Carol Leifer’s How to Succeed in Business without Really Crying hits the shelves in April. With countless twenty-somethings slated to graduate from college the following month, the timing couldn’t be better. Drawing on four decades of making a living in comedy, Leifer’s book offers solid advice on getting ahead in the professional world. While the advice itself is nothing new–focusing largely on tenacity, dedication, and love for one’s business, whatever it may be–the anecdotes Leifer provides bring the book to life. What’s more, they also offer an honest glimpse into the workaday world of show business that the general public rarely gets to see. Indeed, it’s the hard work that Leifer has put into her career day-in and day-out that makes this memoir-cum-handbook so compelling. Whether performing her standup act as an opener for Frank Sinatra or writing for Seinfeld, Leifer has made the most of every opportunity that came her way, and the lessons she’s learned from doing so make this entertaining read an excellent gift for anyone about to enter the professional world. All told, reading How to Succeed is like hanging out with a favorite aunt who’s done it all and lived to tell the tale.
Look under “ABOUT” on the official Pleasure Editions website and you’ll find that “PLEASURE EDITIONS is a press founded in 2011 dedicated to fostering the furtherance of the international artistic underground via the publication of new and rediscovered art, literature, poetry and translation.” At first this claim comes off as ambitious, maybe lofty, maybe pretentious. Take a look at the content and you’ll find that, on the contrary, they’re being modest.
Any attempt to describe Pleasure’s mission otherwise than they describe it themselves would either fall short or sound stupid. It takes a statement as bold and broad as the one above to succinctly introduce a reader to the constellation of radically interrogative text and imagery that is their catalogue. This is a press that publishes new translations of Gherasim Luca (the forgotten Romanian surrealist poet once championed by Gilles Deleuze) one day and a madcap parody of a Jungian personality survey the next. This is a press that publishes serial installments of “Ill Tomb Era,” a mysterious meganovel that updates maximalist black humor for the age of annihilating post-punk cynicism, as well as new poems dubiously attributed to celebrity chef Eric Ripert. A Pleasure anthology of new writings collected under the theme “Music” promises essays that find seemingly unlikely points of contact between, for just one example, William Gaddis and Pussy Galore.
Beyond that, there’s form-defying prose and poetry, art that redefines the oldest and newest media, design that will leave the staff of any marketing startup baffled and salivating, and curation that suggests, indirectly and maybe even directly, that spirits beyond the grave (Yeats’, for one) might be lending a hand.
What will you make of however little or much of their published material you choose to explore? The better question is: what will it make of you? Pleasure doesn’t seek to contribute to, or even recognize, a consumer-oriented system of transaction and gratification. Instead, they create an immersive cultural exchange in which you will get hopelessly lost. But the rewards of this exchange are of a kind you won’t find anywhere else. If you dare, as the phrase once purposed by the press as a call for submissions demands, “Submit to Pleasure!”
In his very funny sophomore novel, Saving the Hooker, Michael Adelberg takes swipes at academia, politics, publishing, and the media, all while telling the story of a young scholar caught in a downward spiral of lies and deceit. When the novel’s narrator and protagonist, Matthew Hristahalios, wins a grant to study the attitudes of prostitutes toward the Cinderella myth, he thinks he has it made. Describing himself as “more huckster than scholar,” however, Matthew soon finds himself in way over his head in his dealings with fellow scholars and their skepticism toward his work. Add to that a politically and socially conservative father who can’t, for the life of him, figure out what his son is up to, and Matthew’s life is one hot mess that can only get hotter and messier when he falls in love with one of the prostitutes he’s set out study.
That the woman’s name is Julia Roberts only adds to Matthew’s confusion over his feelings toward her, as repeated viewings of Pretty Woman (starring, needless to say, the actress of the same name) are largely responsible for inspiring his life’s work. Soon, Julia has Matthew spending money he doesn’t have, fighting for her affections, and experimenting with drugs. Meanwhile his personal life is falling apart — so much so that he has no choice, or so he believes, but to fabricate the results of his study. The result is a media circus in which reality and fantasy collide with devastating effects for the protagonist.
