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For some, navigating the crowds at big book festivals can feel like the antithesis of the typically solitary pursuit of reading. (OK, that might just be me.)
So this weekend’s Little Literary Fair, or LitLit, could be just the thing for someone looking to connect with books and publishers but not huge crowds.
The free LitLit event, which is presented by the Los Angeles Review of Books in partnership with Hauser & Wirth Publishers, will take place on Saturday, July 30 and Sunday, July 31 from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. at Hauser & Wirth Los Angeles, located at 901 E. 3rd Street, Los Angeles. Masks are encouraged but not required.
I spoke with Irene Yoon, executive director of the Los Angeles Review of Books (LARB), and Kelly Peyton, Public Programs and Engagement Manager for LARB, about the event, which grew out of a 2017 summer program before blossoming into the first full-blown festival in 2019. This weekend will be the second edition.
Both Yoon and Peyton underscored the intimacy of the event as one of its goals and charms.
“It’s called the Little Literary Fair, not only because we want to make sure that it’s accessible and affordable for small presses, but also because we want it to be a really intimate event,” says Peyton. “Visitors can come and meet the people behind these books and be exposed to new books that they might not have found through the algorithm, because they’re produced by independent publishers. So that is the logic behind keeping LitLit little.”
There will be 48 exhibitors this time around, including local publishers, bookstores, nonprofits, and libraries, including Con Todo Press, Red Hen Press, the Inlandia Institute, Tia Chucha’s Centro Cultural & Bookstore and the International Printing Museum and more.
“This ecosystem here in LA for small independent presses must be just thriving,” says Peyton. “Because everyone wanted to come out.”
Vendors will be selling food and drinks, and there’s a restaurant onsite. There will be panels and workshops on topics such as poetry, translation and film and TV adaptation as well as a free screen printing station and book arts demonstrations. Attendees can also check out the art on display at the exhibition.
Yoon, recalling the first event, says the combination of the space, the exhibitors and the attendees offers something really special.
“It’s just a really lovely, joyful thing. There’s something about the intimacy of the space, too, and the fact that it is the Little Literary Fair that I think does foster a really nice sense of community. The goal really is for people to make connections with one another, to make connections with the books and the art that these publishers will be having out on display,” says Yoon, who adds that the goal is for it not to be overwhelming. “We’re putting a priority on connection.”
For more information, check out litlit.org.
So my friend and former colleague, Vanessa, messaged me to find out what I’d read while I was away.
A fair question, considering I accidentally ended up with a stack of books this tall, far too many for the few days I was away. (This was ridiculous, even for me.) Out of these, most I brought, several I bought at Chaucer’s Books in Santa Barbara and a few just, you know, appeared:
What did I end up reading? One not even pictured above: “Animal” by Lisa Taddeo, which I picked up at the library on a whim before heading out of town. I didn’t know much about it, but it was harsh and riveting and hard to put down. The narrator has a voice that recalls a noir antihero, and Taddeo, who is the acclaimed author of “Three Women,” seems incapable of writing a bad sentence. If you’re the type of person who underlines good writing – I’m not, especially in a library book – you could end up with a completely marked-up book.
I also feel compelled to say that “Animal” was pretty harrowing as it touches on some traumatic events, so be forewarned if you’re not looking for that in a book. You probably could read the first paragraph to get a sense of whether you want to continue or not. Or read some reviews. But if you find it hard to focus right now, a bracing novel like this one can keep your attention.
Looking for something new to stream? I haven’t watched it yet, but this weekend we’re going to be trying out the just-released Prime Video series “Paper Girls,” which is based on the Image comic book from Brian K. Vaughn and Cliff Chiang. I’ve read several of the comic collections and this story about a group of ’80s-era young women is smart, fun and full of the kind of sci-fi in suburbia that Steven Spielberg did so well. Plus, as many have already noted, “Paper Girls” shares some similarities to “Stranger Things” so it might be just the thing for your end of summer watching. (Or read the comics.)
Got any recommendations for me? Please send them to epedersen@scng.com and they might appear in the column.
Thanks, as always, for reading.
