Links, baby, links

Now I feel that summer is here. The evenings are gorgeous, the rain held off last night so I could hear the bluesy rock guitar strains of Colin James and the giddy fervor that Wyclef invoked in a reefer-mad crowd (Ottawa, and pot. No, it’s not just you, they really don’t go together. But some people persist in believing otherwise…) Cute guys were spotted. Old friends turned up unexpectedly. Bryan Adams was mocked from a distance. Life is good.

To the links: The Edward Jones cult crosses the Atlantic, and the Guardian meets the introverted author who’s been showered–deservedly so–with zillions of accolades for the National Book Award-winning THE KNOWN WORLD. I could wax on about how much I adored this book, but hell, you get the point….

Another bitchfight in the works? Judith Sackville-O’Donnell gets pissed off with Australian megastar Bryce Courtenay for his fictional portrayal of the figure who inspired Dickens’ Fagin (in OLIVER TWIST) and essentially claims Courtenay was being derogatory to Jews in the novel. Yikes.

Jennifer Donnelly’s A GATHERING LIGHT just took home the Carnegie Prize for children’s lit in a bit of an upset victory. She talks to the Telegraph’s Helen Brown about her long road to publication and success.

Don Lee’s COUNTRY OF ORIGIN has been getting a ton of buzz lately, and Alan Cheuse reviews it for NPR.

John Birmingham’s WEAPONS OF CHOICE was picked as one of Time’s “Ten Trashy Reads” for the summer a few days ago. The Sydney Morning Herald catches up with Birmingham, who’s not at all displeased by the news, saying “I eat these novels like M&M’s, mate, and I have been doing it secretly, shamefully for years.”

Julie Burchill writing about lesbian sex? Well, sorta, as she’s penning a book for teens about grappling with the issue, except somehow the interview makes her come off as even more naff than usual. Also, for those keeping score, Burchill, who used to be married to Tony Parsons, had a six-month affair with Charlotte Raven, whose brother is now Burchill’s fiance. OK, I need my coffee, like, now….

Bill Clinton went to London, and lots and lots and lots of people queued up to get their doorstops signed by him. Why am I linking to this again? Dunno, because it’s there….

Clea Simon reviewed two recent reissues of Robert Wilson’s Africa-based novels for the Boston Globe. The verdict? She liked ’em.

And finally, enough already. Michael Phelps is not Mark Spitz ca. 1972, he is Mark Spitz ca. 1968. He may win lots of medals, but geez, give the kid a break.