This is not merely humor derived from words lost in translation.

We are in a recession and this symbolizes the thousands of English majors who are out of work and  could be using their degrees and areas of expertise working as translators.

Our dear Sarah Palin has recently committed some amusing linguistic gaffes via Twitter. I only know about it because even a big, stinky Palin bowel movement is newsworthy these days. But also because I agree with Mr. Orwell and pay attention to how my nation’s (supposed (elected)) leaders (and popular figures) use language.

(Their words tend to be indicative of their thoughts.)

First, Palin used refudiate instead of repudiate. Then had the gall, not to simply giggle, apologize, and correct herself, but to compare herself to Shakespeare and remind all of us simpletons that English is a living language.

Golly gee.

Then she used cackle instead of gaggle.

These are all understandable blunders. Just the other day I conflated “goodbye” with “later” and ended up telling a friend, “Glater!”

These things happen.

But with Sarah Palin they happen frequently and with a disappointing focus on being clear, concise, and correct. But most of all honest. And sincere.

This poor command of diction is no surprise however to those close to her who fear she may be suffering from a debilitating relapse into the confusing and tormenting world of a Salvia addiction.

More importantly, hopefully you have read the various words he has strung together. Perhaps you recall his Oprah Book Club snub for the very good “The Corrections.” Perhaps you are aware of his new book, “Freedom,” and the glowing praise it has received.

A masterpiece of American fiction???

Well, certain females have taken issue with such gratuitous and potentially sexist adulation.

Jennifer Weiner, in particular, put out a call for non-Franzen novels that deal with similarly Franzen themes of family, identity, and love. I assume she is looking for novels written by the non-Franzen gender as well.

So Authwhore humbly endorses Sophie Dahl’s Playing With The Grown-Ups.

On the other end of the spectrum is of course Marisha Pessl. Remember that atrocity?

Jodi Picoult too has been implicated in this controversy. I am loose, eager, and easy when it comes to reading, so get ready for my assessment of Picoult’s contribution in this matter.

Good thing books won’t be around much longer.

What a relief.

Hilarious. Superbly written. Short.

As I did with Millhauser’s Martin Dressler, I will not needlessly carry on. It is the mark of a poor work that so much need be said about it. I shall not gild the lily.

But Dangerous Laughter is damn fine. Damn fine.

The stories “Cat ‘N’ Mouse” and “Here at the Historical Society” are funnier than anything written by David Sedaris, Sarah Vowell, Augusten Burroughs, etc, etc, et al.

(I mean, who are the “funny” writers these days? Carl Hiassen? George Saunders? Chuck Klosterman?

Steven Millhauser is not only funnier. He’s better.)

In the titular story, youth engage in secretive drug-esque “laughter parties.” They soon experiment with crying.

In “Here at the Historical Society,” said members defend their recent exhibits detailing the “New Past,” i.e. the minutiae pertaining to the immediate just now.

In “A Change in Fashion,” woman’s fashion is parodied to the point of featuring a 3-story dress.

Are you not entertained?

Steven Millhauser’s appeal lays in his style. His diction is plain and straightforward. He is a master of the subtle. His language is descriptive and “literary” but in a simple manner that hints at humanity’s self-absorption and importance. Everything is relayed in the most thoughtful, perfect manner. Stories retain elements of the surreal and otherworldly, the quirky and impossible even, but the language is straightforward and respectful, never revealing the impossibility and joy of, well, life itself I suppose.

In an era where I feel as if each book I read may be the last printed with ink and bound in glue, Steven Millhauser is refreshing. His prose is classic yet modern. Straightforward and matter of fact. It is confident and severe but playful and entertaining. Millhauser is a reminder that mere words (thoughts) can be quite entertaining and incisive. There are no burdensome devices or unnecessary attention-getters. It is all about the language with Millhauser. Whether he is writing about a cartoon cat and mouse or an ambitious young man, he does so simply and evocatively.

But do you know what ratiocination means? I did not upon encountering it in a collection of short stories by O. Henry. (There were many, many words I did not know while plowing through the delights that is a collection of stories by William Sydney Porter ((but more on that later)).

But ratiocination. That’s a word. Don’t let it scare you. It’s pronounced rash-ee-os-uh-ney-shuhn.

And given its meaning, it deserves special attention in light of the obtuse, frenzied world we live.

Ratiocination is the process of logical reasoning.

Do not read it. It is long. It is boring. It is disappointing. It is safe. It is easy. It is pointless. It has no edge.

2010 ytd, I can only recommend Reality Hunger.

And White Hotel. But that’s from 1981. The ’80s generated a lot of marvelous creations, yours truly being one of the many significant yet underrated entities in question from that special time.

I Hotel is cumbersome, disjointed, schizophrenic, frustratingly sprawling, and lacking in cohesion. There are no compelling protagonists. There is a lot of telling and very little storytelling. It’s just all over the place and entirely overwhelming in the worst of ways. It is a big book of very little, suffering from what must certainly be at this point some kind of Asian-American authorial cliche to engage in sprawling multi-generational sagas.

Acknowledging this irrefutable mediocrity, Yamashita apologizes in the Afterword: “Thus the structure I chose for the book is based on such multiple perspectives, divided into ten novellas or ten “hotels.” Multiple novellas allowed me to tell parallel stories, to experiment with various resonant narrative voices, and to honor the complex architecture of a time, a movement, a hotel, and its people.”

First of all: hogwash. Borrring! Obnoxious MFA semantic posturing. You should honor the complex architecture of your novel!

Second of all: The afterword is better written than the novel.

It takes a publication more mainstream than Authwhore to make such things official, but whatever. The novella is back. According to this beast and the Daily Beast. And flavorpill.

It’s about time the publishing industry and the other 7 readers in the country catch up to Authwhore’s sophisticated taste. I like novellas because I have a short attention span. I’m easily bored. Short story collections are always favored, but novellas are nice too. Do yourself a favor and indulge in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Memories of My Melancholy Whores.” 128 pages. You’re in, you’re out. And it’s just not a good title unless there’s a whore in it…

Books. Novels. Such boring, stodgy connotations they have. Novella is smooth and sexy. But most importantly short. With all the good elements of novels without any of the bad components of poetry.

flavorpill’s list of classic novellas should get us started…

Man, the more I think about it, the more I hate long books. And long movies, long meetings, long lines, and long hair.

Cut your hair you hippies!

Parse your words you writers!!

My sensibilities would be truly satisfied if we can get some decent works published in mass market. There’s a few out there, but not enough. I love mass market paperbacks. I can go and do things with a mass market that would ruin a Nookindle.