Cal Flyn talks hope and despair in the world’s scarred landscapes
Cal Flyn’s work of globe-trotting investigative nonfiction, “Islands of Abandonment: Nature Rebounding in the Post-Human Landscape,” was a favorite of mine (and many others) when it was published last year. A 2019 MacDowell fellow, she was named the 2021 Young Writer of the Year by London’s Sunday Times. With the book now out in paperback, the Scottish author and journalist was kind enough to answer our questions while traveling.
Q. Your book “Islands of Abandonment” looks at landscapes that bear the scars of human use: Chernobyl, Detroit, Cyprus and more. What made you want to write about these places?
My interest began after I visited the Slate Islands, off the west coast of Scotland. These are small islets — islets, really — that were once home to an enormous 19th-century slate quarrying industry. I went there on the recommendation of a Scottish artist, Sian McQueen, and swam in the turquoise, cyan and sea-green waters that now fill the abandoned quarries. From above, the islands look like a Pantone palette.
I wrote a short essay after that trip, reflecting on the strangely beautiful aesthetic of the post-industrial. It drew on the work of Edward Burtynsky, who produces large format photographs of salt pans, paddy fields, and other vast manmade landscapes. A critic once described his images as producing a “clash of ethics and aesthetics…a political tension that can be quite agitating.” I found that a provocative idea, and kept reading around it. Soon I realized that landscapes like the Slate Islands could also be ecologically note-worthy, and that too seemed like a perverse and interesting idea.
“Islands of Abandonment” was one of those books that just seemed to fall together. Everything about these abandoned (or semi-abandoned) places seemed to me freighted with ethical ambiguity. They became, unexpectedly, sources of hope rather than despair.
Q. My favorite chapter of your book, which reads like a ghost story, might be the one that concerns your trip to Swona, Scotland. Can you describe what that was like visiting an abandoned island teeming with feral cows?
I’m so glad you enjoyed that chapter. I was worried about how it might be perceived because it was probably the safest location I visited, but it was — weirdly — the one that provoked in me the most fear and uncertainty.
Swona is a small island off the north coast of Scotland. Its last inhabitants departed in 1974, leaving a small herd of cattle. These animals survive the wild winter weather by sheltering in the derelict buildings and eating seaweed for extra nutrients. I visited because I was interested in the boundary between feral and wild — when will these unhusbanded animals be considered wild again, if ever?
The cattle themselves caused me no issues (although they can be dangerous if cornered or separated from their calves) but I found the atmosphere of the island very frightening. There are around nine houses, in various states of disrepair. Some have filled with slurry from the cattle. Others are filled with skeletons. I slept upstairs in the best-preserved building, but was kept awake by the movement of large birds in the eaves — they sounded just like humans, walking around.
When I left the house, I was attacked by a succession of different bird colonies, including tiny, vicious arctic terns and big, buxom great skuas, who were not pleased to see me at all. I felt alone and threatened, and unable to eat or drink or sleep. It made me reflect on what a social species we are as humans, and how unusual it is not to see another person (or know that you can, at least) for any extended period of time. It played tricks on my mind.
Q. You write about visiting the Salton Sea in California. Can you share some of your recollections of going there?
The Salton Sea is a strange place because it is at once incredibly beautiful and incredibly bleak. I was there at the end of the summer, when everything was dry-baked, the muddy strand cracked into a million plates, and desiccated fish littered the shoreline. The smell of hydrogen sulfide was powerful. But the desert skies were remarkable: vibrant sunsets and sunrises that stretched on and on.
I was there to write about nearby Slab City, the anarchist community that has grown up on an old military base nearby, which in its Mad Max stylings seemed to me to offer a dystopian glimpse of the future. But it also drew me into reflecting upon the role of algal blooms and hydrogen sulfide in the worst-case scenarios of climate change. Slab City was wild and invigorating — I met a lot of people there who had lived hard lives but found redemption and a sense of freedom by dropping out of wider society. It was a deeply unnerving place, but one I think about all the time. I’m glad to have seen it.
Q. Finally, what is your feeling after visiting all these places? Do you feel hope or despair or something else?
I think, like so many people, I feel both of these things. It depends on the day. Sometimes I look back at the photographs I took, or my diary entries, and the world feels almost impossibly broken. At other times I see only the light through the cracks — the people who have made new lives in the ruins of old, and the plants, insects and animals that have risen up to reclaim derelict sites.
