much of the world unmapped by the Chinese. So Ricci and his fellow Jesuits armed themselves with celestial and geographic knowledge derived from the new scientific developments and explorations of the Europeans.
The European astronomical refinements impressed the Chinese, whose emperor derived authority from the “mandate of heaven.” With the long-lived Ming dynasty showing clear signs of decay, it was worth scrutinizing the skies more carefully for augurs of change. Not only that, but the distant world was increasingly knocking on Chinese doors. The Portuguese had been first, but now the Spanish had become involved through their outpost in the Philippines. Even upstart nations like Shakespeare’s Britain were starting to dip their toes in distant waters. Who were these barbarians with their great ships?
Ricci found a keen audience for his geographic knowledge. In 1584—when Shakespeare was twenty and learning his trade—Ricci, with the help of Chinese colleagues, produced a large woodblock-printed Chinese-language map of the entire world. It was an extraordinary achievement that eventually came even to the attention of the dissolute and reclusive Ming monarch, the Wanli emperor. Ricci was called to the capital, where, in 1602—around the time Shakespeare was writing Twelfth Night, Troilus and Cresida, and All’s Well That Ends Well—he created an even grander and substantially updated map. It incorporated Asian knowledge of the world obtained from Ricci’s Chinese colleagues as well as new geographical information that had arrived from Europe.
In 1966 the Asian Art Museum opened as a branch of the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. As a condition of the second of two major major gifts of artworks to the city of San Francisco from industrialist and Olympics head Avery Brundage (who can currently be seen portrayed by Jeremy Irons in the movie Race), the museum was separate administratively from the de Young, though that distinction was probably lost on most visitors. Brundage’s collection was extraordinary, and the museum’s holdings remain San Francisco’s most valuable asset—apart from its real estate, and we all know how that has gone.
In 2003 the museum moved to its current home in what was formerly the main branch of the SF public library, repurposed for the new use by Milanese architect Gae Aulenti. Now it is celebrating the 50th anniversary of its original opening to the public, and I attended a press preview for the opening of two special exhibitions, China at the Center: Rare Ricci and Verbiest World Maps and Hidden Gold: Mining Its Meaning in Asian Art. A third special exhibition, Pearls on a String: Artists, Patrons, and Poets at the Great Islamic Courts, opened Feb. 26 and will continue until May 8. In the coming days I plan to review all three of these exhibitions.
So how does the museum look on the occasion of its 50th? I’m happy to report that the answer is: spectacular! There are a couple of walls devoted to museum history in the space between Osher and Hambrecht Galleries (which the museum calls the Vinson Nook) and along the corridor behind its gift shop (which it calls the Hamon Arcade). But the display is tastefully done and not excessive. My fear was that the anniversary displays would be excessively self-referential, as was sometimes the case for past museum celebrations. But someone at the museum must have realized that however interesting such material may be for staff, board, and donors (and those interested in city history), it is not as compelling to most visitors as are actual artworks.
“Every separation is a link” — Simone Weil
- Rats review NYC pizzas : Will Grimaldi’s sue the rats?
- How Capicola became Gabagool : Origins of the New Jersey Italian accent
- The Seven Types of Poetry : According to Robert Peale
- Small is beautiful : In book publishing
- The mixed up brothers of Bogotá : Farce or tragedy?
- Empire of letters : The Los Angeles Review of Books
- Fake publicist catfishes bloggers : Maximizing effort for minimal return
- The racist origins of Oregon : My birthplace
Tri-boro Barber School, 264 Bowery, Manhattan, 1935-1939, by Berenice Abbott (1898-1991). Photograph; gelatin silver print, matte. The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Photography Collection, The New York Public Library. New York Public Library Digital Collections.
It’s encouraging to see libraries and museums beginning to make public domain images freely available, increasingly providing high-resolution scans or photos for downloading. Historically, they have guarded images of objects in their collections as a private source of income. Count the New York Public Library among the honorable elite who have made their pd images available to be shared. The library has just put up more than 180,000 images in hi-res free for the downloading. Highlights of the collection include photographs from the Farm Security Administration and Works Progress Administration, Medieval and Renaissance manuscripts, Walt Whitman papers (1854–1892), and early film shorts.
A nice short review of River of Ink in my local paper:
“River of Ink: Literature, History, Art” by Thomas Christensen (Counterpoint Press, $35, 320 pages). The title of Thomas Christensen’s wide-ranging new history of literacy refers to the Mongol siege of Baghdad in 1258, when the invading hordes killed hundreds of thousands and destroyed the city’s Grand Library, described by the author as “perhaps the greatest repository of historic, scientific and literary documents of its age.” They threw so many books into the Tigris River, he writes, the water ran black with ink for six months. From that incident, Christensen, a Richmond resident who serves as director of publications at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco, takes the reader on a world tour of literary landmarks from the invention of movable type in Korea to the “poetry of silence” of Spanish writer José Ángel Valente and the extraordinary tale of Pocahontas in London. The book is beautifully illustrated and Christensen writes with clarity, insight and admiration for these enduring wonders of the world.
