Granted, I come to this subject with a slight bias.  I am the editor-in-chief of the magazine in question, and I helped put this event together.  But what can I say: it’s a launch party on the lake, in the summer time, with tiki torches and live music and hot dogs!  You should come out!  Really!

Gothic Funk: Not just for funky goths.

As it turns out this isn’t just a literature-only journal.  Submissions are entered in three categories: Images, Sounds, and Words, so not only do you have a collection of (in this case seven) brilliant poems, short stories, and creative non-fiction, but you’ll also find paintings, photographs, songs, and, in this issue, a costume.

Presenting artists are: Elisabeth Blair, Katrina Blasingame, Elizabeth Bowman, Spencer Dew, Dion Mindykowski, Cecilia Pinto and Megan Williamson, Luka Vardiashvili, and Richard Whaling.

The complete list of artists published in issue #2 is: Elisabeth Blair, Katrina Blasingame, Elizabeth Bowman, Brian Chih-Chiang Lo, Spencer Dew, Meridith Halsey, Sally Hartzell, Alex Lippard and Roger Sprau, Sean Mahoney, Dion Mindykowski, Nova Moturba, Cecilia Pinto and Megan Williamson, Jasmine Robinson, Kamila Rymajdo, and Sonette Steyn, Richard Whaling, and Susan Widdicombe.

$10 gets you in, a meal (pop, hot dog (meat or veggie), and chips, and a copy of the issue #2 CD-ROM.  For an additional $5 there’ll be copies of issue #1 while supplies last, and, well, more details and RSVP at gothicfunk.org.

I have a secret to share with you: I’m an Ann Radcliffe fan.

Okay, okay, so I’ve only read The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Romance of the Forest, but I read the former twice and it is officially “my favorite novel,” and anyway, once you pass the 1000 page mark with any author, I think you’re entitled to call yourself a fan. I’ve got The Italian, and I’m looking for copies of The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne and A Sicilian Romance. For those not in the know, Ann Radcliffe was one of the second generation of English gothic writers; she was all about the stuff of haunted castles, secret passages, damsels in distress, and evil aristocrats.

It’s a lonely world, being an Ann Radcliffe fan. Not that many people have read her work, partly because she was famously dissed by Jane Austen, and partly because her most celebrated work is over 700 pages long and accelerates like a Kia on an incline. As with many books, one of the most exciting things after a read is the opportunity to discuss them with fellow readers. So if you’re a fellow Radcliffean, please come forward.

More to the point of this post, Radcliffe is one of those almost inexplicably compelling writers, and trying to explain to friends why they should check her out is one of the most persistent problems I run across in conversations about books. Many contemporary critics either dismiss Radcliffe entirely, or give her incidental consideration as a minor writer. It would seem that there’s some interest in feminist readings of her work, but in her personal life she was staunchly conservative, so this, itself, is problematic. The most compelling treatments discuss Radcliffe’s works as flawed but compelling. In his Introduction to Udolpho, Terry Castle points out that one character recognizes another by the handwriting of a poem etched in stone: “Perhaps in a Cocteau film (Beauty and the Beast?) one can imagine letters carved in stone that resemble someone’s handwriting, but here one can only commiserate with [the character] over what must have been an agonizing case of writer’s cramp.” He goes on to note, however, that “she is a meticulous stylist.”

From a historical standpoint, Radcliffe was helping to prepare the ground for Jane Austen (on the one hand) and Mary Shelley (on the other). While those two writers may be as different as night and day, one thing they share is that they both far outshine Radcliffe in their conscious control of their work and their ability to mine the English to tell supple, elegant, and multilayered stories. So why should someone read Radcliffe?

I think there’s something powerful and electric about those first flirtations with new forms. The full potential for psychological rumination and gothic stylings may have only come about with later, more “sophisticated” writers, but Radcliffe’s writing has the benefit of truly being on the edge of a movement at its inception. Her vision of the supernatural, which implicitly posits that magic happens not in the external world, but only in the human mind, participates in and predicts the two centuries of neurological advancement that followed. Among the cliches and anachronisms there is a story so rich in insight and possibility that it has a certain wildness to it. Her castles and landscapes are monstrous and otherwordly, not in a Lovecraftian paucity of detail, but with a lush vividness that is delicious to sink your mind into.

Like most writers of depth, length, and intensity (could we go so far as to call her the 18th century Thomas Pynchon?) there’s a sense of exclusivity to an experience of her work, like a reader belongs to a special club. My recommendation? Start with the best of Radcliffe from the start. Read The Mysteries of Udolpho. This club is still small and fairly exclusive.

Joe’s recent post filled me with a sense of pathos (bathos?), and not just for what was, but for what might have been.