Throughout the novel, Adelberg demonstrates great skill as a social satirist yet never loses track of what makes his characters tick. Yes, the academics do ridiculous things like calculating popularity algorithms to give their children beneficial names, but they’re also genuinely concerned with their subjects of study. Likewise, Matthew’s father shoots off ridiculous weekly petitions to further his conservative agenda, yet he’s haunted by the death of Matthew’s mother. In short, Adelberg never places himself above his characters. Rather, he treats them humanely and allows all of their strengths to shine as brightly as their flaws. The result is a very funny novel composed of equal parts biting wit and bleeding heart.
With a little tweaking, Richard Marson’s tell-all biography of the late John Nathan-Turner could easily replace its subtitle with that of Peter Hook’s wonderful memoir on the Manchester club scene of the 1980s, The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club, as its subject’s tenure as producer of Doctor Who reads like a case study on how not to run a television series. Of greatest interest to Who fans will likely be the vast range of commentary Marson culled from program insiders, especially the insights from actors, directors, and writers of the classic series. Some of the heavy hitters include Peter Davison, Colin Baker, and Sylvester McCoy, who played Doctors five through seven, along with the actors who played companions Ace, Peri, Mel, Tegan, Turlough, and Adric (Sophie Aldred, Nicola Bryant, Bonnie Langford, Janet Fielding, Mark Strickson, and Matthew Waterhouse respectively). What emerges over the course of nearly 400 pages is a portrait of an ambitious, flawed, and ultimately tragic figure whose insecurities both fueled his success and led to his downfall.
The consensus, as far as Marson and those interviewed for the book are concerned, is that J N-T (as the producer was known) excelled at the art of spectacle. As soon as he took over as producer, he commissioned new titles for the show and an arguably catchier (for the times) version of the show’s trademark theme music. He’s also responsible for giving the Doctor a “uniform,” most noticeable in the question marks that started showing up in the Doctor’s costume during Tom Baker’s last season in the titular role. Along similar lines, the producer also did all he could to keep both the show and himself in the spotlight, including grabbing headlines by giving the Doctor new companions on a fairly regular basis and making himself a celebrity in his own right. One of N-T’s favorite poses involved pointing a finger in the face of any celebrity he was being photographed with, a move that insured he could never be cropped out of the picture.
J N-T’s intense focus on the marketing of his show, however, came at the expense of paying attention to its writing, and the book is full of commentary from writers, directors, and script editors who express frustration at the lack of direction they received under the producer’s tenure. Indeed, even as N-T pursued headlines and press coverage from British tabloids and Doctor Who fan magazines alike, the fans grew increasingly displeased with his work as producer and, at least in Great Britain, voiced their displeasure through the very channels N-T used to promote the show. The result was increasing paranoia on N-T’s part, a situation that wasn’t helped by the BBC’s waning interest in the show.
Tellingly, it turns out the BBC Enterprises (roughly speaking, the merchandising arm of the BBC, now known as BBC Worldwide) kept funneling money to the show to keep it in production even as ratings started to slip. Though fewer viewers were watching the show, sales of TARDIS key chains and toy sonic screwdrivers were bringing in plenty of cash — a lesson, Marson is quick to point out, not lost on contemporary producers of the program. Indeed, when one considers the plethora of Doctor Who toys currently on the market, there’s an argument to be made for the idea that the Doctor Who program exists at least partially to promote sales of Doctor Who merchandise and ensure the longevity of the Doctor Who brand.
In terms of style, Marson adopts a journalistic tone throughout much of his book but also offers his own opinions and analyses where warranted. A chapter on N-T’s sexual exploits and exploitations (title “Hanky Panky”) comes off as somewhat sensationalistic but is balanced out by the rest of the book. Despite his flaws — and they were apparently numerous — J N-T emerges from J N-T as a sympathetic figure whose desire for love and acceptance in all of their forms led to great heights and, tragically, greater lows.