Temporality Play

"The neat thing about photographs" you said, "is that they strike dynamic poses while maintaining the status quo." And as soon as you stopped speaking, these words had ceased to be, thus proving my hypothesis that words may be recorded but never pictured. I would have expressed my gratitude, but I was too drunk to thank at the moment. So I smiled, nodded, took another sip of tea.

Stephen Elliott's The Adderall Diaries

Review of Stephen Elliot’s The Adderall Diaries
By Robin Barletta

The Adderall Diaries is Stephen Elliot’s attempt to write a true crime novel along the lines of In Cold Blood. I say ‘attempt’ because in the process of writing this novel, Elliot ends up writing about his own life, which is infinitely more interesting.
Elliot is only vaguely connected to the murder case he writes about. Hans Reiser was accused of killing his wife Nina, who had been having an affair with Sean Sturgeon, who had a few girlfriends in common with Elliot. Elliot attempts to interview Sean, who confessed to a staggering number of unrelated murders, and who seems to be toying with Elliot, promising to grant him an interview once Hans’ trial is over.
As new facts are discovered about the case, Elliot is brought back to his own past, particularly to his damaged relationship with his father. One of his friends even points out that Elliot is seeing Hans as his father and Nina as his mother, a notion which resonates throughout the novel, despite the author rejecting it. His father leaves spiteful reviews of Elliot’s work on Amazon.com and insists his son is exaggerating when he describes his father’s unpredictable bursts of anger and how he abandoned Elliot to the streets as a child. Elliot admits that memories are subjective, and people create their own reasons for their actions. But Elliot is definitely compelled to link the events surrounding Hans’ trial to his own life, a connection which works well throughout the story.
Elliot has a casual writing style that works well with the heavy subject matter. He describes his addiction to the ADD drug Adderall in the same clinical, matter-of-fact terms he describes his sadomasochistic encounters with women. These straightforward scenes resonate more than the most flowery prose could do—the erotic scenes are less about sex and more about control and submission, both emotionally and physically.
The novel does slow down at points, stalling for a while before and during the trial. The narrative reflects this period of Elliot’s life where he seems to be trying to figure out where it is going, and at times the author’s memories seem unconnected to the current events of the novel, as though he lost sight of what he was writing about. By the time the book gets through trial, Elliot seems to have realized that the book isn’t primarily about that anymore, and it regains its pace.
The Adderall Diaries is a fascinating account of the author’s life, from his tough childhood to his addictions to his troubled relationships. Stephen Elliot presents himself in the book at his most vulnerable, deep in the throes of a drug addiction and having no idea where his life, or the book, is heading, and it is an intriguing and fascinating journey.

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In the coming weeks we will be interview Pierre De Reeder, (Guitarist of Rilo Kiley) We will be reviewing Blessings and Curses by Anne Whitehouse, and much much more.

Additionally, please check out THE2NDHAND.COM. Todd Dills, the editor, does a great job creating a community atmosphere, and picking great writing.

50-1 Blog has some great nano-fiction too.

Thank you for being a part of our community. Please leave some comments and discuss the book further with our writers.

A Review of Tao Lin's Shoplifting From American Apparel

Background and General Disclaimers:

1. This is not the opinion of the entire Broad Set. This review is solely based on the opinions of one, Andrew Kaspereen. He chooses to make this apparent so Mr. Peter Erich Richter does not have to at a later date.
2. Andrew Kaspereen owns a copy of Tao Lin’s novel Bed. He thinks it is alright, but he has never felt compelled to give it the complete “college try”.
3. Andrew Kaspereen has met Tao Lin when he came to his creative writing class; it was there Mr. Lin signed Kaspereen’s copy of Bed.
4. Andrew Kaspereen thoroughly enjoyed the amount of responses that Tao Lin’s interview with the Broadset provided. That being said, he hopes the following review does not ignite any such debates or the ire of Mr. Lin or any of his close associates of a family/friend/fan persuasion.

Tao Lin is a very young, very prolific writer. As an aspiring, but not as prolific writer, I find that inspiring. Before the age of 30, Lin has acquired all sorts of accolades, published 1 novel, two poetry collections, 1 short story collection, and his newest novella, Shoplifting From American Apparel. It is this fact about Tao Lin that makes me want to support everything he does. Unfortunately, try as I might, I am just not able to appreciate him the way others, critics and fans alike, seem to.

