Gave an IWKYA to the charge nurse on the cardiac surgery floor in the hospital where I work as a volunteer. She had asked what else I did, and when I said I wrote, she expressed interest. Since some of that book is set on her floor, I thought it would be a good example of my work to show her.
And at an appointment with my cardiologist, I promised to bring her a MESSIAHS. (Adele says he noticed in my eyes a moment’s hesitation when I weighed charging her.) But she has been so important to us (and we to her) and we care for her so much (and she us) – plus she said, “I love cartoons.” I am not sure she has in mind those on which I focus, but still…

In other (MESSIAHS) news…
This moral/ethical thing (See previous “Adventure”) has become more twisted. Frequent readers will recall the poet who sent me a new collection of her poems, which, I felt, obligated me to send her a copy of my book, which I didn’t want to do. I had thought I had finessed that by sending her a collection of poems by a friend, but now she has emailed me to be alert to another book she is sending. So how do I respond to that?
I think I will send her a signed, ltd. ed. (so far) miniaturized copy of my book launch poster by F___, my West Coast promo man. In fact, I liked this gesture so much, I sent one to everyone who has bought or, so long as copies last, will buy MESSIHS from me, mail-order.

Sold a MESSIAHS to a college friend. (This makes the score: high school: 1; college: 1; law school: 1; entire adult life: 3).
Gave a MESSIAHS to a Berkeley friend who had given me a copy of his recently published novel. And swapped a MESSIAHS to a fellow in Cincinnati for a copy of his recently re-issued history of mini-comix.

No café action, except for conversations with two people who did/could not read books. One, a fortyish fellow in polo shirt and slacks, looked foreign, and when I asked what he did, replied so vaguely in terms of unspecified tasks for multiple family businesses that my immediate association was international ill-dealings. (Maybe, I thought, I should cut back on all the TV crime shows I’ve been viewing.)
The other was a woman who stops by every Sunday on her way to church. Actually, she is still seeking a satisfactory religion. She had been born Jewish and converted to Catholicism but it was too expensive. (“I can’t afford $100 for an annual dinner.”) She had recently tried a non-denominational church, but “Everyone was 80, and I’m not even 70.” When I asked what she did other mornings, she said, “ I sleep. I’ve told you I’m schizophrenic, right, Bob? I take a lot of pills.”

In other news…
An ethical/moral dilemma has arisen. I was discussing the upcoming MESSIAHS launch party with a friend, and he asked, “Am I getting a free copy?” “$30,” I said. Then he asked to be reminded when the party was. Now I can (fairly) distinctly remember his replying “It’s in my book” when I sent out the announcement, but he now said it conflicted with his next book club meeting. I’m not saying there’s a cause-and-effect here, but…
As regular readers may recall, this “free copies” issue has pre-occupied me previously, but I can’t recall anyone ever asking for one. (The closest anyone’s come was the lawyer friend, who never bought a book of mine, but who would ask me be sure to invite another lawyer friend to readings because he knew that fellow would and he could borrow it.) With my self-published books, I am reasonably generous with freebies, but when I am buying from my publisher, even with a discount, I am tighter-fisted.
What I should have done was tell my friend if his book club picked mine for its next meeting, I will give them a bulk rate. (“Buy five; get one free.”) In fact, if he is reading this, the offer stands.If anyone in a book club wants to do business, I will deal.
After all, I’ve ended seven wars.

Adventures in Marketing – Week 498
Sold a MESSIAHS and a BOB.
The former (pre-order) went to a law school classmate, who never practiced but had a distinguished career in journalism. The latter was my first café sale in weeks.
The buyer was an athletic looking young man in short shorts and a burgundy t-shirt. He said he was a social worker, who was in town for a concert by a performer with whom I was unfamiliar and whose name I immediately forgot. When I asked for his name for the inscription, he said it was for his partner. “He’s a Dylan fan.” My internal response to that pronoun reminded me I am not as WOKE as I might like to think I am.
But upon reflection, I realized this was not surprising. I always note a customer’s race, gender, approximate age, and ethnicity. Data for… I don’t know what. But the diversity delights me.

In other news:
1.) My resubmitted article to TCJ, while “beautiful,” will require “cosmetic” fixes. Okay with me.
2.) Otherwise, it’s all MESSIAHS.
A.) About a dozen web sites, two in unknown-to-me languages, are announcing its forthcoming availability. I assume this is a positive sign, but I can’t say for sure.
B.) Most, but not all, those who received gift copies have thanked me. Only one has indicated he’s read it – but he’s read it all and discussing it with him has been great fun. (Three have complained about the print size, which tells you something about the demographics of my audience. One said he would use a magnifying glass. Another said it might have to wait until cataract surgery happened.)