I’m referring to the brief, two-year run of Cosmo Doogood’s Urban Almanac brought to us by the minds behind The Utne Reader. In 2004 I got the very first edition, and it made for literal hours of engaging reading. Naturally the volume included some very Utneish ooey gooey astrology, but there was also an engrossing discussion of phenology (a sort of armchair naturalism that perfectly blends the love of Mother Earth with cold hard science), a guide to urban dwellers such as pigeons and rats, and essays on “Foraging” and the “Joys of Walking.” The book’s 348 pages were packed with information, and this was what an almanac was always supposed to be.

That last sentence is, perhaps, a slight misstatement. Early almanacs likely didn’t provide farmers with much they didn’t already know, but they did concentrate the information in an immediate and accessible place. Planting schedules, information on seasonal change and the like were interspersed with the sort of pithy editorialism that made Benjamin Franklin famous. He was, in a sense, the inspiration for the 2005 Cosmo Doogood, and while the information it provided was somewhat less crucial to my livelihood than growing times would be to a farmer, the almanac did concentrate useful info in an accessible and engaging format.

Before I got past April, however, I left the book on a bus and lost it forever.

When 2006 rolled around I picked myself out the second issue. Already, something had changed. The astrological commentary, which had only gently intruded into the ‘05 edition, now filled page after page of exercises meant to be synced to the lunar month. Despite this, the almanac itself was thinner, less useful, less helpful. The old cover had been a stark and iciclish Chrysler building rising through a blue sky. The new edition featured a collection of hand-drawn birds perched on a weather vane. Not a bad image, but it couldn’t match the vigorous evocation of the original. It would seem that funds were running short for this project; neither volume sold particularly well, and no Urban Almanac was issued for 2007.

Quite simply, the book was great for a rather limited crowd of people: liberal urban yuppies with an ear for science and a bit of whimsy. But, there it is: even Eric Utne’s name wasn’t able to move enough copies, and this probably derives in part from the fact that said liberal yuppies go hunting for almanacs about as often as farmers go digging through The Utne Reader. For me, the individual fan, there was only one option. I went on Amazon last year and bought a used edition of the original ‘05 edition. I highlighted the more-or-less timeless 75% of the issue. It isn’t as nice as getting a new almanac each year, but it certainly beats the Old Farmers’ Almanacs I’d been buying more recently.

Is there a point to all this?

If there are major changes ahead for the publishing industry due to changing economies and modes of publication, there should be a way to exploit that for opportunities. Perhaps Cosmo Doogood would have fared better as a blog or in another online venue than as a print almanac. Perhaps it could have grown into its own iPhone application. In any event, its stay with us was too brief.

A few of us will even miss it.

So for every glass we raise to great publications that have fallen, let us also remember those we’ve likely never noticed.

On Monday, Mike Stephen interviewed me for Outside the Loop Radio. We talked about bookish.us and the Chicago literary scene. Tonight’s show will air at 6 PM CST on WLUW 88.7 Chicago. You can also download the show here after it has aired.

Our homes and our apartments help fulfill the basic human needs of food, clothing, and shelter. We can also read there, and we often do. But sometimes we want to get out, even if we’re only turning pages. Reading in public offers problems and opportunities. There’s nothing quite like reading Sandburg in Ravenswood or Sinclair’s The Jungle under the shadow of the Stockyards Arch on Exchange Ave. Still, too much noise can kill your concentration, and too little is a bit creepy. Distraction is dangerous and obtrusiveness is obnoxious. Waiters and baristas may tap their watches, and the last thing you want to do is get in a scuffle between Sox and Cubs fans resulting in bootprints on your Nelson Algren.

Here’s a short and subjective list of some fine places to read in public on the North Side of Chicago.

Photo by Fritz Geller-Grimm.

1. LINCOLN PARK. Obviously you’ve got to pay attention to the weather, but this seemingly obvious choice is often under-utilized by readers, especially further north.

The zoo is noisy, but, if you can tolerate the kids and squawking geese, the picnic tables are great places for reading interspersed with people (and animal) watching.

Generally, the more remote locations will be more stimulating and less distracting. The dunes and breakwalls surrounding the Magic Hedge (just south of the Montrose Street beach) are often human-free. In warm weather you’ll hear the waves and the songs of hundreds of birds en route through the hedge (one of the most important migratory sites in the area). In the winter, the sound of cracking ice is haunting. Out on the pier, you’re about as far from humanity as you can get in the city.

Finally, Contemplation Point, located between the Foster Street and Hollywood beaches, is a circle of stones in a grove of trees. Alternate horizons are made by the lake and Edgewater Beach. Despite the lovely setting and convenience from Bryn Mawr Ave., this area is often undisturbed.

Photo by Tammy Green.