I assume it has something to do with the tone in which he writes stories. Apparel is what I assume to be a semi-autobiographical excursion into Lin’s life for a period of time. He goes through a variety of different friends, travels and lives with multiple people including a romantic interest named Sheila, and then even gets a chance to get a nod from Moby. If this seems disjointed, it is because it is. The novel’s narrative flow is like watching a relatively routine but close ping pong game. There is an ebb and flow, things start to build, but ultimately momentum shifts and the flow starts again.

The story itself never really decides what it wants to be. Lin described it as “2x Shoplifting arrest, 5 parts vague relationship issues.” I suppose that is a fair description of the novel. As I read, I kept waiting for a realization of some kind to strike me. I don’t mean to suggest that it should be an inspirational piece or anything that moves me; I just want to feel that there is some kind of attention to the idea of telling a story.

I found myself sincerely trying to enjoy this, I even read it rapidly in a lengthy car ride, but I just could not get past the fact that I feel like Tao Lin’s writing serves to be something I will never understand. Is he trying to be something new and radical or on the verge of some kind of counter-cultural revolution? I guess that’s possible. But that’s not the sort of thing that concerns me when I want to read a story. I want to feel something, whether it’s some sort of thought or mood or even some vague description of an idea. I just want to be able to put the book down and come to an understanding of what I’ve read. I don’t get that with this story. Sure, at parts it has amusing lines, at parts the frequent tags of “the Spanish man” or “the African American man” made me want to jump out of a window, at parts I was somewhere in between if I was being told a story or a large anecdote. Overall though, I was mostly reading so I could finish it.

I realize that this review is completely based on my personal tastes in literature being vastly different than what Tao Lin chooses to write. I choose to say my piece because a review has to be honest. There is no sense in beating around the bush, I don’t like this book. I will say that Lin’s ability to continually write and be appreciated is beyond admirable. In fact, I am absolutely hoping he continues to sell well. I’m not sure exactly how that works. Whatever the case, you might like the book, you might hate it, but Tao Lin is definitely one of a kind. You just have to decide what that means for yourself.

We would like to thank Tao Lin for the opportunity to review his newest work. Check out his art work, prior works of fiction & poetry.

In addition we would also like you to enjoy these MP3s from Voxhaul Broadcast. Thanks to Daytrotter for the link.

A Broad Update

It's basketball season & at one time this meant something. It meant Jordan would throw the ball down low to the ever dominate Bill Wennington. It meant doing spin moves in floppy socks down my hallway. It meant mesh jerseys over my hoodies. But today it means the Knicks don't even have hope. It means Jordan is in Florida on the 18th with a G on a birdie. And most importantly, it means that The Broad Set is already preparing for their spring explosion. We'll never get off the ground at this pace, thus The Broad Set has taken a nod from the Airbus A300 in that we must be going 300km/h for take off. Pack a toothbrush.

Last Friday, Brewed Addiction on Main Street in Manasquan N.J. hosted us for what seems like our 100th reading. We premiered our 3rd Magazine and enjoyed lovely stories of road graters, doorless closet sex, vampires and young lovelessness. Thanks to our readers & everyone who came out!

Important Et cetera:

- The Broad Set will soon we working with Pangur Ban Party on an E-Book. This is in the beginning stages but we will update you as things come together.

- Be on the look out for reviews of Tao Lin's Shoplifting FAA and Stephen Elliott's Adderall Diaries. & below there is a review of Sam Savage's Cry of The Sloth.

- There is Literature Blacked Out event on November 21st at Milo's apartment. Contact Milo for details.

- An interview with Shane Jones of Light Boxes! (We're very excited!!)

- Avalanche Tinder 3 with special guests to be announced.

- Future readings & a magazine & book tour.

- New website&layout&URL in January!

