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The Paul Chowder Chronicles #2
Traveling Sprinkler
A new novel by bestselling author Nicholson Baker reintroduces feckless but hopeful hero Paul Chowder, whose struggle to get his life together is reflected in his steadfast desire to write a pop song, or a protest song, or both at once.
304 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 17, 2013
29 people are currently reading
1279 people want to read
About the author
Nicholson Baker
39 books966 followersNicholson Baker is a contemporary American writer of fiction and non-fiction. He was born in Manhattan in 1957 and grew up in Rochester, New York. He has published sixteen books--including The Mezzanine (1988), U and I (1991), Human Smoke (2008), The Anthologist (2009), and Substitute (2016)--and his work has appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Harper's, the New York Review of Books, Best American Short Stories, and Best American Essays. He has received a National Book Critics Circle award, a James Madison Freedom of Information Award, the Herman Hesse Prize, and the Katherine Anne Porter Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. In 1999, Baker and his wife, Margaret Brentano (co-author with Baker of The World on Sunday, 2005), founded the American Newspaper Repository in order to save a large collection of U.S. newspapers, including a run of Joseph Pulitzer's influential daily, the New York World. In 2004 the Repository’s holdings became a gift to Duke University. Baker and Brentano have two children; they live on the Penobscot River in Maine.
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October 6, 2013
cross-posted at: http://themocentricuniverse.blogspot....
i adore nicholson baker's writing voice and i really feel i can give no higher compliment than this: quite often it is how a writer's voice resonates with me that makes or breaks a novel for me; no matter what craft it might otherwise hold. my first encounter with it came when i read the dry observations of the mezzanine and then later i was alarmed, allured and amused by two of his smuttier works, the fermata and house of holes, and was pleased but not awed by the paul chowder novel previous to this, the anthologist. still, each time i was simultaneously stimulated and comforted by that voice. and then came the travelling sprinkler, his latest and arguably best novel.
karen alerted me to the fact that this was on net galley so i downloaded it. but then she kindly put a print arc in my hands (the hardcover doesn't come out until september) and i was really excited because it stood to reason that i would enjoy it too -- because of the whole voice thing.
what i didn't realize was that i was about to read what has become my favourite nicholson baker book thus far. in true "i love this" fashion, i read it twice through. and while i know the book is about paul chowder, i couldn't help but feel when reading the travelling sprinkler, that i had really spent a few days visiting with him, but even more so with his author, in the same manner i would with an old and dear friend, who might ask "have you heard this one?" and pull up a video on youtube. there is, in fact, at least one url printed directly in the book, and i suspect that the enhanced ebook they're also publishing will have direct links to other content embedded within it, permissions clearance permitting.
despite this being a sequel of sorts to the anthologist, i don't think you have to have read that book to love this one; aside from a passing references to his flying spoon poems a new reader wouldn't get but doesn't really need to, the novel stands perfectly on its own.
so what happens here? paul chowder is a poet who decides he wants to write pop songs instead. or protest songs. or both. he's experimenting with tobacco and he's going to quaker meetings. he misses his old girlfriend roz and he tries to be a good neighbour. in the midst of this little slice of his life, he also writes a book about music: about the bassoon, and about debussy and his sunken cathedral; about victoria de los angeles and bachiana brasileira nº 5, and also about guitars, and electronic keyboards, and seven hundred dollar microphones ordered from the B&H catalogue. and you might somewhat impatiently wait, as i did, for him to finally finish explaining about the travelling sprinkler. i was tempted to look it up on the interweb to see what it looked like but i restrained myself. i actually considered pasting a photo of travelling sprinkler into this review as i read the book because i was so impatient, so flummoxed by the trail of hose on the cover, but in the end found i was happier that i waited for it, waited for him.
