Dearest Friends and Enemies,

I’m putting this welcome, best-of-tommywallach.com post up here at the top of the page, where it will live forever, so that I can keep all the other posts beneath it live. Here are links to some of the more interesting posts on this page, to get you started in the magical world of me:

The announcement for my Decca Records/Gather.com contest win, which got me signed to Decca

My official Decca page

A review of my Decca EP in Newsday

My piece for The Huffington Post

The first piece I had published in McSweeney’s

One of my weekly webcasts, which have been featured on the front page of YouTube

One of the book reviews I write for Public Radio International’s World Books blog, in this case, of John Ajvide Lindqvist’s “Let The Right One In”

A Feature Article I wrote for ReadyMade Magazine about a little island off the coast of Alaska dealing with climate change

An article about my awesome mom

Yet another of my lovely book reviews for Bill Marx’s “World Books” section of the PRI website for “The World”. Excerpt below, full review here:

Fallout Girl

Another take on the post-apocalyptic novel proves that this venerable genre is anything but a wasteland.

Reviewed by Tommy Wallach

Far North by Marcel Theroux, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, $25.00, 314 pages

“Every day I buckle on my guns and go out to patrol the dingy city. I’ve been doing it so long that I’m shaped to it, like a hand that’s been carrying buckets in the cold.”

So begins author Marcel Theroux’s “Far North,” a novel of post-apocalypse set in Siberia. It’s an interesting geographic choice for this kind of story, as Siberia is one of the few places in the world that already looks as desolate and ravaged as a post-apocalyptic landscape. Theroux, who has both spent time on the Great Steppe, and also filmed a documentary on settlers who have chosen to move back to Chernobyl, does a remarkable job evoking the breath-freezing cold of that world, giving even the novel’s most implausible ideas the ring of truth.

In “Far North,” climate change, along with the attempts to delay climate change, has led to world war, which may or may not have resulted in the end of human civilization (it’s never made entirely clear what has happened to the world outside of Siberia). The protagonist of the novel, Makepeace, is the sole remaining citizen of the town of Evangeline. Early in the book, we learn that this noir-ish, hard-nosed character is not at all what we expect: “Killing always sits heavy with me,” Makepeace muses after taking the life of a violent thief, “Whether that’s because of my being a woman, or because my disposition is naturally softhearted for another reason, I don’t know.”

Read on…

Another of the reviews I write for Bill Marx’s World Books blog off of Public Radio International’s “The World” website. Didn’t love this book, but it had some interesting ideas. Excerpt below, full review through this link:

The Unit by Ninni Holmqvist Translated from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy Other Press, $14.95, 262 page

The Old Maid’s Tale

The use of the term “speculative fiction” as a more respectable sounding synonym for “science fiction” is attributed to Robert Heinlein, writing for The Saturday Evening Post in 1947. But since then, the two genres have diverged: “science fiction” now describes stories about the future, aliens, and quasi-magical technologies; “speculative fiction” concerns itself with alternate versions of our present reality—dystopias (worlds that suck), anti-utopias (worlds that are supposed to not suck, but actually do suck), and alternate histories.

The greatest exemplars of the latter category don’t test the limits of believability any more than do the greatest literary novels. George Orwell’s 1984 and Ray Bradbury’s Farenheit 451 use exaggerations of actual historical and cultural phenomena to comment on the present. Because of this, speculative fiction must always be, first and foremost, believable. An implausible character in a novel is easy enough to ignore, but an implausible reality is like a shirt five sizes too small—no matter how elegantly it’s designed, we’re not going to get into it.

Read on…

This is a new-ish song of mine, sung in an airless cube in the Stanford music building. No external microphones! No amps! Absolutely no talent involved!

Yet another of the book reviews I write for Bill Marx’s “World Books” blog off of the website for PRI/BBC’s “The World”. This is one of the rare books I’ve read to review that I actually loved. It’s heavy, but heavily recommended. Excerpt below, full review here.

One is not the Loneliest Number

A brilliant Dutch novel that explores loneliness and connection

The Twin by Gerbrand Bakker Translated from the Dutch by David Colmer. Archipelago Books, 343 pages.

Reviewed by Tommy Wallach

It isn’t easy to write a compelling novel about loneliness, for the simple reason that loneliness is boring. It makes for something of a paradox: the feeling of aloneness, both literal and figurative, counts among love, loss, and taxes as one of those ineluctable human experiences. We need to read about loneliness in order to understand our own; we connect to the disconnected, which hopefully keeps us from jumping off a building when we get dumped, or when a loved one dies. Yet both love and loss involve dramatic action of some sort; aloneness, on the other hand, is generally characterized by stasis.

