Thanks to everyone for a really nice reading on Thursday: Evan for hosting us, Ben for handing me his scrawled & thoughtful “Corinna said no double bed / the thing about the frame she said // we’re gonna be late I said / Julie stuttered,” George for his new mustache, Melissa for raising a toast, Kara for the gorgonzola-stuffed bacon-wrapped fig, Adam for post-hoc coverage (Adam read very well — Green is starting to bang and bellow in his prose), the Regal Beagle for the Balvenie 12, and Elisa for all & everything & the rest.

After the reading, E. & I had the pleasure of traveling west for an evening with our friends Josh & Sarah. After dinner, we lay outside out their back lawn to see if there was any of the meteor shower left. We saw one meteor but the sky out there in South Hadley is fantastic of itself: clear, with only a few wisps of clouds — they looked like belts of stars themselves in the dark. Earlier, Josh showed us some of Sarah’s latest pictures on his iphone. The above and the below are haunting and complex and are both made by her. Please do yourself the favor of checking out a lot more here, and reading some of her fables-so-strange-they-are-poems here. What Kelly Link can’t do in 40 pages, Sarah can do in under one, and better.

On Sunday, Elisa drove home while I read from the Francis Parkman and de las Casas I picked up at Troubadour. Happily, crowning a real good time, once I got home I turned on my computer to find I’d been reviewed by Adam Gallari in the newest Collagist:

John Cotter’s debut Under the Small Lights is a wonderfully scathing and esoteric book that attempts to map the failed ambition of a close group of friends whose incestuous and competing desires ultimately lead to their catastrophic downfalls. [ ... ] His universe is populated by men and women who both know and love each other so deeply that they are only capable of causing each other great pain, and Cotter skillfully navigates their unknown realms of friendship and love.

Adam Golaski and I get together every other month or so and share all the big highs and big lows and all the little stuff of our lives. It’s been a privilege to be part of his over the last — what? decade? One of the biggest of highs in this ongoing time has been reading each new installment of Green — Adam’s faithful and idiosyncratic translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight – as it came to life online. Since late 2008 I’ve had the pleasure of publishing “Green”-in-progress on Open Letters, and this month is especially exciting as for the first time the entire first fitt of the poem is available online.

In this portion of the poem, Sir Gawain accepts the Green Knight’s challenge (that he strike the knight on the neck with an ax, and that, should the knight survive, the knight, in one year’s time, may strike Gawain in return). The poem, at this point is cinematic: we pan back as the Green Knight dismounts his Green Horse, we shuttle forward as the giant “let his naked neck bear readiness,” and

Gawain gripped th’green knight’s axe’nd raised it high—
left foot firm t’th’ground—
swift on th’naked neck, Gawain let it down

That man’s sharp stroke shattered the bones
+ sank through th’fair flesh + sheared th’neck in twain—
the blade of bright steel bit the ground.

What happens next? Not at all what you’d expect.

Also in the August issue: A fun new poem by Stephen Sturgeon, a fascinating account of the new 12-hour Demons, Elisa’s new column — about what money does to your nose — and lots, lots more interesting stuff. And thank yous are due from me to the rest of the editorial staff — Steve, Rohan, Greg, Jeff, and Sam; I’ve been mostly gone from the magazine for the last couple of months but — I hope — that hiatus is through.

I live my life with near-constant tinnitus — a roaring in one ear — and all I can say about Grace Talusan’s wonderful new review of Under the Small Lights in The Rumpus is that it somehow, magically, made that roaring disappear for an entire day. And come to think of it there hasn’t been much roaring today either.

I spent my early twenties haunting the same bookstores and cafes in Boston as Jack does, trying to be a writer. Like Jack, I could be insufferable at times. With a fresh nose piercing, chain-smoking over a mix of Alanis Morrisette, Smashing Pumpkins, and Nirvana, I talked in circles about all my hard life choices—where to live (Los Angeles, San Francisco, Boston, or Eugene), which guy to date (one summer, I strung along four at once), what to do for money while I wrote the book that would make me rich and famous (teaching or stocking shelves). I was all promise and passion, but too inexperienced to comprehend the gulf between my ambitions and my skills. I never once considered how privileged I was even to have these choices, to be able to ask the question Who do I want to be and what do I want to do in the world?

I love it when reviewers — of any book — add personal notes like this, and I wonder how in heaven’s name I’ve avoided running into Grace for all this time.

Also worthy of note: Rohan Maitzen’s thoughtful reflections on Under the Small Lights and my own reflections on its genesis, both on Open Letters blogs, Novel Readings and Like Fire, respectively.

Rohan notes:

I also found myself thinking, as I read, about something Claire Tomalin said about George Eliot: “She writes about sex perfectly,” Tomalin says; “She never mentions it at all. I mean, who needs the penis and the pubic hair? Sex isn’t that–sex is the feeling.”

I couldn’t agree more, although I’m not clear whether Rohan is implying I did or I didn’t include too much … either way, of course, it’s a potential selling point.

I’ve come now from Chicago (where I had a good time reading with Martin Seay and his lovely lady wife) to North Carolina — the sleepy/touristy burgh of Henderson, just outside of Ashville. The Ashville airport appears to be still under construction (lots of exposed plaster and backhoes) but the surrounding area is refreshingly nature-stuffed with misty mountains on the periphery and fireflies rising at night from the darkening lawn to the trees. I’m here with Elisa’s family, to celebrate her mom’s 60th birthday, fresh from celebrating my own sister’s 30th in Chicago (which was also a real good time — Happy Birthday, Erin!)

(Beside me, on the rented countertop of this rented cabin in “Forrest Hills,” sits a jar-jar binks mousepad — it is hypnotic).

Whilst I explore Chimney Rock, etc, please check out this awesome audio post & plug of Under the Small Lights Jason Behrends put up on Chicago Now: http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/chicago-subtext/ Jason was a gracious and generous host & MC for Martin, Kathy, & I the other night and I’m really happy to count him as a new friend.

It’s tonight – Under the Small Lights launches, sees the world for the first time at 7pm at 296 Walnut St. in Newtonville. MA, home of the beautiful and really friendly Newtonville Bookstore. The commuter rail – easily catchable from Back Bay Station — and cheap — stops right in front of where I’ll be tonight. Please come by if you’re in the Boston area, pick up a copy and let’s chat for a little. There will be wine & some beer at the reading and we may be grabbing a second one down the street later on. This is a big night for me and I’d love to share it with as many friends as can come.