Overall, it has made me rethink the way I look at the world: I have realized that the picturesque landscape is often less ecologically significant and diverse than the messy, eyesore brownfield site. Once you start noticing these places, you see them everywhere, and that in itself is a great source of hope for the future.
Q. What are you reading now?
I absolutely loved Emmanuel Carrere’s new work of autofiction, “Yoga,” so have been working my way through his back catalog. I’ve just finished “The Adversary,” his account of the brutal murder of a French family by a man who had been living a lie for decades. (It reminded me of the fascinating, bone-chilling true crime books of Gordon Burn, which I also recommend.) And I’m just starting on “The Kingdom,” a very ambitious novel. He’s the sort of writer that makes me think, ‘Huh, I didn’t know we could do that.’
Q. How do you decide on what to read next?
I follow my nose! I’m not one of those people who force myself to finish books if they are not, for whatever reason, grabbing my attention. I just pick up the books I am in the mood for, and that tends to help me keep up my reading momentum. As a result, I read a real smorgasbord of books — anything from experimental poetry to commercial fiction, or ecological textbooks to confessional memoir. Fiction I tend to read ‘for fun’; if I sit down with nonfiction books I tend to hold a pencil in one hand and underline or note down any interesting tidbits that might be relevant for my current project.
The key thing, for me, is to keep reading. I aim to read two to three books a week (or a rough equivalent, if I am stopping and starting without finishing individual texts). Sometimes I have more energy for weighty tomes full of statistics, sometimes I will opt for poetry or fragmentary fiction if my brain is a little fried, and other times I just want a comforting story with a guaranteed happy ending. It’s all good, in my opinion. There are no guilty pleasures in reading.
Q. Is there a book that felt like it was written just for you?
I’m currently reading Ed Yong’s “An Immense World,” which is about the sensory faculties of animals (and, by extension, the way they understand the world around them). This subject has fascinated me ever since I studied perception as an experimental psychology undergraduate, and for a time I wrote a short column for Prospect magazine on the same topic. Yong’s book is so well researched and full of mind-blowing facts. Highly recommended!
Q. What do you find the most appealing in a book: the plot, the language, the cover, a recommendation? Do you have any examples?
What I really like is a book that makes me reconsider assumptions I make about the world, or question my own unthinking beliefs. I like cultural histories and books about the history of ideas as a result. Carolyn Merchant’s “The Death of Nature,” which looks at the various analogies we have used to understand the natural world over centuries, is one of my favourite books. I’m also drawn to those who write about the natural world with a sort of biblical register — Annie Dillard, for example, who isn’t afraid to take the handbrake off. Or Cormac McCarthy.
In memoir, I like to see an author who really interrogates their own actions and is not afraid to confront the darker elements of their own psychology. Tabitha Lasley’s excellently unhinged “Sea State” was wonderful, as was Doireann ni Ghriofa’s “A Ghost in the Throat.” And I have a special place in my heart for speculative fiction that serves as thought experiment — I use the Arthur C Clarke Award shortlist to guide my sci-fi reading list each year because it finds a great balance between genre and literary sci-fi. In 2022, shortlisted books include a novel in verse by Harry Josephine Giles, Courttia Newland’s “A River Called Time,” and Kazuo Ishiguro’s “Klara and the Sun.”
Q. What’s a memorable book experience – good or bad – you’re willing to share?
During the height of the Covid shutdown, my partner Rich and I decided to make a bash at reading “Ulysses” for the first time. I’ve always been intimidated but intrigued. It was a great experience — we read aloud to each other while lying around in fields, and sometimes followed along while we listened to the audiobook (this was really helpful in sections where there is a lot of music or lyrics because the actor knew where to launch into song). On the recommendation of my friend Stephanie Kelley, we also used Harry Blamire’s very helpful guide “The Bloomsbury Book” to keep us on the straight and narrow.
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What’s next on ‘Bookish’
Sign up for the next free Bookish event coming August 19 with guests A.J. Jacobs, Jerry Stahl and Laura Chinn joining host Sandra Tsing Loh.
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