paul digresses to us about the minute details of his thoughts and memories, of aspects of his life in that typical, tangential, signature nicholson baker way. but what's more, he reveals a gentle heart, an emotional depth that hasn't been apparent in the other baker novels that i have read, including its predecessor. and that's what really made the book surpass my expectations. and it felt like paul chowder had opened up to me, in a way he never had before, and that it was okay for him to try to take those rare moments of happiness for himself. and i could hear the smile in nicholson baker's writing voice and for a while, i smiled too.
i guess i need to read it again. :)
update one:
it's also likely you'll want to check this out after reading the book: http://youtu.be/sPf5GZYzhJk
update two:
and now i'm crushing hard on nicholson baker. this is an amazing interview: http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
and as it turns out, he wrote some protest songs and recorded them when he was working on this book. you can hear them at this new yorker link: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs...
:)
i adore nicholson baker's writing voice and i really feel i can give no higher compliment than this: quite often it is how a writer's voice resonates with me that makes or breaks a novel for me; no matter what craft it might otherwise hold. my first encounter with it came when i read the dry observations of the mezzanine and then later i was alarmed, allured and amused by two of his smuttier works, the fermata and house of holes, and was pleased but not awed by the paul chowder novel previous to this, the anthologist. still, each time i was simultaneously stimulated and comforted by that voice. and then came the travelling sprinkler, his latest and arguably best novel.
karen alerted me to the fact that this was on net galley so i downloaded it. but then she kindly put a print arc in my hands (the hardcover doesn't come out until september) and i was really excited because it stood to reason that i would enjoy it too -- because of the whole voice thing.
what i didn't realize was that i was about to read what has become my favourite nicholson baker book thus far. in true "i love this" fashion, i read it twice through. and while i know the book is about paul chowder, i couldn't help but feel when reading the travelling sprinkler, that i had really spent a few days visiting with him, but even more so with his author, in the same manner i would with an old and dear friend, who might ask "have you heard this one?" and pull up a video on youtube. there is, in fact, at least one url printed directly in the book, and i suspect that the enhanced ebook they're also publishing will have direct links to other content embedded within it, permissions clearance permitting.
despite this being a sequel of sorts to the anthologist, i don't think you have to have read that book to love this one; aside from a passing references to his flying spoon poems a new reader wouldn't get but doesn't really need to, the novel stands perfectly on its own.
so what happens here? paul chowder is a poet who decides he wants to write pop songs instead. or protest songs. or both. he's experimenting with tobacco and he's going to quaker meetings. he misses his old girlfriend roz and he tries to be a good neighbour. in the midst of this little slice of his life, he also writes a book about music: about the bassoon, and about debussy and his sunken cathedral; about victoria de los angeles and bachiana brasileira nº 5, and also about guitars, and electronic keyboards, and seven hundred dollar microphones ordered from the B&H catalogue. and you might somewhat impatiently wait, as i did, for him to finally finish explaining about the travelling sprinkler. i was tempted to look it up on the interweb to see what it looked like but i restrained myself. i actually considered pasting a photo of travelling sprinkler into this review as i read the book because i was so impatient, so flummoxed by the trail of hose on the cover, but in the end found i was happier that i waited for it, waited for him.
paul digresses to us about the minute details of his thoughts and memories, of aspects of his life in that typical, tangential, signature nicholson baker way. but what's more, he reveals a gentle heart, an emotional depth that hasn't been apparent in the other baker novels that i have read, including its predecessor. and that's what really made the book surpass my expectations. and it felt like paul chowder had opened up to me, in a way he never had before, and that it was okay for him to try to take those rare moments of happiness for himself. and i could hear the smile in nicholson baker's writing voice and for a while, i smiled too.
i guess i need to read it again. :)
update one:
it's also likely you'll want to check this out after reading the book: http://youtu.be/sPf5GZYzhJk
update two:
and now i'm crushing hard on nicholson baker. this is an amazing interview: http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
and as it turns out, he wrote some protest songs and recorded them when he was working on this book. you can hear them at this new yorker link: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs...
