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396 pages
King Coal, A Novel
KING COAL § 1. The town of Pedro stood on the edge of the mountain country ; a straggling assemblage of stores and saloons from which a number of branch railroads ran up into the canyons, feeding the coal-camps.
208 pages
Lamentations of the Father, Essays
A collection of essays drawn from fourteen years of the author's career includes the title piece as originally published in Atlantic Monthly and celebrates the sanity-challenging aspects of parenthood, crows, sound bites, and other ...
About this book
Ian Frazier is unquestionably one of America's greatest living humorists, a writer with a distinct, generous sensibility and a thousand different voices. His work is hilarious, elegant, and piercing, drawing on high and low cultureto expose the warped line of thought running beneath our public selves. When The Atlantic Monthly published four humorists among the best writing ever to appear in the magazine, they chose essays by Mark Twain, James Thurber, Kurt Vonnegut, and Ian Frazier's "Lamentations of the Father." This collection, gathered from the past fourteen years of his career, once again proves him worthy of that great company. Ian Frazier is the author of seven works of nonfiction including Great Plains, Family, and On the Rez. He has also published two collections of humor writing and is a past winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor. A frequent contributor to The New Yorker, he has also written for Outside and other magazines. He lives in Montclair, New Jersey. Winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor When The Atlantic Monthly celebrated its 150th anniversary by publishing excerpts from the best writing ever to appear in the magazine, it chose only four pieces in the category of the humorous essay—one by Mark Twain, one by James Thurber, one by Kurt Vonnegut, and Ian Frazier’s 1997 essay “Lamentations of the Father.” The title piece of this new collection has had an ongoing life in anthologies, in radio performances, in audio recordings, on the internet, and in photocopies on refrigerator doors. The august company in which The Atlantic placed Frazier gives an idea of where his humorous pieces lie on the literary spectrum. Frazier’s work is funny and elegant and poetic and of the highest literary aspiration, all at the same time. More serious than a “gag” writer, funnier than other essayists of equal accomplishment, Frazier is of a classical originality. This collection, a companion to his previous humor collections Dating Your Mom and Coyote v. Acme, contains thirty-three pieces gathered from the last thirteen years. "Although our era is awash in comedy, literary humor has dwindled in recent years . . . Indeed, if there were a federal registry for endangered literary genres, humor surely would be on it, a prose equivalent of the black-footed ferret. All of this makes Ian Frazier a kind of rara avis and his new collection of essays, Lamentations of the Father, is as welcome as another sighting of the ivory-billed woodpecker. As a longtime staff writer for the New Yorker, the author has enjoyed the protection of what amounts to one of literary humor's protected habitats, and he has made the most of it. No one writing in this genre today hits the mark with anything like Frazier's frequency. The measure of his success is the number of pieces you'll want to read aloud to others—partly to share the pleasure, partly to explain why you've been making all those strangling noises. What distinguishes literary humor from other forms of contemporary comedy is that, in most instances, you can share it with those around you, even if one of the listeners can't get into a PG-13 film on his own . . . One of the many pleasures of Frazier's humorous sensibility is that it doesn't deny the distinction between high and low, but integrates the two as equally real and worthy of consideration. The title 'The New Poetry,' for example, could be ripped from the hand-cut pages of any one of several dozen magazines. In Frazier's hands, it becomes the occasion for considering a Thomas Hardy you won't quite recognize and an Ezra Pound whose pretensions you will, because he 'had a Parisian jeweler make a solid-gold laurel wreath for him, which he wore about his temples when he attended award ceremonies of the French Academy.' If the author's account of his 'new poets' and their art seems curiously like an entertainment page piece on a stable of rap musicians, well . . . there's this on the Wystan Hugh you never knew: 'In his personal life, Auden was Peck's Bad Boy, in and out of trouble with the law. His sad gentle eyes and seamed face gave no indication of the trouble in store if you messed with him. His mother, who supported him throughout his career, always said that the literary rivals Auden shot would have done the same to him if he had given them the chance. Certainly, there was some truth in that . . . When a dispute over the acceptability of an off-rhyme led to gunplay, Auden was always the one authorities came looking for.' And what, measured against literary immortality, are the commonplace vagaries of middle age? To Frazier's shrewd eye—and in his graceful hands—they're a small window in the universal condition."—Tim Rutten, Los Angeles Times "Ian Frazier is an antidote for the blues."—The Boston Globe"Frazier is a master of the trade and for those cursed with literacy, an absolute howl."