2010 Subscriptions to Ugly Duckling Presse are now available. They limit the total number of subscribers to 200 and usually sell out pretty quickly, so act fast. There are three levels of subscriber/donors:
At the BASIC SUBSCRIBER level ($150) you receive more than 20 books throughout the year, sent directly to your home, including new works of poetry, essays, and artist books by emerging and established writers and artists; and these books are all uniquely designed, with frequent use of letterpress, hand-sewn binding, and more, demonstrating “a philosophical curiosity about what makes a book a book” (Michael Miller, Time Out New York); and you get all this at COST, meaning the most affordable possible rate available to mankind today for providing you with great books.
At the SUPPORTING SUBSCRIBER level ($250), you receive the full subscription package described above, plus an invitation to a special UDP authors reception, to be held in Spring 2010, a unique opportunity to meet the writers, editors, designers, and board members who contribute their talents; and you receive credit for your meaningful contribution on our online list of supporters.
At the COLLECTOR’S CIRCLE level ($1,000), all of the above benefits, plus a new benefit for our highest level supporters: a one-of-a-kind book, designed and written by the UDP collective, printed and assembled at the UDP workshop, and personalized for the recipient; donors at this level are also credited on the acknowledgments page in the UDP print catalogue.
UDP does some excellent works of poetry in translation, and overall has really excellent production values. Definitely worth at least $150 . . .
Upon completing Albertine Sarrazin’s Astragal I was left to wonder why it ever fell from print. Aside from the location, Astragal could pass as the great American novel. Its edginess and rawness capture the angst and desires we all had. . .
When my eyes first crossed the back cover of Fabio Genovesi’s novel Live Bait, I was caught by a blurb nestled between accolades, a few words from a reviewer for La Repubblica stating that the novel was, however magically, “[b]eyond. . .
“I preferred the war to the plague,” writes Curzio Malaparte in his 1949 novel, The Skin. He speaks of World War II and the destruction it has wrought on Italy, the city of Naples in particular. But the plague he. . .
With the steady rise of feminist scholarship and criticism in recent decades, it is little wonder that the work of Louise Labé should be attracting, as Richard Sieburth tells us in the Afterword to his translation, a “wide and thriving”. . .
In Conversations, we find ourselves again in the protagonist’s conscious and subconscious, which is mostly likely that of Mr. César Aira and consistent with prototypical Aira style. This style never fails because each time Aira is able to develop a. . .
You are not ashamed of what you do, but of what they see you do. Without realizing it, life can be an accumulation of secrets that permeates every last minute of our routine . . .
The narrative history of. . .
Literature in translation often comes with a certain pedigree. In this little corner of the world, with so few books making it into this comforting nook, it is often those of the highest quality that cross through, and attention is. . .
Alessandro Baricco’s Mr. Gwyn is a set of two loosely interlinked novellas that play with narrative and the construction of character. Ably translated by Ann Goldstein, Mr. Gwyn plays some subtle metafictional games as Baricco delves into what it means. . .
I must admit upfront that I went into reading Saadat Hasan Manto’s Bombay Stories almost entirely blind. I have not read Salman Rushdie. I have read, perhaps, two short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. I might shamefully add that I really. . .
Throughout his work The Gray Notebook, Josep Pla mentions many different authors, some of whom have inspired him to pick up a pen. One of them is Marcel Proust. Even though Pla normally prefers nonfiction, he lauds the French novelist. . .