:)
September 8, 2013
I love swimming with the mind of the narrator in this gentle story of a 55-year old bachelor, Paul Chowder, who shares his youthful approach to reshaping his life and regaining the love of his ex-girlfriend. He is a poet who is running out of juice and begins to forge himself as a musician. Not much a plot here, yet there is more of a trajectory in character development in this tale than in other books of his that I’ve enjoyed.
Death and war spark Chowder’s political consciousness. He respects his friend’s activism and protest over America’s the use of drones to project power in the world. His outrage over the civilian collateral deaths finds no outlet in his writing, as trying to infuse his poetry with these complicated subjects only leads to frustration:
I have so much in my head that’s screaming to get out. Politely requesting passage. Sometimes knowing things and knowing you’ll never unknow them, unless you say them, is really unbearable.
I love how Paul's mind works, with one perception or memory linking in ferment to another. He appreciated a poem of Mary Oliver’s that pointed first to the idea that “all narrative is metaphor” and then to “all metaphor is narrative.” He is fascinated with the brilliance of the invention of the “traveling sprinkler”, a device which uses the water pressure to run a tractor device allowing the watering device to move along the path you set out with the hose. But when he wants to express the mental link he finds with Debussy’s music for “Sunken Cathedral”, the images evoked clash like a classic mixed metaphor:
Now your poem is in trouble. You’ve got wasps in the hose reel, you’ve got the sprinkler twirling at the end of the hose, and you’ve got Debussy’s cathedral sunk under the waves. You’ve got fish, you’ve got tomatoes. You’re starting to get strange purple interference patterns, fringe moire patterns, at the edges of each metaphor, where it overlaps each neighbor. …This is the moment when your creative writing teacher may say: “You’ve got an awful lot going on here, Paul. Maybe you need to pare this poem down and pick a controlling image.”
And you acknowledge that he has a point—too many colors make the rinse water muddy. We know that. On the other hand, the world is full of metaphors that are happily coexisting in our brains and we don’t go crazy. You have them all swarming and nesting and reeled up in there, but they don’t trouble one another. One moment you entertain one metaphor, and the next moment the next, no harm done. And this time you think, I don’t want to worry so much about this rhetorical non-problem. I want to pour them all in and let them go wild together. Let all the metaphors fuck each other like desperate spouse-swappers, I don’t care.
After completing three books of poetry and an anthology (the latter work the subject of a 2008 Baker book on the same character), he is coming to this conclusion that “nobody wants to read more than three books of poems by anyone”, and he has an epiphany:
I was sitting in Quaker meeting the other day and I realized I didn’t want to write sad complicated poems, I wanted to write simple songs. In other words, I want to write sad poems that are made happier by being singable.
And so he gets a guitar, an electronic keyboard, and computer composition systems and begins to experiment. He is inspired by his background as a bassoon player in his youth, a teen aged friend exploring punk roots, and the purity of blues lyrics or songs like McCartney’s “Blackbird.” Baker’s capturing of the creative process in music was a real treat for me, as I love music but am an ignoramus. I’ve only gotten a comparable satisfaction from Robert Hellenga’s “Blues Lessons.” And as in that book, music is a medium for trying to find a pathway back to a lost love. Here his heart’s desire is Roz, who for Paul is the essence of “lovingkindness”.
This is a short book and a delightful read to me. It has more of a sweep on life than rendered by the narrow focus of other books of his I experienced. This includes his wonderful set of reveries while feeding a baby, “Room Temperature”, a strange book of sexual fantasy, “Fermata”, and one I sampled of a phone-sex relationship, “Vox.” His mastery of stream-of-consciousness and the minutae of everyday life do not feel like “experimental” writing, but as a fresh natural take on the true ingredients of the generativity of life.
This book was provided for review by Netgalley and is expected to be released in September 2013.