2. THE CTA. If you commute to work you’re probably CTA’d out by the time you have some free time… but give the L a casual try. For light reading (where occasional distractions will not undermine your plans) grab a seat at an off time and watch the city fly by irritation free. On the north side, the Brown Line takes in the most of the city; you’ll pass the best of the Loop and River North, then cruise through Old Town and the last remnants of Cabrini Green before heading on into Ravenswood and the dynamic neighborhood of Albany Park. If you start at Kimball and ride the ride until it returns, the whole thing takes a bit over an hour. Of course, if you take advantage of free transfers in the Loop you can travel all over the city for as long as you like. Recommended for journals, newspapers, magazines, and maybe the classifieds ads.

Photo by Connor Coyne.

3. CEMETERIES. Does this suggestion sound morbid? It shouldn’t, especially in the summertime. Chicago has some beautiful and historic cemeteries, and while many have become quite crowded, it’s unlikely that the residents are going to complain. Head over to Rosehill or Graceland, St. Boniface or the Montrose Cemetery, find a shady tree and sit down. Listen to the ghosts wind in the branches overhead and keep your eyes open for ravens.

My particular recommendation is the lagoon in Graceland Cemetery. Daniel Burnham is buried here on his own private island, while the Getty tomb stands nearby in opulent filagree splendor. The autumn colors are glorious if you can catch them on a warm day in October, and if the stillness starts to get to you, every so often you’ll hear the rumble of the Red Line plowing through in the distance.

4. BARS. These may be some of the hardest settings for a productive read. People go to bars first and foremost to drink and socilialize. Watching sports, eating, and avoiding SOs are also high on the list. Reading probably falls in between #27 (handing out Chick tracts) and #29 (posing as the Blues Brothers). As a result, few bars are suitable for reading. You have to find the perfect bar. Odds are, there’s one and only one in your neighborhood.

What to avoid: loud speakers (because they correspond to kids out clubbing), large TVs (because they correspond to noisy sports fans), and expensive bars (because they address some significant social function not related to reading). Here’s what to look for: well-lit, emptyish (without being creepy empty), homey, and spacious. Think a low-key Cheers and you’re on the right track. On the North Side, the bar that best fits this description is the St. Andrew’s Inn on Broadway. But there must be others!

5. COFFEE SHOPS. Obviously, the North Side has no shortage of coffee shops. A much higher percentage of them will be suitable for reading than bars. I’ve never been, but I hear good things about New Wave Cafe and Lula Cafe in Logan Swaure (at Milwaukee and Kedzie). Further west there are a number of little Polish and Mexican joints where you can grab a cup of coffee or Sanka and read unmolested (though further west you’ll have to settle for Dunkin Donuts, which don’t always have public bathrooms — a crippling liability for any coffee dispensary).

A lot of people like the Uncommon Ground, the Bourgeois Pig, the Melrose, and Pick Me Up… here’s the problem. While Pick Me Up and the Melrose each have a great vibe and Uncommon Ground is great for musical acts and the like, they’re chronically busy and are, as restaurants, more attentive to their feeding customers. If you choose to read there for any length of time, you might be too distracted to get much accomplished. If you do get your read on, it will probably be at the expense of some waiter hoping for a tip on an entree or some other poor patron waiting for a table. Intelligentsia on Broadway is an attractive alternative.

Further north, options multiply. The Metropolis on Granville, Ennui on Sheridan, The Heartland Cafe on Glenwood, Flourish on Bryn Mawr, and The Coffee Studio are all great finds; you can stumble in any old time, buy a drink, and sit for as long as you like without annoying anyone. A hidden (and very cheap) treasure is Luck’s Bakery on Argyle Street. You can sit all day if you like and spend under $8 on food and coffee.

My favorite cafe for reading in Chicago, however, has to be Kopi, at 5317 N. Clark. There’s an art and a science to reading in this cafe and vegetarian restaurant. The place isn’t large, and tends to get quite busy (see above)… they won’t kick you out, but it wrings the heart to steal a table in such demand. The strategy is to show up at an off hour and to tip generously (I’ll leave a couple dollars at least, even if I only get a coffee). The reward for all this effort is the perfect cathartic reading experience. Kopi — the name taken from the Indonesian word for “coffee” — is a true traveler’s cafe, with a shop full of imported goods at the back, a shelf of travelogues, and clocks giving the times of day from around the world. The kitchen is exposed and feet from the dining area, so the scent of freshly sliced onions and garlic gives the air a refreshing kick, while music in kaleidoscopic varieties pushes and turns your brain’s gears for as long as you stay. Engaged correctly, Kopi is the place to read In Chicago.

Photo by Arthur Sehn.

Obviously this list is very limited and subjective. Feel free to comment with your own ideas for where you like to read on the North Side of Chicago. Down the line, look out for a West and South Side edition of this list.