Author Gerbrand Bakker holds up his healthy literary bloom

In “The Twin”, Dutch author Gerbrand Bakker has accomplished the difficult task of rendering the static solitude of his protagonist into something dynamic and readable. In a prose style unhurried but visceral (translated without a false note by David Colmer), he creates and explores a loneliness that any reader would recognize as his own.

Read on…

Here’s another of the reviews I do for Bill Marx and PRI’s The World. The review is presently up at Bill’s arts blog, Artsfuse. It will go up at The World’s World Books page later this week. Full review here for now. Here’s an excerpt:

World Books Review: “Wetlands” — Ick. Just Ick.

Apr 23, 2009 | 0 Comments

Charlotte Roche is one of the most famous authors in Germany. Thomas Mann must be spinning in his grave.

Reviewed by Tommy Wallach

Wetlands By Charlotte Roche. Translated from the German by Tim Mohr. Grove Press, 240 pages.

On the subject of literary criticism, Martin Amis has written that “quotation is the reviewer’s only hard evidence.” But I’m going to quote “Wetlands” sparingly in this review. And that’s for your sake. I could explain why myself, but it’s probably more efficient for me to give you a sample: “I also love it when someone goes down on me while I’m bleeding. It’s kind of a test of mettle for the guy. When he’s finished licking and looks up with his blood-smeared mouth, I kiss him so we both look like wolves who’ve just ripped open a deer.”

Yep. I know. Yuck. (Just be glad you’re not Tim Mohr, the translator, who probably had to read that 15 times in the German, then try it out five or six different ways in English. Kudos, Mr. Mohr).

But let’s not be premature. After all, were not James Joyce and Vladimir Nabokov both decried as pornographers in their time? Is not a single photograph by Robert Mapplethorpe likely to prove more viscerally disgusting than even the naughtiest bunch of words? Do not the films of Catherine Breillat receive critical plaudits, even though they invariably feature graphic sex and violence? As a fan of all the artists mentioned above, I would never knock something just for grossing me out. Important work is important work, whether it turns the stomach or not.

Yet my response remains: yuck.

Read on…

Many thanks to all those who made this video possible, especially the fantastic friend and dastardly director Chad Peiken, the gorgeous gendarme Judy Courtland, the crafty cinematographer Kelly Jones, and the phenomenal photographer Suzan Jones! Woo!

It’s a two-fer! These are two French novels I recently reviewed for Bill Marx’s World Books page off of Public Radio International’s “The World” site. Excerpt below. Link to full review here.

Allons’y, Alonzo: Two French writers take on the notion would-be writers on the run. Only one gets away with it.

Florian Zeller

“Tokyo Fiancee” by Amélie Northomb Translated from the French by Alison Anderson. Europa Editions, 152 pages.

I wasn’t planning to review these two books together, as I happened to read them one after the other only by coincidence. However, they have so much in common—and their differences perfectly point out why one is successful and the other is not—that I felt reviewing them at the same time would only help to clarify my opinions about them.

First, the similarities. Both authors are French. Both arrived on the literary scene at the age of 25. Northombe’s first novel was “Hygiène de l’assassin”; in Zeller’s case, it was actually his third novel, “La Fascination Du Pire”, that earned him the attention of the literati. Both novels are about would-be writers (in Northombe’s case, herself). Both novels are about the notion of escape, of what it means when we choose to run. Both novels are sparing in their use of description, and eschew a serious plot in order to develop a character.

The characters thus developed are where these two novels begin to distinguish themselves. The protagonist of Zeller’s book is Julien Parme, a 14 year-old boy with a criminal streak and ludicrous literary aspirations. His narration evokes a Holden Caulfield raised on a strict diet of Hemingway: “I was afraid I’d get his voicemail, but luckily it rang. But it just kept on ringing. And in the end I got his voicemail. Shit. I hung up. He couldn’t have heard his phone because of the music. I tried a second time. He still didn’t answer.” Parme fascinates mostly due to his acrobatic evasion of self-awareness; he is the kind of kid who rails against bullies even while stealing cash from a half-blind old woman.

Read on…

So a story I wrote a bunch of years ago was just published on the amazing website, Untitled Books.

According to their website: “Untitled Books is a discerning new literary service and online bookshop that combines an authoritative selection of book recommendations with continually updated, exclusive editorial content.