Death and war spark Chowder’s political consciousness. He respects his friend’s activism and protest over America’s the use of drones to project power in the world. His outrage over the civilian collateral deaths finds no outlet in his writing, as trying to infuse his poetry with these complicated subjects only leads to frustration:
I have so much in my head that’s screaming to get out. Politely requesting passage. Sometimes knowing things and knowing you’ll never unknow them, unless you say them, is really unbearable.
I love how Paul's mind works, with one perception or memory linking in ferment to another. He appreciated a poem of Mary Oliver’s that pointed first to the idea that “all narrative is metaphor” and then to “all metaphor is narrative.” He is fascinated with the brilliance of the invention of the “traveling sprinkler”, a device which uses the water pressure to run a tractor device allowing the watering device to move along the path you set out with the hose. But when he wants to express the mental link he finds with Debussy’s music for “Sunken Cathedral”, the images evoked clash like a classic mixed metaphor:
Now your poem is in trouble. You’ve got wasps in the hose reel, you’ve got the sprinkler twirling at the end of the hose, and you’ve got Debussy’s cathedral sunk under the waves. You’ve got fish, you’ve got tomatoes. You’re starting to get strange purple interference patterns, fringe moire patterns, at the edges of each metaphor, where it overlaps each neighbor. …This is the moment when your creative writing teacher may say: “You’ve got an awful lot going on here, Paul. Maybe you need to pare this poem down and pick a controlling image.”
And you acknowledge that he has a point—too many colors make the rinse water muddy. We know that. On the other hand, the world is full of metaphors that are happily coexisting in our brains and we don’t go crazy. You have them all swarming and nesting and reeled up in there, but they don’t trouble one another. One moment you entertain one metaphor, and the next moment the next, no harm done. And this time you think, I don’t want to worry so much about this rhetorical non-problem. I want to pour them all in and let them go wild together. Let all the metaphors fuck each other like desperate spouse-swappers, I don’t care.
After completing three books of poetry and an anthology (the latter work the subject of a 2008 Baker book on the same character), he is coming to this conclusion that “nobody wants to read more than three books of poems by anyone”, and he has an epiphany:
I was sitting in Quaker meeting the other day and I realized I didn’t want to write sad complicated poems, I wanted to write simple songs. In other words, I want to write sad poems that are made happier by being singable.
And so he gets a guitar, an electronic keyboard, and computer composition systems and begins to experiment. He is inspired by his background as a bassoon player in his youth, a teen aged friend exploring punk roots, and the purity of blues lyrics or songs like McCartney’s “Blackbird.” Baker’s capturing of the creative process in music was a real treat for me, as I love music but am an ignoramus. I’ve only gotten a comparable satisfaction from Robert Hellenga’s “Blues Lessons.” And as in that book, music is a medium for trying to find a pathway back to a lost love. Here his heart’s desire is Roz, who for Paul is the essence of “lovingkindness”.
This is a short book and a delightful read to me. It has more of a sweep on life than rendered by the narrow focus of other books of his I experienced. This includes his wonderful set of reveries while feeding a baby, “Room Temperature”, a strange book of sexual fantasy, “Fermata”, and one I sampled of a phone-sex relationship, “Vox.” His mastery of stream-of-consciousness and the minutae of everyday life do not feel like “experimental” writing, but as a fresh natural take on the true ingredients of the generativity of life.
This book was provided for review by Netgalley and is expected to be released in September 2013.
July 15, 2017
Chowder is perhaps the most amiable narrator in modern fiction. A liberal poet seeking to reclaim his poorly ex and pen modern protest songs, Chowder is a mine of poetic and musical trivia and loveable huggableness. Frankly, in the hands of another writer, the tweeness might provoke chunder over Chowder, but Baker is a superb stylist and entertainer, so keeps the reader smiling and chuckling throughout, and makes up for the truly disastrous cover art. Fun fact, Baker wrote and recorded protest songs in tandem with writing the novel, such as 'Whistleblower Song' for Bradley Manning.
