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I come from an ancient time when the first day of school brought a notebook (the kind made of cardstock, not the kind that boots up and makes you look very with-it at the coffee shop) full of syllabi fresh off the mimeograph machine. If you were lucky, your instructor was the absent-minded sort, and asked the secretary in the humanities office to run off a fresh batch just minutes before he dragged his rumpled self up to the front of the classroom. These fresh syllabi were still warm, still damp, and carried that intoxicating smell of purple ink settling into the curled paper. Oh such, such were the joys . . .

Now, of course, that syllabus is on-line, hooked-in, RSS-enabled, and attached to a rolicking class blog. The cool kids don’t print the syllabus–it’s already on their Blackberries and iPhones; they Twitter the syllabus instead (because blogging is so 2005 . . .). They deal in clean bits and bytes, not blurry paper that leaves blue stains on your fingertips.

Here’s a sampling of the syllabi available on-line that show that cool as kids are, they still have to do a little time with the Belle of Amherst; if you have a mimeograph machine humming in your basement and would like to spin out a few, go right ahead . . .

I’m suddenly in the mood to buy fresh blue books, #2 pencils, and a batch of college-rule spiral notebooks.

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This story isn’t about Emily Dickinson the poet, but rather about Emily Dickinson the six-toed cat.

The descendants of Ernest Hemingway’s six-toed cat have been granted a reprieve. Since Hemingway’s death, his Key West, Florida, residence has been a museum, and the cats–about 60, according to the Hemingway Home cat page–have had the run of the place. The USDA ruled last year that the cats “must be caged or evicted, because they were ‘performing animals’ at the town’s most popular paid-for tourist attraction.” The museum begs to differ: the cats may be a popular draw, but they hardly perform (cats being not much for the performing arts, after all).

The Key West city council has weighed in with an exemption for the cats:

The cats reside on the property just as [they] did in the time of Hemingway himself.

They are not on exhibition in the manner of circus animals. The city commission finds that the family of polydactyl Hemingway cats are indeed animals of historic, social and tourism significance … an integral part of the history and ambiance of the Hemingway House.

About half the cats inherited the extra-toes trait from that early ship’s captain’s gift to Hemingway, and most bear literary names. The museum web site displays pictures of Simone De Beauvoir, Archibald MacLeish, and, of course, Emily Dickinson, a “healthy cat with dilute calico fur.”

The polydactyl trait, according to lore, was bred into New England cats because sailors considered extra-toed cats lucky. Whether any seafaring branch of the Key West clan made it as far inland as Amherst is unclear.

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The Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst has been making good use of their gardens and grounds this spring and summer, with the addition of tours of the homestead’s vernacular lawns and gardens and the formal landscaping of the Evergreens. This coincides nicely with several new publications related to Dickinson’s gardening life, as noted here last month.

Now the museum is sponsoring a series of readings that will bring the poetry out of doors: every Sunday from July 15 to July 29, at 2:00 PM, a poet will read both Dickinson’s work and their own:

If you’re in the Amherst area on a Sunday afternoon this July, head to the Dickinson House gardens to hear something old and something new.

Also: if you have a Dickinson event in your area that you’d like mentioned here, leave a comment and I’ll be sure to give it some notice.

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This is one worth looking forward to this Fall:

An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England by Brock Clarke is scheduled to hit the shelves in September. Brock Clarke is a writer with a distinctive voice–charming and strange and wholly engaging. Carrying the Torch was one of my favorite story collections of the last couple years: nine stories that were funny and sad at the same time, and worth many return visits. There have been rumors about this novel for a couple years now, and I’m very happy to see those rumors come to fruition.

An Arsonist’s Guide is the story of Sam Pulsifer, “the man who accidentally burned down the Emily Dickinson House in Amherst, Massachusetts”. While in prison for this act, Puslifer receives letters from professors of literature condemning him to hell, from arson enthusiasts, and from people demanding a curtain call:

All of them wanted me to burn down the houses of a variety of dead writers—Mark Twain, Louisa May Alcott, Robert Lowell, Nathaniel Hawthorne. Some of the correspondents wanted me to burn down the homes of writers I’d never even heard of. All of the letter writers were willing to wait for me to get out of prison. And all of them were willing to pay me.