The online magazine, features articles, author recommendations and interviews with big names such as Julian Barnes, Philip Gourevitch and James Frey, and champions the writers producing the most exciting work at the moment. You will also find articles, Q&As and new short fiction published on the site each month. Authors recommend their favourite books, what inspires them and who to watch out for. Untitled Books also aims to find, support and promote the work of up and coming and new authors. Every featured author’s work can be bought via the site, making Untitled Books an essential destination for readers and book lovers.”

My story is about the Milgram Experiment, has been sitting on my hard drive for many years. I’m so glad that it’s finally found a home, especially on a cool English site. Much thanks to Viola Fort and Untitled Books!

Here’s an excerpt:

Milgram
by Tommy Wallach

In the summer of 1961, Henrietta Ramsey took part in her first ever scientific experiment. It was advertised in The New Haven Register, and offered four dollars for an hour of the respondent’s time, plus fifty cents for bus fare.

Henrietta had never before considered volunteering for such a thing, though not because she had anything against the pursuit of knowledge or the process of scientific inquiry. On the contrary, all forms of progress appealed to her; she was a member of the ACLU, the NAACP, and would be instrumental in the eventual foundation of a Greater New Haven chapter of NOW. The very term ‘progress’ made her feel a shiver of pride, like when her husband, Victor, touched her back possessively in front of some business associate’s younger, prettier wife. No, the only reason Henrietta had not responded to the advertisement when it had first appeared a year earlier was because she was typically a very busy woman. A year earlier, she would not have had the time to involve herself in the pursuit of knowledge, or the process of scientific inquiry.

The summer of 1961 was different. For Henrietta, a personal solstice had set in; the days stretched out to unheard of lengths. Torpid lifetimes passed in the hours between breakfast and lunch, civilizations rose and melted into hazy histories during the afternoons and by the time dinner rolled around, the morning seemed as distant a past as childhood itself. For other women, perhaps this would have been tolerable. But Henrietta had reached forty-five without ever having experienced what was commonly known as ‘free time.’ (What was free about it? she wondered. Time always cost something; it took its bite out of the purse or the flesh, whichever was more vulnerable.) During her childhood in Madison, Wisconsin, she’d worked every summer, first for her family and then for a local restaurant that sponsored the most popular fish fry in the state. She’d studied hard in high school, and worked in a bookstore throughout her four years at the University. After graduation, she taught seventh grade English for a few years, until Victor came along and the two of them moved to Connecticut. Even after Catharine was born, Henrietta insisted on finding herself a part-time job. “Raising a child simply isn’t enough,” she would confide to other working women she knew, “God put me on Earth to help people.”

Read on…

Just wanted to do a little post on Smith Magazine, a really great website (and occasional book series) specializing in memoir, especially of the 6-word variety (After Hemingway’s famous “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.”). The Smith editor’s blog named Brendan Byrne’s new lit mag The Orphan as one of the “Sites We Love“, and in describing the post, linked to my story there, Stalk. Thanks Smith. Your magazine is lovely and filling, like a rainbow combination at a decent sushi restaurant.

Another of the reviews I write for Bill Marx’s “World Books” blog off of PRI’s “The World“. This one is of a pretty fantastic novel called “The Accordionist’s Son,” which is being touted as possibly the first great Basque novel. Excerpt below:

Basque in the Limelight

Bernardo Axtagas’s gripping political bildingsroman may be the first Basque masterpiece.

“The Accordionist’s Son”
By Bernardo Axtaga
Translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa. Graywolf Press, 400 pages, $25.00.

Review by Tommy Wallach

The characters of “The Accordionist’s Son,” the new novel from Basque intellectual and writer Bernardo Axtaga, would be outraged to know their story had been translated into English. In the book, translation is seen as a kind of desecration of language; one character solemnly buries old Basque words written on scraps of paper as if they were dead pets. Elsewhere, obsolete words are described as snowflakes melting “when they touched the ground of the new present.”

That defrosting present is where the novel begins, in 1999. David, the titular son, has just died at his ranch in California. By means of a somewhat tortuous plot device involving the melding of David’s memoir with another character’s partially-fictionalized memoir, the story soon jumps to the imaginary Basque town of Obaba, circa 1964. The Spanish Civil War has been over for decades, but its aftershocks are still being felt—especially by the younger generation. As the novel begins, David is just beginning to realize that his father, an accordionist ironically named Angél, was a facist.

Obaba serves as Axtaga’s Yoknapatawta, a rural area of the Basque country about which he’s written numerous times, including in his prize-winning book of short stories “Obabakoak.” In the past, Axtaga has used Obaba to tell stories of magical realism, but in “The Accordionist’s Son”, the town is the setting for an entirely realist political bildingsroman.

Read on…