February 26, 2015
I liked Paul Chowder even more in this book than I did in The Anthologist. He's funny and quirky , sweet and smart. I just kept thinking that Roz his former live in girlfriend should give this guy another chance.
At 55 he's a published poet , going through a mid life crisis of sorts , albeit a little later in life than you would expect . He has decided that he doesn't want to write poetry any more. Maybe he'll write songs instead . After all he has a music background as he played the bassoon in his earlier life , but now he wants to play the guitar . The thing is he really does know a lot about music .
There is no real plot and not a lot of action and while this seems light , it's really not . Yes , there are some laugh out loud moments and the travelling sprinkler is one of his prized possessions. That in itself is pretty funny (and odd) but also touching. It was his father's . It's not light because Paul really is an intelligent , thinking man who knows poetry and poets and music and all sorts of things. He expounds his views about war , drones , creativity , the CIA . Did Archibald MacLeish really have something to do with the CIA? I learned a lot from Paul Chowder .
Paul Chowder is an odd guy attending Quaker meetings even though he is not very religious , riding around in his car writing and speaking directly to the reader as if it were a radio show. Yet, I couldn't help but love this guy who is trying to find himself and win back his girlfriend . Some of the most endearing scenes are ones that we see how much he loves Roz . You can almost hear it in his voice .
If I didn't have so many other books I want to read , I would reread The Anthologist . I gave it three stars and it probably deserves more . This one is definitely 4 stars and I recommend it.
Thanks to Serpent's and Tail and NetGalley.
At 55 he's a published poet , going through a mid life crisis of sorts , albeit a little later in life than you would expect . He has decided that he doesn't want to write poetry any more. Maybe he'll write songs instead . After all he has a music background as he played the bassoon in his earlier life , but now he wants to play the guitar . The thing is he really does know a lot about music .
There is no real plot and not a lot of action and while this seems light , it's really not . Yes , there are some laugh out loud moments and the travelling sprinkler is one of his prized possessions. That in itself is pretty funny (and odd) but also touching. It was his father's . It's not light because Paul really is an intelligent , thinking man who knows poetry and poets and music and all sorts of things. He expounds his views about war , drones , creativity , the CIA . Did Archibald MacLeish really have something to do with the CIA? I learned a lot from Paul Chowder .
Paul Chowder is an odd guy attending Quaker meetings even though he is not very religious , riding around in his car writing and speaking directly to the reader as if it were a radio show. Yet, I couldn't help but love this guy who is trying to find himself and win back his girlfriend . Some of the most endearing scenes are ones that we see how much he loves Roz . You can almost hear it in his voice .
If I didn't have so many other books I want to read , I would reread The Anthologist . I gave it three stars and it probably deserves more . This one is definitely 4 stars and I recommend it.
Thanks to Serpent's and Tail and NetGalley.
July 30, 2013
I always love Nicholson Baker but this one is even better than usual-- not just funny and smart and always surprising, but heartbreakingly beautiful as well. It almost seems like he's morphing a little into Richard Brautigan as he goes. Sort of exactly what was missing, I think. In any case, I really loved this book.
Now I'm off to listen to Debussy and "Blackbird."
Thanks for the book, Mo!
Now I'm off to listen to Debussy and "Blackbird."
Thanks for the book, Mo!
December 27, 2025
[9/10]
My knees are laughing. Is that allowed?
Reading Nicholson Baker is Fun and thought-provoking, refreshing like jumping through a water fountain on a hot summer day. I’m reading this in deep winter, but I’m glad that Paul Chodwer is back in the saddle, or more precisely, at his writing table. Except he doesn’t want to write any more, in particular no more anthologies of poetry. And he would rather sit in his car and think deep thoughts while he chews, pipes or smokes tobacco, as he reinvents or rediscovers himself as a song writer.