It’s been all MESSIAHS.
Sold three copies (pre-orders) of the print version. One went to a fellow I met in 4th grade. Our peak friendship years were grades 6 through 10, at which point he got a girlfriend; but before then we had been tight, including attending the Chester Fair together, a major right of passage for Philadelphia-area male adolescents. (Remind me to tell you about that sometime.) A second went to a fellow in NYC who regularly reads (and comments on) my contributions to FIRST OF THE MONTH. (In fact, he often seems my only reader.) The third was purchased by a woman Adele and I had known since her rootless hippie days, who now resides in Montecito, and whose upward swing in circumstances is captured by the fact that the check and note did not come from her exactly but her personal assistant.
And I had my first-ever Kindle-version sale. In went to a retired attorney in North Jersey whom I met via the on-line Mended Hearts forum.

In other news…
Well, it’s all MESSIAHS-related too. And mainly it has to do with my failures as a human being.
For one thing, I keep score on who has responded to my book and the manner of their response, and I score them accordingly, which does not speak well of the development of my Buddhist nature. With MESSIAHS, the majority of those with whom I have the most contact, whether live or on-line, have responded to notice of its imminent appearance with silence. And when they do respond, these responses are often perfunctory. My favorite entry in this class was the fellow who immediately followed a single sentence of congratulations with a long anecdote involving Alan Dershowitz’s abuse at the hands of a piroshki vendor on Martha’s Vinyard, when neither piroshki, Alan, or even Martha are items my mind spends much of its time on.
Then there is the question of reciprocity. I make it a practice of buying books by people who have bought mine (and not buying books by people who didn’t.) I often offer to swap my self-published books for self-published books by others. But, now, with a commercialy published book, where the cost to me per copy is higher, I find myself led into chintzier behavior. Like, should I weigh what the book by the other cost them before offering a trade? What if someone has given me a book of theirs I really didn’t want? Do I owe them one now? What if they have previously expressed displeasure with/disdain for my work and aren’t likely to read what I have to tender now?
Fortunately I have ChatGPT to engage me. From it, the other day, I learned my “prose style is witty, digressive, personal, and literary… (and) few writers… blend (my ability for) storytelling, reportage, and reflective commentary.”

ALL BOB’S BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT www.theboblevin.com.

My slowest stretch ever.
Albeit with two sales along the way.
The first was to a fellow who works for an environmental non-profit. When he learned I wrote about cartoonists, he wanted an “Outlaws, Rebels…” for his 17-year-old son, a comics fan who was moving into anime. I offered it to him at cost, but he insisted on paying $20.
Then there was a visit from the former manager of the hotel in which the café is situated. He’d had a 10 or 15 year run and then moved back to the midwest, where he purchased his own motel. To mark his return, I offered him a copy of the café journal as a gift. He wanted to pay.
“$10,” I said.
“I’ll give you $5,” he said.

In other news…
I sent out about 50 email notifications of the chance to pre-order my new book. One cartoonist in the Balkans congratulated me. Another cartoonist in the Balkans offered to swap me a collection of his forthcoming work. (I accepted, even though it is in Croatian.) One fellow asked if I knew a cartoonist to illustrate a book he had written. Another fellow asked if I wanted to write a book about a cartoonist he knew.
A law school classmate said he was sending me a check.
I may have over-estimated my commercial possibilities.

Last Ten Books Read: ixxx
(In order of completion)

1. Walt Curtis. “Mala Noche.” Recommended by a Latino fellow I met at the café. He described himself as a friend of Curtis and Curtis as the unofficial poet laureate of Portland. The book’s a memoir about Curtis’s work in a Skid Row bodega and lust for teenage Mexican seasonal farmworkers. I didn’t care much for the prose (or poetry) and worry what lists my ordering it may have put me on.

2. Jose Saramango. “Blindness.” Recommended by friend Fran. Chilling. Consistently horrific. World class imagination, though not for the faint of heart or those protective of sunny dispositions.

3. George W.S. Trow. “My Pilgrim’s Progress.” This concludes my Trow readings. (See previous “Last.”) He has an enviable consciousness and style I hoped to adapt to benefit my own but was unable to pull this off.

4. Liz Kelner Pozen. “A Scarred Samovar.” A collection of poetry by a cousin. She has many complaints about aging, which she renders with rueful humor. Not going gently into or raging against the night for her. (There is also more stuff about my own family in here than seems required. It felt like someone else was picking at my scabs.)