—Jeff Simon, The Buffalo News "A celebrated essayist for The Atlantic Monthly and The New Yorker, Ian Frazier knows funny. The only reason he's not a household name in mainstream America is that his wit is of the Dorothy Parker variety: dry, smart and satirical. Think Twain and Vonnegut if they'd changed diapers and blogged from Starbucks. When this wit taps into something universal, a Frazier essay can and has started e-mail wildfires. The title essay of his latest collection, 'Lamentations of the Father,' did just that a few years back. Written as a benediction filtered through the thoughts and world-weary mouth of a stay-at-home dad, it beseeches, curses and, well, laments about how and why children act in such a childlike manner. It's one of the most original, laugh-out-loud rants in a decade . . . 'Unbowed' is an inspired piece in which Frazier mocks the tabloid tradition of sensationalizing every utterance and move of our modern royalty: the movie star. Frazier opens with two real quotes from the daily trials and tribulations of Russell Crowe. From these he creates a ridiculous interview in which Crowe defends his respect and fear of bovines, elevating a small pastoral confrontation to the level of 9/11 and the war on terror. 'Sure, I could sit up on the porch all day, which is screened in and has a door that they don't know how to open, the bastards,' Crowe said. 'And yes, I'll admit that they got my attention with the noise they make, and the way they look at you, and all that slobbering. Most blokes would take one look and retreat to the equipment shed or climb on top of the pickup. But I couldn't live with myself if I did that.' This is vintage Frazier, and highlights one of his favorite literary devices—assuming the voice of pop culture icons, or placing himself in close proximity to them to make fun of modern society. Frazier shows just how dumb pop culture can be, especially when it takes itself seriously. In 'My Wife Liz,' Frazier, tongue firmly in cheek, claims to have been married to Elizabeth Taylor for a brief but blissful stretch of time. As with the devil, the humor of this essay is in the details. Frazier's colorful and extensive recall of their relationship sets up a militant campaign to get the world to recognize him in some official capacity as one of Taylor's numerous ex-husbands. When he's not skewering pop culture icons, Frazier gleefully denounces fads, subcultures and industries that he finds deserving of a verbal whipping. In 'Researchers Say,' Frazier needs only a few paragraphs to have his way with academic studies, the pharmaceutical industry and pervasive myths regarding stress-free, disease-free, death-free living. Clueless book editors, deadbeat dads, mothers who curse like sailors while sharing their favorite recipes—if you've ever carelessly participated in society (and who hasn't?), you're Frazier's fair game."—Joe Kurmaskie, The Oregonian (Portland)"Being a funny guy doesn't always mesh with being a smart guy. In Frazier's case, however, the two seem one and the same."—The Christian Science Monitor"Warning . . . reading [Frazier's essays] in the bathroom, on the subway, or in other heavy-traffic areas may force you to have to explain to others what's making you guffaw so loudly."—Entertainment Weekly"At 57, the Thurber Prize-winning comic essayist and longtime New Yorker writer is regarded as one of America’s greatest humorists. His tenth book, Lamentations of the Father, contains 33 short essays, many of which are quintessentially New York as well as laugh-out-loud funny . . . The collection as a whole invokes laughter with wildlife anthropomorphizing in 'Tomorrow’s Bird' and traipses into satire on unhappy domesticity in 'The Cursing Mommy Cookbook' and 'The Cursing Mommy Christmas.' Frazier then veers into ribald territory with the curiously named 'Chinese Arithmetic,' an essay in the form of a medical log detailing his own embarrassing erections and ends the book with 'What I Am,' based on his dishwashing method (meaning: no method), which his wife lovingly declared 'idiocy.' Mr. Frazier disagreed, taking a jab at the politically correct rhetoric of the time, arguing he was, instead, 'a sufferer of idiocy.' During the interview, he added a postscript in his characteristic self-deprecating humor, 'As it turns out, my dishwashing method might have shown idiocy.' Though it took him 11 years to publish his first book, writing for the New Yorker played an invaluable role in shaping his comic writing. Even more than his father, 'making New Yorker readers—sophisticated folks—laugh is a tough accomplishment.' And getting that laugh from readers, said Mr. Frazier, is 'irreducible. Either you succeed or you fail.' In the case of his new book—and despite his lamentable dishwashing skills—he has once again succeeded."—Alyssa Pinsker, The Villager"As serious as he is funny, Ian Frazier can deconstruct the historical accuracy of Daffy Duck with the same straight-faced relish he uses to savage corporate crooks and the 'innovative thinking'...
64 pages
FLANIMALS, THE DAY OF THE BLETCHLING
The latest volume in the glorious bestiary Flanimals features the prolific class of flying, crawling invertebrates collectively known as Blugs.
About this book
The latest volume in the glorious bestiary Flanimals features the prolific class of flying, crawling invertebrates collectively known as Blugs. The endless variety of Movs, Bants and Zubs. The metamorphosis from Monk Worm to Frag Drier. And the evil incarnate that is the Bletchling. Compulsive bedtime reading for children and disturbed adults alike. Night, night. And mind the Blugs dont bite.
