Professor Beller Encounters a Question

 

Thomas Beller, writing professor at Tulane, was once a bright Manhattan literary star. Tulane, for all its prestige, is something of a comedown for a literary personality with a career once so promising. Like Scott in Hollywood, he believes.

At least Professor Beller has his teaching assignments.

His classes of wonderful young seedlings keep him occupied. The students require a large amount of literary watering. They're paying substantial sums of money to acquire a worthless degree. Part of Beller's job is keeping away from their fragile minds this realization.

It's a wonderful world. Because he's Mr. Beller, everything at all times must be forever wonderful. He subscribes to a literary philosophy that says everything about today's literary world is wonderful. Sunshine and puppies. Cotton candy and happy memories.

"This book sucks!" a student remarks about a book of poems, Actual Air, by Thomas Beller friend  David Berman. "Air! It surely is. The book is all air! There's nothing here."

Professor Beller, looming large and unwieldy in the Tulane classroom, takes a step back, gathering his thoughts in the room's light.

"Er, I should tell you that David is actually a very good friend of mine," Professor Beller reminds the young pupil with a grimaced mock-casual smile. "Believe it or not, David Berman's little book has been highly praised. Most recently by me! Friendships are, you know, crucially important in the writing game."

Professor Beller puts his hands in his pockets and adopts the Gregory Peck nonchalant attitude Beller imagines a university writing professor should take. The little seedlings!

"What do you think of Amanda Hocking selling one million DIY ebooks with no writing degree?" another student queries.

"Who? What?" Thomas Beller asks, blinking.

He's truly curious. Is this Hocking someone he knows from New York City? From an "Open City" party? How could someone sell that many books and have no connection to New York City? It occurs to Professor Beller they're drifting into prohibited territory.

"Let's turn to page 879 of the DFW masterpiece," he tells them, scrambling furiously through the unwieldy book's unwieldy pages.

McSweeney's Builds Cathedral

THE CULT OF THE DAVE

Disappointed that he's not being considered for the Pope job, for which he believes he's eminently qualified, McSweeney's cult leader Dave Eggers is overseeing the construction of a gigantic new cathedral in San Francisco, in the vicinity of Valencia Street. Cult members on the sidewalk nearby, who were hawking the cult's propaganda brochure, The Believer, were asked about the impressive cathedral, rumored to be named "Church of the Naive Reader." While tinkling bells, banging on drums and shouting "Hare Eggers, Hare Hare," brainwashed McSweeneyites said they looked forward to holding their religious services more openly. "It's a wonderful belief system," one told Literary Circus. "We accept everything. We're expected to always be happy. One is not required to think."

ULA Bigger Pariah than North Korea?

A new study indicates that renegade writers group Underground Literary Alliance (ULA) may be a bigger pariah than North Korea.

We're waiting for Dennis Rodman to reach out.

Spot the Maniac!

In an essay about David Berman in the 12/13/12 Tablet magazine, establishment writer Thomas Beller called the editor of The Literary Circus "a maniac."

Curiously, a photograph exists with both myself and Thomas Beller in it. The photo was taken after an Underground Literary Alliance appearance at Housing Works in New York City.

Said photo is presented above. On the left is myself, next to another underground writer. Facing us is . . . OMG! The real maniac is: Thomas Beller.

Snobby Editor Joins POWW!

According to unverified reports, uber-snob New York-based magazine editor Alana Newhouse has added her name to the new Protect Our Wealthy Writers! organization designed to wipe away all trace of the Underground Literary Alliance, and, really, of all literary dissent anyplace.

"Spell my name right!" she yells over the phone to uber-tool POWW! organizer Tom Bissell. "One L! One N! And the last name is not Newman. Get it? Not Newman!"

The phone cuts out. POWW! organizer Bissell wonders. Has she really joined us? Was that a Yes? Should I put her name on the POWW! list? If it wasn't a Yes, and we put her name on our list, will Alana Newman be unhappy?

Great Writer Discovered

The U.S. literary world has decided it has a great writer after all. A great civilization like America has to have a great writer.

The selected candidate fits two important requirements.

1.) His work is unreadable, so no one can tell for sure how bad or good it is.

2.) He's dead.