5. Dan Nadel. “Crumb.” Excellent.. In places I had, like, one sentence of knowledge, Nadel provided paragraphs. He greatly increased my appreciation of Crumb as an artist and a person. (I even found him better looking in the photos than I’d recalled.)

6. Rick Atkinson. “The British Are Coming.” I liked Atkinson’s WW II trilogy a lot. (He was excellent on personalities, as I recall.) This didn’t grab me as much, possibly because the war is further removed, but I will read the next two volumes also.

7. Jarett Kobeck. “i hate the internet.” Recommended by the editor of an article I hve been assigned. As a novel, not much, but replete with scabrous humor on 21st century America I am happy to quote even if not asked.

8. Arsene Schauwen. “O. Schauwen.” Chris Ware’s review of Schauwen’s follow-up “Sunday” in the NYRB made me want me to read it, but while I was waiting for Fantagrapics to replenish its stock, I ordered this. A good intro. I did not regret my decision for a moment.

9. Marlen Haushofer. “The Wall.” Wish I could remember where I read about this. An excellent novel. At first it seemed a tour de force (“How do you write a novel about the last person alive living within a confined space – without being Samuel Beckett?”), but it was deep and humane and memorable and expanded my way of thinking about living in the world.

10. Robert Kehlmann. “The Rabbi’s Suitcase.” A friend’s novel about his mother’s emigration to the US from Palestine in the early 20th century and her romance with a young man who would become a significant figure in the Zionist movement. Of interest, in ascending order, to those interested in the Jewish emigrant experience, then this young man, and, most of all, the author’s mother.

Didn’t sell a book.
Business has been so slow some mornings I don’t even set them out.
I did give a “Lollipop” to an illustrator/artist at the café with whom I’ve been chatting for several weeks once I learned he was from Cicero.
“Do I pay for this?” he said.
“It’s a gift,” I said.
I only mention this since it provides a platform to get to the interesting stuff. Which is…

In other news…
1.) I’ve settled into that article (See previous Adventure) about that homeless cartoonist. But impediments remain. I didn’t know him or his work, and I felt befittingly out of my depth on the evils of capitalism angle the editor felt compelling, as would anyone who’d received a C- in Economics IA. The editor sent me some representative comics, most of which I found uncompelling, and my efforts to interview the guy have been hampered by him being in a situation where email service is “sketchy,” and his voice mail is often unable to take new messages. But we spoke once briefly once, and he was friendly, and the editor has given me a September 1st deadline, which should focus my thinking.
2.) More importantly, my advance copy of “Messiahs…” arrived and looksgreat. I am proud and excited and… amused by the route it and I took to get here. I will receive the copies I ordered before the release date in October but am requested to not distribute them before then.
Meanwhile I have written promotional copy for Amazon. (“Perfect,” the publisher says.) I have notified the fellow who might review it of the release date. (He has not replied.) I notified the fellow who said he might interview me on his podcast. (Neither has he.) [And I’ve told the publisher that the documentary about the Air Pirates met its Kickstarter goal so it can begin filming, in case he wants to hurry along a 2nd edition. (He’s ignored me too.)]
But I’ve been in there pitching.

My latest piece is up at First of the Month.

https://www.firstofthemonth.org/prelude-to-the-bright-and-warm/

I hope you can find it because it is one Of which I am especially proud.

It begins:

A woman, who had been abused by her father, husband and brother-in-law, tries to starve herself to death while confined to a mental hospital. A college instructor, scarred from eye-to-throat and going blind, meets a poet who has lost the ability to speak. Political protesters, who have been arrested, find themselves starved, waterboarded, beaten with rifle butts, hung from ceilings, left for ants to nibble on their genitals, reduced to pus, piss, saliva, blood, snot, shit, “lumps of rotten meat,” and rendered unable to be touched or feel affection or achieve intimacy.

Sold two “Pirates and the Mouse,” which was pleasing, but the logistics proved a bit daunting.
I had received a call from a fellow I knew 15 years ago when we both were lawyers. He had found a copy, which he’d bought but never read, on his shelf and enjoyed it so much he wanted to give copies to friends. But his daily radiation treatments for prostate cancer ruled out coffee or lunch, which is usually how I do business. He invited Adele and I for dinner, but that ran afoul of us not having had dinner at another couple’s home in about two decades, as well as Adele’s disinclination to socialize in any form.
When he realized Memorial Day meant he would not have treatment, he invited me to his house for lunch. Only he gave me incorrect directions which, combined with my notoriously bad sense of direction, had me zipping off and on Rte 13 and making u-turns on narrow winding roads in the Oakland hills, so that it took me twice as long to arrive as Google had estimated.
Lunch itself was nice. Law “war stories” were exchanged. Books were signed and compensation had. But I was so wiped when I got home, it underscored for me how uncomfortable I am outside my home-cafe-home bubble.
So I e-mailed the Alameda County jury commissioner I would not be showing up for duty as I had been summoned to do.