I expect something touching and madcap at the same time–add this one to your reserve list today!

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Saturday Reviews

Two more Dickinson-related books are mentioned in recent reviews:

Shaggy Muses: The Dogs Who Inspired Virginia Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edith Wharton and Emily Brontë, by Maureen Adams

Emily Dickinson’s Newfoundland dog Carlo is covered in this book, along with Woolf’s Plinka, Brontë’s mastiff Keeper, and the canine companions of other late-19th century women writers. Says Jackie Crosby’s Star Tribune review,

Psychologist and former English professor Maureen Adams weaves a brilliant narrative using diaries, letters and published works to tell the largely untold story of how dogs comforted, healed and even sparked amorous adventures with five of the world’s most enduring writers.

The Dickinson Papers by Mark Ragg

A hunt for purloined Dickinson letters draws together a poetry lover and a museum curator in contemporary Sydney. (This book is, alas, currently available only to Australian readers.) Says Emily Maguire in a note in The Age:

Packed with poetry, literary anecdotes, musings on the proper placement of books, yarns about Sydney’s underworld and Samuel Beckett’s cricketing style, and a hundred other diversions, it all comes together nicely thanks to smart writing, a super-light comical touch and characters as real and memorable as any I’ve come across in recent fiction

As an aside: I find it frustrating that the English-speaking world is so splintered when it comes to book publishing. Radio National’s Book Show is a significant part of my podcast-listening diet, and numerous times I’ve heard a fascinating interview or glowing review and upon rushing to Powell’s or Amazon to add the book to my wish list, I discover that it’s not available in the States yet and isn’t likely to be any time soon. It’s bad enough that there are so many great books that are never translated into English, as The Literary Saloon reminds us almost daily; that we can’t easily share books across the countries that ostensibly speak the same language, is a cruel anachronism in this age of the borderless Internet.

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A BOOK.

A BOOK.He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

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THE BOOK OF MARTYRS.Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;
How many times they bore
The faithful witness,
Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared!

Read then of faith
That shone above the fagot;
Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown;
Brave names of men
And celestial women,
Passed out of record
Into renown!

And who doesn’t love a good martyr tale? I’ve had a little experience of Catholicism, the sine qua non of martyrdom legends, but it’s a trope certainly not limited to Rome: what Protestant soul is not stirred by the story of Jan Hus, or of Latimer and Ridley? (. . . we shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.) Not to mention Mary Dyer and the various Quaker martyrs. Or the secular martyrdoms of the Alamo and Little Big Horn and the whole Southern end of the War of Northern Aggression.

I can’t help but suspect that Dickinson had a bit of a smirk on her lips over this pornography of martyrdom; we, the non-martyrs, are made “stout” and “less afraid” by reading of their courage, but perhaps only while we’re engrossed in their tales. And if one passes “out of record / Into renown”, does this perhaps suggest that the record–the historical facts–fall away into legend?

Personally, I’m of the opinion that an ironic stance toward one’s valiant ancestors is the safest stance to maintain: to quote Hawthorne, “Let us thank God for having given us such ancestors; and let each successive generation thank him, not less fervently, for being one step further from them in the march of ages.”

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The Sister by Paola Kaufman, narrated by Emily Dickinson’s sister, is mentioned in a review of books loosely revolving around the theme of sibling rivalry, in this article from the East Bay Express. Alas, the novel doesn’t quite fit the review’s focus–the grievances and conflicts in “The Sister” are subtler than the bombast and sordidness covered in the other titles under review:

From a journalist’s memoir about her junkie brother to a memoir written in tandem by sisters, one of whom was sexually assaulted and one of whom was not, to a novel narrated by Emily Dickinson’s younger sister to another narrated by an office worker whose murdered sister was “diabolically beautiful” but “a monster all her life” before becoming “a cheap whore,” this is the year of books about siblings. This is the year authors ran out of stuff to say about themselves and started in on the next best thing.

To the article’s credit, there’s no attempt to shoehorn the book into the theme: instead, it’s dismissed as “aswirl with magnolia perfume and moist New England gingerbread and swishy white skirts,” and never mentioned again.

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