The Victorians were completely obsessed with death and mourning, and so even at Christmas, with all its emphasis on family, gift-giving, religion, etc., there was still this dark undercurrent. So holiday music for me is always a slightly moody affair, particularly since I don’t have too much use for the awful crap that gets blasted in malls and coffee shops this time of year.
At this point the subscribers of The New Yorker are reading and enjoying the different stories which appear in the magazine from the well known 20 Under 40 list, that essentially (or so it seems) has defined a generation of writers, at least those recognized by The New Yorker.
There is much more to our publishing history that I’d like one day to tell, but because one circle that revealed itself in 1993 is moving into another rotation, it seems a good idea to make a record. Doing so just might shed light on what Greg Michalson and I—and our remarkable marketing and sales team—do at Unbridled Books. We’ve all been together for a long time.
Everything about this story is non linear, which confirms what I already knew, that kind of story telling not only works, but it something that can sell. We’re treated to a pulp flash back and flash forward as Mandel introduces us to a half dozen characters right out of the gate, and she hints at something bad, like a subtle kind of noir, which isn’t ashamed of it’s pulp origins, Mandel is flexing her cinematic influences (the rights to this should be scooped up) and her love of someone like Jim Thompson.
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