I quite often get e-mails from young writers interested in book publishing, and I almost always find them always encouraging. A young writer wrote today to say:
I read your article, “How to Get a Book Published”, and I thought I should email you about it. I am a young writer (still in high school) and I have been writing a novel for a little over a year now.
As a teenager, I have been through many phases of finding what exactly is my true passion. All of this of course leads up to what career I shall pursue after I get out of college. And it seems that writing has withstood through it all. Writing and reading have never been a chore for me, and I don’t really understand why my classmates complain about having to write an essay or read a school book. So, recently I have decided I want to pursue a career in the wonderful field of English writing and literature. (Before I had wanted to be a teacher, but I suppose dreams change.) More specifically, I concluded I want to be involved in publishing, whether that is novels or textbooks. You, I have discovered, are very experienced in the profession.
As I mentioned earlier, I have been working on a novel for a while. It is among one of the many projects I have been working on, but is by far the longest. It is that story that has brought me to your website and your article giving tips on how to publish a book. Now, I am not looking into publishing my novel yet. It is not in the slightest bit ready. I don’t think I am ready, as a writer. But I suppose I was just thinking and wondering if I ever actually wanted to share my novel with a publishing company, how would I do so and who would I submit it to. I have to say, your article is very informative. It is much more interesting and candid than any of the other websites I visited. It helped me understand the publishing world much more, and I know now that if I want to publish anything ever, I know the steps to follow.
Thank you for writing the article. I will continue to write, read, and try to improve myself as a writer and reader. Your specific words, “the most common cause of failure in writing is dropping out,” cannot be truer. I almost gave up writing because I couldn’t stick with a topic and stick with my story. Fortunately now, I have found the perfect topic for me that I will never give up on.
And here is my response:
I’m happy you are committed to writing. (Maybe your parents read to you when you were little? That seems to make a big difference.) For most people it is not the most lucrative field (there are exceptions) but for those of us who love reading and writing it has many rewards. Maybe your feelings will change as you grow older, but even if you are doing something else you can still pursue your writing interests on the side.Here is another link that might be of interest: http://www.
rightreading.com/blog/writing/ what-are-the-most-helpful- books-about-writing-and- publishing/.Best of luck, and thanks for writing.
“Hello World” used to be the first post of blog beginnings. Hard to believe it’s been nearly a year since I made a post. At one time I was a very active blogger. I posted almost every day to each of five or six sites. That’s not coming back, but I do think it is time to get back to blogging at least now and then. So hello again, world.
My River of Ink” Literature, History, Art has gone to the printer. Official pub date is December. A couple of blurbs came in.
“Truffle-rich, cumin-exotic, from Mutanabbi Street to Céline’s ballets, Gutenberg and the Koreans, a winged sphinx and an iron man and Nur Jahan — oh, and a beturbaned Sadakichi Hartmann — these world-trotting essays make one groovy box of idea-chocolates.”
—C.M. Mayo, author of The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire
“A world tour of cultural histories, a tour de force of eclectic scholarship, a relief map of the journeys of a restless intellect, Thomas Christensen’s River of Ink flows from ancient China to the current Americas with myriad revelations along the way. Christensen is a genial guide to little-known wonders with a wealth of information and a light touch.”
—Stephen Kessler, author of The Tolstoy of the Zulus
Thank you, Catherine and Stephen
Since Jane Austen is so much in the news again these days, it might be worth revisiting this post, which I originally published in 2007:
Is the attractiveness of authors directly related to their promotability in the minds of publishers today? Certainly to judge by the photos on their dust jackets, authors have gotten collectively younger and cuter every year for the past several years. Some publishers deny, however, that they place any importance on author photos. I guess Wordworth Editions is not among them. For a reissue of Austen they have tarted Jane up a bit. The image on the left is the portrait of Jane Austen by her sister Cassandra (said to be the only fully authenticated portrait of the author). The image on the right shows the effects of Wordworth’s Photoshop magic: Jane’s bonnet has been removed and replaced with flowing locks, her cheeks have been rouged, and if I’m not mistaken she has had some subtle nips and tucks about the eyes and mouth. Wordworth’s managing editor Helen Traylor explains:
She was not much of a looker. Very, very plain. Jane Austen wasn’t very good looking. She’s the most inspiring, readable author, but to put her on the cover wouldn’t be very inspiring at all. It’s just a bit off-putting.
I know you are not supposed to judge a book by its cover. Sadly people do. If you look more attractive, you just stand out more. Sadly, we do live in a very shallow world and people do judge by appearance.
I guess that about sums it up: “Sadly, we do live in a very shallow world.”
This is what I’m thinking of for the cover of my new book, a selection of my essays. We’ll see if my publisher likes it.
I’m happy again to also be the book’s designer/typesetter. The image is a photo I took of the Castel San Giogio, an early castle (ca. 1400) in Mantua, Italy. Mantua is built amid lakes rather like my old home town of Madison, Wisconsin.
For the cover I darkened the water, but not so much that it is just a solid color–it still retains reflections, although that is hard to see in this image.