That’s right: this anti-novel, this literary podcast, this intimate journal of the artist as a 55 years old grumpy old man is (mostly) about music. Which is to say that it is still about poetry and the search of love and about living in the modern world as The Anthologist.
Greetings, this is Chowder’s Poetry Slurp, and I’m here to welcome you to another show in which we talk about the world of freelance hydroponics. I’m Paul Chowder, your harbormaster, confidant, and co-conspirator.
I guess the freelance hydroponics is related to Paul’s travelling sprinklers. He uses them to water the tomatoes in the garden of his neighbour Pat and as a metaphor for the poet’s mind: scattering images and thoughts all over the place in a sparkling stream of conscience that take us from octopus-walnut muffins to the intricacies of bassoon playing, Quaker silent meetings, Natalie Portman’s lips, the iron content of molasses, the best spittoon for the Armed Forces, the relative merits of chewing tobacco, pipe smoking or fancy cigars in the process of kickstarting the muses, the amazing possibilities of electronic sound synthesizers, killer drones as messengers of world peace, garbanzo beans, Tyrconnell whisky, CIA history with James Conant and Archibald MacLeish,, stereo versus mono recordings, what makes an everything bagel great, wasabi mustard and more.
These may look a lot like the diversions of an author fighting writer’s block, at least at the start of the podcast. Paul Chowder is a crafty and sly geezer who patiently constructs his argument about the creative process and brings up some surprising and elegant solutions towards the end of the book.
What is metaphorical interference? Okay, well, it’s when two or more strong metaphors are podcasting in the same room together and they mess with each other.
It’s spontaneous. It’s the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, is what it is. All carefully written down as notes.
Out of the mess and loneliness and anger at war crimes, out of dreams and memories and Youtube videos, do-it-yourself podcasts and iTunes playlists, Paul wants to create something beautiful, something that maybe will convince his ex-girlfriend Roz to come back to him. He doesn’t know if it will be a love song, a protest song or a dance tune. Hopefully, all three or something entirely new.
Paul’s editor is phoning in for updates on Paul’s next book. He wants more poems, but he really hates the title proposed by Paul: ‘Misery Hat’
“Well then, write them, sing them,” Gene said. “Sad simple poems are perfectly acceptable. Come on, now.”
“You’re right. Thanks, Gene.”
“And don’t be afraid of putting a little sex in them, the way you used to. That always spices things up. Chastity is for whores.”
Paul would love to spice up his life, but Roz is living with a doctor now and working on her own radio program. It’s an uphill battle when your best weapon is a travelling sprinkler. Is it, though?
The moment you mention it, it starts to twirl and hiss and spray water everywhere. It becomes a controlling metaphor. There’s no help for it, you’re going to get wet.
My favorite riff on the sprinkler metaphor is a little technical detail that the author keeps up his sleeve until close to the end of the story: the path of the water is not random, it follows the water source of inspiration and it advances under its own power.
The hose becomes the guidance system. Consider for a moment the power and the glory of that.
“Drones Are Bad News for Civilization.”
Paul Chowder
>>><<<>>><<<
I love poetry, but I am also a music geek who consumes everything from classical to modern – dance, country, jazz, rap, blues and electronica. Paul Chowder and me are on the same wavelength here, even if I admit I struggle with the American ABCDEF musical notation. I am a do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si-do type of guy who played a little flute in school, so it’s not a completely foreign language. Paul Chowder explains beautifully all these intricacies of song writing and music playing, instrumental and voice. He does get a little pedantic and idiot-proof in his presentation, but his taste is impeccable.
There are a thousand different ways to say “hello” but there’s only one way to say it in print. That’s what we’re losing.
And that’s what music is all about.
