Bad Publicity

Dear Media People Whose Names I Found on Mastheads:

Everyone asks me, "What's your novel about?" And I always answer, "It's about 300 pages!"  I don't know, someone laughed at that once. Tell me if I should drop it.

Anyhoo, I think you should totally cover it in your book review. Wait, do you have a book review still? I thought they were all closing down, because, you know, your industry is dying. Sorry—our industry. On that note, if you ever find yourself out of a job, let me know and I'll see what I can do. And vice versa, right?

Here's a link to the YouTube video trailer for the book. Isn't it ironic—using the very medium that's destroying literature to promote it? Actually, is that the definition of "ironic"? I know people mess that up all the time, like Alanis Morissette and Winona Ryder and probably every other iconic nineties brunette. Isn't it ironic that I just rhymed it with "iconic"?

I've set up a book tour for myself that I hope you'll publish along with your review. Although I wasn't able to land any brick and mortar bookstores. More like libraries. School libraries. Nursery school libraries. I'll be reading to passersby when I get breaks from substitute-supervising recess, so the tour schedule is subject to change. Stay tuned to my Twitter for updates, once I figure out how to set up an account.

As for the novel itself, it's a lyrical, searching journey into the heart of a woman's unrequited desires set against the backdrop of a nation divided by ... Sorry, I was plagiar--I mean emulating jacket copy from a few Oprah books. Do any of you know Oprah, by the way? If you do, and feel like mentioning something about the book, well, let's just put it this way: Go ahead. 

Gosh, I'm sure I should say more about the book, but it's been so long since I wrote it, and I haven't really had the urge to reread it. To be honest, I was zonked out on a cocktail of Vicodin and codeine through most of the writing process, thanks to a few root canals and a dentist who got his degree in the Virgin Islands. As I recall, the hero watches a lot of daytime talk shows in the background, and procrastinates on Wikipedia, and texts friends about that night's plans. Or maybe that's what I was doing at the time. But I do know that it's a sort of Fellini-esque art-merging-with-life metafiction. There is definitely an exciting confrontation of some kind in it--I think it's a policeman and an icepick killer. Or an ice-cream man and a police-killer. Something like that.

You know what? I don't want to influence you. You read it, and form your own opinion. I guess I should say "opinions," since I always try to write correctly and am mass e-mailing this letter out indiscriminately.

I'm available for interviews. At noonish--or even after one--is a good time. 


Teddy Wayne is the author of the novel "Kapitoil," available from Harper Perennial.

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Books, CDs, DVDs to know about now
Paradise and Elsewhere

Canadian short story marvel Kathy Page proves herself to be the Alice Munro of the supernatural, in these heartfelt tales of shapeshifting swimmers, mild-mannered cannibals, and personality-shifting viruses transmitted through kisses.


When a persuasive pastor arrives in a sleepy farm town, his sage influence has otherworldly results (talking sheep, a mayor who walks on water). But can he pull off the miracle of finding kindly local Liz Denny the love of her life?  Small town wonder looms large in this charmer from Andre Alexis.

The Hundred-Year House

When a poetry scholar goes digging through the decrepit estate of his wife's family to uncover a bygone arts colony's strange mysteries, he awakens a tenacious monster: his mother-in-law. A wickedly funny take on aging aristocracies from author Rebecca Makkai (The Borrower).