I promised you bookmarks, and now, thanks to my terribly mediocre skill with MS Paint, we have bookmarks. If you guessed at the James Wood Mad Libs (or, heck, if you just feel like having one) you can pick one up next time I see you.
This preview shows the front and back of one design. There are 6 designs in all, so far. The other bookmarks have quips about Virginia Woolf, Samuel Beckett, Sylvia Plath, Jane Austen, and Dave Eggers.
Does Nabokov really think you suck? Did Jane Austen really wretch on your dissertation? No, not really. The messages on the bookmarks are meant as an antidote to the kind of fanatical veneration of authors that leads us sanctify their every sentence, mangle their quotes, and cudgel each other with evidence that we understand them better than the next guy. Not that you’re doing that. But other people are. And we must remain strong in our resolve to oppose them. Books is books. Don’t let anyone shut you down by quizzing you on whether Samuel Beckett bowled left-handed or right-handed in cricket games as a boy. (It was left.)
Surely this is the start of a vast merchandising empire at the Fiction Advocate.
Come and get ’em!
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BARTHES would rather direct street traffic than read your novella.
Oh man. These keep getting better. If you want me to print you a bookmark with your favorite one, just let me know.
HENRY JAMES won’t recommend your fiction to his friends, because he fears it will make them “pansies.”
JAMES ELLROY doesn’t care who killed you.
SONTAG is silently judging your flickr page.
SHAKESPEARE totally cockblocked you at the bar last night.
EMILY DICKINSON turned down your Facebook friend request.
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE called you a pussy.
OSCAR WILDE told everyone that your outfit is so 1860s.
SALINGER is only a recluse because you are not.
Camus thinks you triflin’.
KAFKA hates your thesis.
ATWOOD is just as happy to sign your book as she is to sign your death warrant.
BOLANO is glad he’s not alive to hear your book club’s analysis.
DE MAUPASSANT owns you, LaRusso.
MAILER refuses to fight you until you learn to punch.
So, do you think these would work well in my Video Game Enthusiasts magazine? I would like these Literary Aspersions cast in bronze. I shouldn’t eat 12″ of sub and comment for the meat pickles my wits!
TOLSTOY regifted your Christmas present.
HAWTHORNE gave your mom TB.
O.HENRY deleted your last email without even reading it.
HEMINGWAY says if you write one more tersely worded lame-o short story, he’s gonna pastiche all over your face.
BRONTE is not feeling your emo band.
I would like the Austen, Woolf and Plath bookmarks. “Henry James shat on your novella” would be a nice addition, too.
FAULKNER is pretty sure you only got through, like, his first three chapters.
Sheer genius. I want them in every color.
I smell a meme.
NAIPAUL thinks your blog is inane.
JOYCE wouldn’t kick it. Even if he was drunk.
Dude. Email me your snail mail address.
How does we gets one?