- & more use of "&"

**For the most current updates, check our twitter **

Review of Cry of the Sloth

I saw the book The Cry of the Sloth by Sam Savage in Barnes and Noble. Being a fan of these majestic creatures and fearing for the safety of the fictional one that surely laid within the confines of the novel I read the back cover. I quickly surmised that it was about an aging gentleman writer/landlord/editor during the recessionary Nixon years living alone and slowly going crazy through alcohol and loneliness. Seeing that art imitated my life I decided to give the book a go.

The story is told through the writings of Andrew Whittaker. From the story he is working on, to signs for his tenants asking them to not kick the washing machines we discover an increasingly cranky and sad man past his prime trying to scrape by in a small town he lives. The book is sprinkled with pathetic letters to his ex wife asking for money, his awkward advances towards an aspiring writer and his promotions for a possibly fictional literary event (including interrupting several poetry readings by standing on stage and telling them so in a loud voice).

As the novel continues the reader sees the ever increasing lows that Andrew has sunk to, but are still compelled to find him redeeming. His antics and lack of social skills are hilarious (particularly when he writes to the local paper to correct their misinterpretations of his erratic behavior) but when we see grocery lists that include turkey necks, a new life and the novel becomes grounded. By showing us only what his character writes, Savage provides a unique window into the man’s life; we have only his words to make a picture of Andrew. Like adjusting an old TV it is difficult to get a clear picture of the man. The contradictions between letters alone make it frustrating to pin the man down. Is he really as depressed as we are lead to believe with his letters to his ex wife Jolie? Or is he really as charming as he can be in his letters to the aspiring writer Fern? It is up to the reader to determine for themselves which Andrew they’d like to believe in.

If you are a writer living alone, want to be a writer living alone, any other creative type of person or interested in crazy people in general you should check this novel out. Sam Savage has crafted a likeness of a man both deep and shallow, depressing and hilarious. I advise you to check it out.

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Listening to "Interstate 8" by Modest Mouse

The Dolphin Diary

As our fearless leader Pete mentioned in his most recent post, I will be publishing my latest creation, The Dolphin Diary, in installments. He suggested that I post each entry on this blog, but I got to thinking.

I would rather not completely invade this space with my work and run everyone else off the page, so instead I have created my own splinter blog, a sector of The Broad Set Writing Collective.

So now, to see daily installments of The Dolphin Diary, written by yours truly, head here: http://pmdolphindiary.blogspot.com/, and check it out! I stuck with Blogger, so please feel free to use your accounts and give me some winning feedback. Thanks folks!

Last week The Broad Set was lucky enough to read at The Random Tea Room. We would like to sincerely thank Becky for having us. The Tea Room was beautiful. There were Buddhas, Black & White Photography, Chinese Dragons, (I bought a teal one) and textured fruits. Even the bathroom was filled with unique art. If you're in Philadelphia, stop by!

We had a nice crowd and we even got the chance to see our friend Nmandi. He has a new book coming out titled The Facebook Addiction. The book has a symbiotic relationship to his blog which allows your experience as a reader to grow. Check out an excerpt from his book here.


We would also like to announce that on November 6th, The Broad Set will be reading at Brewed Addiction in Manasquan NJ. We will be premiering Avalanche Tinder 2, reading, giving away free copies, having a book give away and our famous grab bag. We have made it our goal to bring the fun to literary events while keeping the intelligence and insights that literary events are known for. Follow us on Twitter for all the latest details.

Stay tuned to The Broad Set for installments of The Dolphin Diaries by Dr. Mullin. And check out this rare Conor Oberst track. Happy Halloween everyone! See you on the 6th!

To Mr. Jefferson, On Newark, NJ.

Dear Mr. Randolph Jefferson,

Boy, does your name sound like you're a giant TOOLBAG. Let me tell you something about Newark; If that guy says he glows a creamy orange, it's probably because he's a Flyers fan, living in a Devil's playground. But guess what, I'm a mother-fucking Rangers fan. Lundqvist is THE SHIT!