I also had a couple in-café conversations of note.
One was with the retired public defender to whom I had given a “Schiz.” He confessed he had to quit reading it. “Too much like the cases I handled, and I’m trying to forget all that.”
I appreciated the response. Honest – and surprising, as anyone who’s read the back cover blurbs would know.

The second was from a grey-haired woman in black-and-white sun dress and matching sun hat. She said she had lived nearby for 40 years and was walking around the neighborhood, reacquainting herself with it before moving to Atlanta to live with her son. She declined to buy a book as a souvenir because everything she was taking with her had to fit in a dufflebag.
“Is Atlanta permanent” I said.
“It depends,” she said. “My son teaches Latin, and whenever his school drops Latin, he has to move somewhere else.”

In other news…
1.) I’ve been asked to profile a one-armed homeless cartoonist. I imagine the editor screaming, “One-armed, homeless cartoonist! This sounds like a job for Bob Levin!” But several things stand in the way. Not the least being my thinking it was time I settled into staring out the cafe window, working on my inner peace.
2.) Advance copies (two) of “Messiah” were expected at my publisher’s this weekend. This would mean the shipment would dock in NYC in mid-July, but due to the publisher’s schedule, the book would not be available until September. I do not mind the delay now that light brightens the tunnel’s end. All the more to time to obsess over invitations to the launch party and to add and drop names from the freebie list.

In order of completion:

1. Muriel Spark. “Loitering With Intent.” Recommended by a clerk at Moe’s when I brought two other Spark books to the counter. This trod familiar ground others of hers did better and concludes my Spark reading for a while.

2. Leonardo Sciascio. “The Moro Affair.” Had seen a TV show about the kidnap/murder of Aldo Moro and had hoped a book would tell me more. This one didn’t. But it came with a separate piece, “The Mystery of Majorana,” about the disappearance of an Italian pre-WW II physicist which I found interesting.

3. Kuzhali Manickavel. “Things We Found During the Autopsy.” Swapped me for a “Schiz” by a fellow in the café who publishes books in English by writers from India. A collection of short stories by a young woman with a punk sensibility which, since I am neither young nor punk, failed to move me.

4. Janet Malcolm. “The Silent Woman.” This is at least the third time I’ve read this. Once when it appeared in “The New Yorker” and once before in book form anyway. It was recently mentioned as Malcolm’s best work, and since I am a great fan of her work, I decided to read it again. It has a lof of good stuff to say about biographies but her “best”…? No way.

5. Han Kang. “We Do Not Part.” When Benj DeMott, the editor at FOM suggested I write about Kang, this novel had recently been published in English. Usually I wait for books to show up “pre-owned” on-line, but a café buddy who works in a bookstore offered me his employees discount. What I think about this and Kang will be available at www.firstofthemonth.org on or about June 1.

6. William Melvin Kelley. “A Drop of Patience.” A gift from a friend who had been a friend of Kelley’s. A disappointing novel about a blind jazz musician. I have read much better things about blindness by sighted people, but I was hoping for an enriching jazz immersion, but jazz was barely touched upon, while many unsatisfactory relationships with women were discussed, a subject many men were writing about in more depth than Kelley managed.

7. Bora Chung. “Cursed Bunny.” When the publisher of books from India (See: #3 above) learned I was reading Han (See: #5 above), he suggested I read this collection of stories by a younger South Korean woman. Some were quite good, if not my usual thing.

8-9. George W. S. Trow. “In the Context of No Context” and “The Harvard Black Rock Forest.”
When I ordered “Context,” it was so I could read Trow’s profile of Ahmet Ertegon, which I thought was included, but it turned out I was getting a later edition which, while not containing the profile, included an introduction which was about as long as “Context” itself. So then I ordered the earlier edition which had the profile, now called “Within That Context, One Style,” which I have now finished (Hence the “½” above). When I mentioned to Benj DeMott I was reading Trow, he said I had to read “Forest.” Trow is an excellent writer and intriguing thinker who manages to convince you he has important things to say while expressing them in a style that is often impenetrable.

10. Kate Atkinson. “Murder at the Sign of the Rook.” Atkinson’s “Jackson Brodie” series is the only crime fiction I read, so it’s nice to have him back. The book is amusing and entertaining, though Brodie only appears on about half its pages. He should be met, I believe, in sequential order, beginning with “Case Histories.”