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A Lesser Day in the Book Notes series at the blog “Largehearted Boy.”

In A Lesser Day, the language is firmly rooted in the physicality of things; it takes location in space as its point of departure, as opposed to location in time, the other part of our wearisome ontological dichotomy. When I first began listening to Christian von der Goltz’s CD of solo piano improvisation, really listening to it, I was living in an eighth-floor loft on the Brooklyn waterfront with an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline; I was also in a state of semi-panic half the time, with the neurons in my brain zigzagging in unpredictable lightning bolts of recollection. Fleeting bits of remembered things were assaulting me everywhere I went; here I was, after a decade and a half in Berlin, reestablishing myself in the city of my birth, gradually peeling off the linguistic layers concealing my native accent, unraveling the German inflections that had crept in, and grappling with all manner of cultural shock—in short, I felt like an alien and was taken for the proverbial ride by the taxi drivers of my own home town.

 

Read the Book Notes to A Lesser Day and listen to an MP3 from Christian von der Goltz’s CD Wheels of Time:

http://www.largeheartedboy.com/blog/archive/2010/03/book_notes_andr_8.html

 

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Nicolle Elizabeth on A Lesser Day, 2010, Spuyten Duyvil Press, Brooklyn, New York:

“My choice, my favorite choice, among the many I love and respect so dearly.”

http://www.spdbooks.org/pages/events/mixtape_sale.aspx#nicolle

A Lesser Day front cover

Nicolle was one of the first to review A Lesser Day, calling the book “delicate, yet naked and unapologetic (…) a narrative kept closer than a secret, oozing in slow, soft, whispers … “

http://www.brooklynrail.org/2010/04/books/small-wonder

back cover

… A handbag with a sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil and the instamatic camera I carried around with me like a precious secret, anticipating the moment when I would find what I was waiting for and press the little red button, once each day, one photograph each day. Rust stains spreading out from a spigot and patterns of erosion on a building’s façade, and sometimes just garbage on the street or a swirl of oil in a dirty puddle. On some days I found nothing at all, having waited too long and the light having grown too dim, but I always took the picture anyway, even though the film couldn’t record much more than a murky blur; a lesser day. And how difficult it was to get those blank days developed; how the laboratories automatically skipped over them, and I had to make a special request each time, had to explain that I wanted these worthless pictures developed too, and in the end I had to pay for a hand development because the machines couldn’t be made to print the underexposed negatives, but that came later. 

from  A Lesser Day, Andrea Scrima