Now, as a hockey fan myself, I have traveled by lovely (and what I really mean is piece-of-shit) NJ Transit all the way to Newark, where I think I'm more likely to get shot than I am to trip on the sidewalk, sacrificing my life to witness the Rangers in all their glory. I love watching them beat the shit out of the Devils at their home- The Prudential Center. Let me tell you, Newark blows. Ever wondered why everybody says New Jersey sucks? Well, look at where the fucking airport lands you! It's a wasteland! The only thing going for Newark's clean-up is the Pru-Center, which I will admit, is far better than MSG. I wouldn't bother to walk anywhere else but from the train station to the rink, and back. As for outside of that, as we say in the Big Apple, fuggettaboutit. Hell, Devils ain't even got enough fans to fill the place!

And who the fuck are you, bringing a bag of moles to your fiance's father? Where do you live? I'll find you and call PETA on your ass! I bet your house smells like a corpse! How many dead rodents do you store in your fridge? Sorry, wait, did I say house? I meant to say trailor, you hillbilly! I hope you eat those moles and catch e-coli and die. I sure hope Darwin was right, that your ways of living will eventually kill-off people like you and save the rest of the world for normal people like me. How is it that some trailor-towing low-life like you writes with better English than a New Yorker like me? You're probably one of those people on America's Most Wanted list. I guess I'll keep an eye out for you when you kill your wife and end up on the news, you creep.

Sincerely,

Dominic J. Gambino.

An Open Letter to Milo Stevens

Dear Mr. Stevens,

I must say that usually your work provides me with a steady flow of laughter and a deep introspective look into the souls of the hooligans that surround the Broad Set Writing Collective. My wife, her name is Candice, and I regularly relish your updates to the website on Sunday Nights. We have scheduled our weekly dose of reading your material right after Andy Rooney's wonderful column on 60 Minutes.

On this day, October 18th, in the year of our Lord 2009, I find something written by you which must be addressed. I must say that your "Letter to Ellen Page" was rather charming in the sense that it only seemed slightly plausible that you wanted to chop off her skin and wear it. In a way, Candice and I find those sorts of notions at least potentially charming. We were born in a trailer park that was surrounded by tall mountains and forests which blocked out the sun. In fact, your argument for marriage is a sound one. I courted Candice in a similar manner, only I presented her father with a bag full of dead moles to demonstrate my ability to provide for her. He decided that would be enough and gave me the title to her soul (as we grew up in a simpler time).

What I cannot abide, however; is your slanderous comments directed at my current hometown of Newark, New Jersey. Sir, your assertion that the city somehow causes you to glow a creamy orange color is not only preposterous, it is also beyond offensive. This city is on an up-swing. If you don't believe me, go to Corey Booker's house and knock on his door. He will most likely invite you in for scones and tell you things are better than ever. He is also the mayor, meaning he would never lie about anything. There are also a myriad of places to go, from the Prudential Center, to the building across the street from the Prudential Center. It is a delight. Sir, if in the future you are looking for that glow you speak of, eat multiple sources of beta carotene and leave my city out of your misguided notions.

Good Day,
Randolph Jefferson IV

Letter to Ellen Page

Dear Ms. Ellen Page, star of Juno, Hard Candy, and some other movie that I haven’t seen yet,

Hello. I’m sure you don’t know me but I am glad to inform you of the following fact: you were born 3 whole days after me. Yes, 3 days after I entered this world, so you followed. I am sure that you’re aware that the ramifications for just such an event can only mean one thing: you and I are soulmates.

Indeed, save your protestations and hear my many and most logical of arguments. We already have much in common. You are a Pisces in the astrological arts and I just missed the day for being an official Pisces by a mere day or something. You are a famous, beautiful movie actress. I am a drunk and a teacher of the social studies who is already losing his hair. Based off your character in Juno we both take quite a few pregnancy tests. (That last one is a joke, in case your sense of humor is not as sharp as mine. As we are both aware “Juno” took only a handful of pregnancy tests in the beginning of the film whereas I have taken as many as 16 in one afternoon. Life can be dull in New Jersey)

I hope you don’t think this letter too forward of me but I just had to write to you and tell you the joyous news. I will soon be moving out of my mother’s apartment and was wondering if you had a preference for where we would live. I know you may be used to some Canadian country villa or cozy Californian cottage but I’d like to stay in New Jersey, preferably close to Newark as it makes my skin glow a creamy orange.
I await your reply and packages.

Always your soul mate,

Milo Stevens.