I also loved Paul’s arguments about his decision to switch from written poems to musical notes and lyrics. I made extensive notes as I read for a custom playlist that includes the songs, players and classical compositions that are sprinkled all over the book. It’s not exhaustive, but for my own purposes it includes:
Claude Debussy – ‘The Sunken Cathedral’ and ‘L’apres-midi d’un faune’, Igor Stravinsky – ‘The Rite of Spring’, Whitney Houston, Fountains of Wayne – ‘All Kinds of Time’, Anna Nalick – ‘Breathe’, Paul McCartney – ‘Blackbird’, Gerry Rafferty – ‘Baker Street’, Tracy Chapman – ‘Change’, Ben Taylor, The Cowboy Junkies – ‘Common Disaster’, Victoria de Los Angeles singing for Villa-Lobos – ‘Bachianas Brasileiras’, Kate Earl – ‘Melody’, Paul Jacobs on piano.
Music is a way for Paul Chowder to reconnect with himself and with Roz, to get involved in current events and to keep the flame alive for hope, for progress, for love.
Writing a song is also hard work that requires determination, focus, extensive research, practice, practice, practice every day. Apparently, it also needs a lot of cigars. Even with a cracked voice, virtual instruments and limited experience, Paul Chowder chugs along, under his own steam, watering our dry grounds with poems, prayers and promises, rhymes and reasons. (the John Denver reference is mine, not Paul’s)
And then it’s as if I’m a kid who’s fallen on his bicycle and skinned his knee: there’s this damaged, wrecked, injured vocal cord, with half its phlegm scraped away and half still there. It’s just really revolting. I’m sorry about it. It’s a product of my own nervousness. I have to overcome some powerful desire to be entirely private by talking to myself in this almost public way. Whisper-talking. Breaking the silence.
These tags that people use: freedom fighter, terrorist, Communist, fellow traveler, dupe, stooge: I want to forgive everyone. I want to do better with my life. Maybe doing better is somehow finding a way to make people’s imagination work better.
I don’t want to spread the knowledge of evil. I just want to know about love.
Of all sounds, the human voice is the sound that we hear best, just as faces are the sights we see best. The slight skeptical contraction at the corners of the eyes, the tiny, indulgent almost smile – we’re immediately aware of those clues, because we’re born experts at reading faces. And likewise we hear a hundred subtle clues in a singing voice, clues about love and regret and rapture, and some of those clues are dulled or lost in mono.
and finally,
Out of worry or trouble or despair must come some enlightenment. Maybe that’s what a chord progression can teach us. Out of the shuffling mess of dissonance comes a return to pax, to the three-note triad of something basic and pure and unable to be argued with.
Good stuff!
Now I’m off to listen to some songs.
My knees are laughing. Is that allowed?
Reading Nicholson Baker is Fun and thought-provoking, refreshing like jumping through a water fountain on a hot summer day. I’m reading this in deep winter, but I’m glad that Paul Chodwer is back in the saddle, or more precisely, at his writing table. Except he doesn’t want to write any more, in particular no more anthologies of poetry. And he would rather sit in his car and think deep thoughts while he chews, pipes or smokes tobacco, as he reinvents or rediscovers himself as a song writer.
That’s right: this anti-novel, this literary podcast, this intimate journal of the artist as a 55 years old grumpy old man is (mostly) about music. Which is to say that it is still about poetry and the search of love and about living in the modern world as The Anthologist.
Greetings, this is Chowder’s Poetry Slurp, and I’m here to welcome you to another show in which we talk about the world of freelance hydroponics. I’m Paul Chowder, your harbormaster, confidant, and co-conspirator.
I guess the freelance hydroponics is related to Paul’s travelling sprinklers. He uses them to water the tomatoes in the garden of his neighbour Pat and as a metaphor for the poet’s mind: scattering images and thoughts all over the place in a sparkling stream of conscience that take us from octopus-walnut muffins to the intricacies of bassoon playing, Quaker silent meetings, Natalie Portman’s lips, the iron content of molasses, the best spittoon for the Armed Forces, the relative merits of chewing tobacco, pipe smoking or fancy cigars in the process of kickstarting the muses, the amazing possibilities of electronic sound synthesizers, killer drones as messengers of world peace, garbanzo beans, Tyrconnell whisky, CIA history with James Conant and Archibald MacLeish,, stereo versus mono recordings, what makes an everything bagel great, wasabi mustard and more.
