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 This edition of our newsletter has everything. And I mean, everything. Okay, fine — not everything. But it does have lots of stuff, like an interview with Colum McCann, signed first editions of Zoli, the Top 5s of 2006 (hand-picked by the fine folks at Powell's), plus Q&As with Joanna Scott (Everybody Loves Somebody) and Eric Dezenhall (Spinning Dixie), and guest blogger Anthony Swofford (Exit A). You can see why we got confused there for a minute — I mean, that's almost everything, isn't it?
 
NEW ARRIVALS
An Open Letter to My 2006 Calendar
Dear Calendar, Well, this is it. We've come to the end. The year 2006 has been gone for over a week now, and I guess it's finally time to put you away. My office-mates have anonymously donated a whole pile of 2007 calendars, which tells me they're ready to move on, even if I'm not. I realize it's been an entire year. I should feel like we've shared this time to the fullest, but I really don't. I should be sick of you by now, but I'm really not. Flipping back through your pages, I stumble across August and am struck by all the pleasure and pain we shared last summer. Yes, the summer of 2006 was excruciatingly hot, but I could fight the heat knowing you hung resiliently at my side. Regrets, I have a few. Despite all my hopes, 2006 was not the year that "Brock Hard!," the big-screen adaptation of my unpublished autobiography, went into production, starring me as myself. But you leave me with hope for 2007, even if you won't be sharing my ultimate triumph with me. Please don't take it personally that I have to throw you out now. There's no malice, none at all, I swear. We've had good times together. They've meant something. I'm even donating you to the recycle bin, in the hopes that you will go to a processing plant and return to me as a 2008 calendar. Most likely I won't recognize you. And, since I have no idea what reincarnation is like for paper products, perhaps you won't know me, either. Perhaps there will be an inkling, as I flip past the never-used December 2007 page and hang January 2008 on my wall. Just a flicker of mutual recognition, even an unconscious one. We'll pause a moment, neither of us quite sure what has just transpired. Then we'll go on with our days, unaware of the connection simmering beneath the surface. Each month I'll reflect fondly on the time we've shared as I turn to the newest portrait of yet another fake-tanned, plastic-looking, ridiculously disproportional model in a barely-there bathing suit, and our bold, grand, eternal adventure will continue.
Sincerely,
From the Authors: SAVE 30%
 
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IN OUR NEXT EDITION:
An interview with Paul Auster (Travels in the Scriptorium).
An original essay by Julia Scheeres (Jesus Land).
A sale on Christopher Moore titles.
"My night vision rules," Bagheera says.
All three cats, Fup and Bear, and Oreo, who's boxing ficus leaves in the corner, go on talking amongst themselves — and they'll continue to talk, Bagheera knows, until he gives up bragging about his night vision. Fup is mumbling about Ottawa Park in Toledo. Bear argues persuasively for and against leash laws (cats are of mixed minds, don't let the media fool you). Oreo stands on two legs, punching, taunting, "Jab, jab. Jab, left hook!" Fine, Bagheera will wait. But last night in the park blocks, no one else saw the owl.
Please send questions, comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, and unconstructive criticism to newsletter@powells.com. Go ahead, we can take it.
PowellsBooks.news Copyright 2007 Powells.com
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