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the linguist’s demoncat Saturday, in Paso Robles, we climbed out of the Jeep — open-air, blue skies, no better way to fly — and because of certain, ahem, needs, went inside the library. The libary in Paso is not a particularly notable building, though the great crater in its parking lot is of some interest. As the story goes, four or five years ago an earthquake opened up a natural hotsprings beneath the library. It has never been sealed, and to this day, especially in warm weather, Paso smells deliciously like eggs gone bad. Very, very bad. Inside the library, tasks attended to, we decided to get Felicia a library card. It is her first since moving to California a whole bunch of years before I did, and I would like to point out that I had a card. I just don’t use it, since I have a bad habit of returning library books in a late fashion, and libraries have a bad habit of holding me responsible for that habit. As the strangely earnest librarian established a line of literary credit in her name, Felicia pointed out a book in the return stacks. It was titled The Memory-Keeper’s Daughter or some such bullshit, and I pointed out that this is a lazy, uninspired trend in book-naming, and it’s been going on for too long now. The premise is simple. If you can’t think of a name for your book, name it The (insert profession/calling here)’s Daughter (or wife, or lover, or mistress, or lawyer or some other such title). You know the trend I mean: Here is an example. Here is another. And another. And here is the book that started this topic. Still want more? There’s the book that Grady Tripp wrote in Wonder Boys, Arsonist’s Daughter. I could go on, no? We decided to scour the stacks to see who could find the most books that shamelessly follow this trend. We ended up searching less than half a shelf each before we gave up, bored by the game, and by the library’s bad habit of labeling over book titles, making the game way too much work with too little reward. It has been a good weekend, and will stretch into tomorrow as well, what with tomorrow being a holiday and all. Felicia is sick, and has slept for a whole lot of the past few whole lot of hours. Me, I’m stupidly awake; it’s nearly two in the morning and I can’t manage a wink of sleep. I blame the nocturnal adventures of this house’s newest kitten, the nefarious Gabby, who pounces on everything crackly the moment I settle into a nice breathing rhythm.
As you can see, Gabby the hellkitten radiates a certain blurry evil even when sitting perfectly still. Nemesises — nemeses? — do not come any more nemesisical than this.
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February 18th, 2008 at 7:33 am
Don’t forget that other wonderful new “No Sh*t Sherlock” trend: BlahBlahBlah: A Novel.
February 18th, 2008 at 5:43 pm
That’s quite a long-running trend, actually. Nobody ever remembers that. The Last of the Mohicans: A Novel. The Hunt for Red October: A Novel. Plato’s Republic: A Novel. Also, you can say ’shit’ on this site. I have issued a decree. It’s on file somewhere.