Here at Fort Saint Davids, its no secret that we’ve got a…troubled…relationship with the Internet. One the one hand, oh hi! Here we are, on the Internet! And on the other hand, there’s just this sticky, icky awfulness to Web 2.1, that feeling of constantly being tracked, linked, observed, marketed to and from, for and more. It’s like imagine trying to do a little daytime browsing at a bookstore and this sweaty, pimply store clerk keeps following you from aisle to aisle, leaning over your shoulder, breathing heavily, trying to see what you were reading, and scribbling down notes. That’s Web 2.1. It’s creepy. The Internet is creepy. It gives us the creeps.
And yet it gives us this: just recently, the Paris Review, under new editorship, has opened up what is tantamount the Literary Ark of the Covenant, in the form of their entire interview archives. Every single interview from the people who basically defined the interview as we know it, from Hemingway to Lethem, it’s all in there, available at the click of a button. Honestly my fingers are shaking, just typing this, knowing that when this post is done I can hop back over to the Paris Review site and read that Hemingway interview, that Blaise Cendrars interview, I can check in with T.S. Eliot, Robert Creeley, Charles Olson, Dorothy Parker, Ray Bradbury, Hunter S. Thompson, Robert Crumb…well, what are you waiting for? Get yr butt over there now! As always: we’ll see you there.