TOP 100 BOOK SITES
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| Jerry Hall to star in TV version of Martin Amis's Money Martin Amis's classic novel Money is to be brought to life by the BBC in a new drama starring Jerry Hall. The 1980s exploration of amorality, excess and greed will be televised in a two-part drama following the story of British commercials director John Self, played by Nick Frost, who is thrust into the world of New York movie deals, shark-like agents and impossibly petulant actors. Viewers will see Hall – former wife of Mick Jagger – take on her first substantial TV role. The Texas star will appear alongside Vincent Kartheiser of Mad Men and Little Dorrit's Emma Pierson as Self's girlfriend Selina.TelevisionMartin AmisBBCguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
Southern Deviations The reigning master of the legal thriller turns to the hallowed literary turf of the Mississippi Delta. feeds.nytimes.com |
Josephine Foster: Graphic as a Star | CD review Seven albums in, Josephine Foster's lack of mainstream acclaim may be explained by her shrill, slurred warble. Yet in crafting a song cycle from 26 Emily Dickinson poems, the Colorado-born folkie has found her perfect partner in oddity. It's easy to believe the reclusive Dickinson herself is singing, so suited is this strange, old-fashioned voice to her poetry. Where the songs are accompanied, this, too, is sparse and traditional: the gentle guitar and gusty harmonica blues of early 20th century American folk. It may not make Foster a global star, but Dickinson would surely be delighted with this delicate, sombre offering.Folk musicEmily DickinsonKatie Tomsguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
Australia's PM writes children's book about his pets Kevin Rudd is set to publish Jasper and Abby and the Great Australia Day KerfuffleGordon Brown expounded on his heroes in print, Barack Obama penned politically charged memoirs and reflections, and now Australian prime minister Kevin Rudd has revealed what his contribution to the literary canon will be: a children's book about his family pets.To be published on 26 January – Australia Day – Jasper and Abby and the Great Australia Day Kerfuffle will follow the adventures of Rudd's dog Abby and cat Jasper as they cause havoc in the grounds of his family's official residence. The book was the brainchild of children's television presenter Rhys Muldoon, who has worked on the title with the prime minister along with illustrator Carla Zapel."It has not been the most demanding text I have worked on," Rudd told local Australian press. "I've worked on the text with Rhys and we've both interviewed the cat and the dog. They have been very co-operative in their responses but, for most of the time, have gone off the record."He later tweeted: "Jasper and Abby end up saving the day on what could have been an Oz day disaster at the Lodge. All a bit of fun."Rudd revealed his literary leanings in 2008 when he established Australia's richest literary prize. Worth A$100,000 (£56,000), the prime minister's awards for fiction and non-fiction are intended to "celebrate the contribution of Australian literature to the nation's cultural and intellectual life", and Rudd himself makes the final decision on the winners.Proceeds from the sale of Jasper and Abby and the Great Australia Day will go to a children's charity, Rudd said.Children and teenagersPublishingAlison Floodguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
Lamenting a lost home to pursuers of sporting trivia | Rob Bagchi When the Colindale library closes in 2012 the fear is that another refuge for the metaphorical anorak will not take its placeLast week's announcement that the British Library's newspaper depository at Colindale will be shutting its doors in 2012 is a significant blow for sports fans. Over the past decade I have spent hours absorbed in its collection and quickly recognised that a considerable proportion of the community that gathered there were people engaged in research on football, whether writing books or simply finding the material to furnish their own peculiar obsessions. On some days they would even outnumber the family tree surgeons who, with pencils poised, would painstakingly leaf through reams of newsprint in search of an elusive mention of an obscure ancestor.When Sportspages, the Charing Cross Road book shop, closed down I had often wondered where those who had found a haven among its statistical histories had ended up. The man who reeked of Dettol and spent years crouched on his haunches by the football shelves furiously eviscerating each Breedon club complete record and jotting down his finds, or the hare-eyed chap with the roll-up permanently wedged behind his ear who would badger the staff to open each incoming box from a particular publisher with the rather disarming cry of "Anything fresh?"The answer was simple enough – they had moved up the Northern Line and been displaced to Colindale and they had substituted local newspapers for reference books as their primary resources. Many seemed to be engaged on projects that would not only never get published but also actually never get written, the quest to produce something definitive ultimately making the perpetual research process an end in itself. I remember one telling me that he was aiming to compile the greatest database of UK swimming records in history and found the very elusiveness of the material the fascination of the challenge. To my knowledge it has never seen the light of day but I confidently expect to see him on my next visit to the library still beavering away.I can sympathise with the predicament. There is no better way to get a flavour of the football era you are writing about than to immerse yourself in the contemporary reports in local newspapers. The problem is that it is endlessly diverting – come across a report of boys found guilty of stealing tomatoes from a greenhouse and sent for "borstal training" or an advert that reads "Lager used to be a summer drink, until Skol!" and your mind can wander away from your quest to find out how Leicester City's Colin Appleton had fared in a match against Burnley. But for putting flesh on the bones of your subject, I can think of no more rewarding distraction.The bones themselves from 1970 onwards, at least if you're interested in league clubs, can, of course, be found in the pages of what habit still forces me to call "Rothmans". Those beloved blue, fractured spines that adorn my bookshelves are the positive legacy the firm that promoted itself as the jet-setter's oily rag of choice has left a generation of fans. Unlike Wisden with its breadth of beautiful writing and its fascinating byways that could steal away your day, its football counterpart's principal attribute is the comprehensive detail of the data.Even in its modern guise, the yearbook continues to fulfil its remit of providing the authoritative seasonal summary. But now that all the statistics you may ever want are no more than a few clicks away, the game's "bible" has become for me more of a traditional purchase than the much-anticipated herald that a new season is upon us. Gone are the days, too, when in the shop we would expect to sell 400 copies on publication date and wrap up a thousand by the time the Charity Shield kicked off.It was never my favourite annual – that dubious honour goes to the Almanacco Illustrato del Calcio, Panini's peerless Italian reference. We used to shift those by the hundred, too, as well as Finnish Jalkapallokirjas, Spanish Don Balónes and Dutch Voetbals. If you wanted to find out about European football back in those days, there was no other place to start. It's brilliant that you can access most of that information for free now but I still mourn the loss of the camaraderie felt by subscribers to those defiantly "old technology" volumes.We used to refer to it jokingly as statistical pornography but the majority of its devotees exhibited such a charming and self‑knowing helplessness about their infatuations that their enthusiasm shaped the atmosphere of the shop and sustained the business for years.When Colindale closes in 2012 I fear that another refuge for the trivia-enchanted sports fan will not take its place, somewhere that you could always wear your metaphorical anorak with pride. The internet provides things we could never have envisaged but the library's sense of community may be lost forever. I shall miss it.Rob Bagchiguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |