Close Reading
Close Reading
I spent most of last two weeks working on a couple of books for a new friend. Geoffrey’s Pure Gold is a modern epistolary novel about the baseball life. It’s told through the voices of an aged player, a woman who loves him (and is also the daughter of his manager), and has—as antagonist—a sportswriter who follows the team, but only to complain about everything they do.
For two full days, Geoffrey and I picked over every line—looking to copy-edit typos, correcting punctuation, and adjusting tiny details to help the reader keep track of the different voices. It was the most fun I’ve had—on the phone—in ages.
I know there will be people, lots of people, who doubt that editing could ever be anything but torture. Before you jump to conclusions, no matter how reasonable,
I am not a masochist.
The dialogue we shared, in the process of sorting out the book’s details, made the process faster, and more effective, than the usual—more solitary—practice of editing. It also allowed us to become friends—it’s not often that one can meet someone from a very different background who has, miraculously, evolved to have similar views, abilities, and sense of humor.
It went so well that Geoffrey asked me to do another of his books:
That allowed me to see even more of his writing abilities, which was a joy. While it is a much longer book, it did not present the same kind of technical issues—so my work was mainly copy-editing, formatting, and the usual design tasks.
Having completed work on those two books, I now have one more to go—Geoffrey’s novel (Leonard). I’ve only glanced at, so far, but what I’ve seen was hysterically funny. I have no way of knowing, yet, if it will remain comedic to the end—or turn tragic.
Only time, and pages, will tell.
Our editorial process (which he described as being like jazz improvisation) was great fun for me—almost as much fun as writing my own stuff. It reminded me of the last time I’d been involved in one of these editorial badminton matches.
Several years ago, Ken Albala and I co-edited an anthology of literature about cannibalism. We had co-edited a very different book (on the food business), but that had been conventionally edited. Ken lives in California, while I hole up in New York’s Hudson Valley—so our cannibal book (Human Cuisine) was edited over the phone.
During our phone conversations, Ken and I decided that our little anthropophagic anthology could do with some decidedly-tongue-in-cheek recipes. I’m sharing a few of them here (be advised: these recipes have never been tested, and—upon the advice of counsel—I emphatically do not recommend that any of my readers attempt them).
Dr. Scholl’s Confit (Toe Jam)
Select a dozen of the gnarliest, most fetid, toes you can find—with corns, athlete’s foot fungus and anything else that smells like stinky cheese. Put these in a pot with a gallon of water and boil vigorously for five hours. Gently pick the meat from the bones and return to the pot. The collagen in the bones will help the jam set. Keep in the fridge until ready to use, and spread on toast points as a dainty appetizer. Ken Albala
Promethean Foie Gras
Trick one of your colleagues into giving away some corporate secret. This is certain to incur the wrath of the CEO, who will hang the silly goose out to dry in some god-forsaken spot. Almost immediately, human resources, a flock of ravenous lawyers, and assorted other corporate birds of prey will gather to divide up the poor fellow’s liver. Collect any leftover scraps, warm gently over some stolen fire, and serve on toasted pita points. Don’t worry about running out—there will always be more tomorrow. Gary Allen
Occhi di Santa Lucia
On the longest night of the year, buy a plane ticket to Syracuse. Sicily or New York will do. Find a virgin to persecute. First burn her, to no avail. She is miraculously restored. Then have her eyes plucked out. She will serve her eyes herself, two per plate. A few drops of lemon juice and a dash of Tabasco is all that's needed. Slurp them down one by one. Then start singing. Ken Albala
Irish Coffee
Ply J.P. Donleavey with whiskey until he has passed out (indicating that the proper level of marination has been achieved). Place in large barrel, top off with more whiskey, and age until the next wake or other celebration occurs. Strain a generous jigger into hot sweetened coffee cups—enough for all the patrons of all the pubs in Dublin that the author used to frequent (you’ll need lots of coffee). Top with whipped cream of British nobility. Gary Allen
Dingleberry Pie
The best Dingleberry Pies are made from a good variety of berries. Select some from young bushes—they’ll be sweeter, but hard to gather since the bushes have such sparse foliage. Berries from older bushes are easier to pick, are more fragrant, and many are blessed with a very desirable “late harvest” quality that lends character to the finished dish. Prepare just as you would a Blueberry Pie—but, unless you are fortunate enough to collect some Tart Dingleberries, you may need to adjust the flavor with a bit of lemon juice.
These pies are generally be made without a “bottom crust,” as many connoisseurs feel that it is merely redundant. Gary Allen
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