These may look a lot like the diversions of an author fighting writer’s block, at least at the start of the podcast. Paul Chowder is a crafty and sly geezer who patiently constructs his argument about the creative process and brings up some surprising and elegant solutions towards the end of the book.
What is metaphorical interference? Okay, well, it’s when two or more strong metaphors are podcasting in the same room together and they mess with each other.
It’s spontaneous. It’s the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, is what it is. All carefully written down as notes.
Out of the mess and loneliness and anger at war crimes, out of dreams and memories and Youtube videos, do-it-yourself podcasts and iTunes playlists, Paul wants to create something beautiful, something that maybe will convince his ex-girlfriend Roz to come back to him. He doesn’t know if it will be a love song, a protest song or a dance tune. Hopefully, all three or something entirely new.
Paul’s editor is phoning in for updates on Paul’s next book. He wants more poems, but he really hates the title proposed by Paul: ‘Misery Hat’
“Well then, write them, sing them,” Gene said. “Sad simple poems are perfectly acceptable. Come on, now.”
“You’re right. Thanks, Gene.”
“And don’t be afraid of putting a little sex in them, the way you used to. That always spices things up. Chastity is for whores.”
Paul would love to spice up his life, but Roz is living with a doctor now and working on her own radio program. It’s an uphill battle when your best weapon is a travelling sprinkler. Is it, though?
The moment you mention it, it starts to twirl and hiss and spray water everywhere. It becomes a controlling metaphor. There’s no help for it, you’re going to get wet.
My favorite riff on the sprinkler metaphor is a little technical detail that the author keeps up his sleeve until close to the end of the story: the path of the water is not random, it follows the water source of inspiration and it advances under its own power.
The hose becomes the guidance system. Consider for a moment the power and the glory of that.
“Drones Are Bad News for Civilization.”
Paul Chowder
>>><<<>>><<<
I love poetry, but I am also a music geek who consumes everything from classical to modern – dance, country, jazz, rap, blues and electronica. Paul Chowder and me are on the same wavelength here, even if I admit I struggle with the American ABCDEF musical notation. I am a do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si-do type of guy who played a little flute in school, so it’s not a completely foreign language. Paul Chowder explains beautifully all these intricacies of song writing and music playing, instrumental and voice. He does get a little pedantic and idiot-proof in his presentation, but his taste is impeccable.
There are a thousand different ways to say “hello” but there’s only one way to say it in print. That’s what we’re losing.
And that’s what music is all about.
I also loved Paul’s arguments about his decision to switch from written poems to musical notes and lyrics. I made extensive notes as I read for a custom playlist that includes the songs, players and classical compositions that are sprinkled all over the book. It’s not exhaustive, but for my own purposes it includes:
Claude Debussy – ‘The Sunken Cathedral’ and ‘L’apres-midi d’un faune’, Igor Stravinsky – ‘The Rite of Spring’, Whitney Houston, Fountains of Wayne – ‘All Kinds of Time’, Anna Nalick – ‘Breathe’, Paul McCartney – ‘Blackbird’, Gerry Rafferty – ‘Baker Street’, Tracy Chapman – ‘Change’, Ben Taylor, The Cowboy Junkies – ‘Common Disaster’, Victoria de Los Angeles singing for Villa-Lobos – ‘Bachianas Brasileiras’, Kate Earl – ‘Melody’, Paul Jacobs on piano.
Music is a way for Paul Chowder to reconnect with himself and with Roz, to get involved in current events and to keep the flame alive for hope, for progress, for love.
Writing a song is also hard work that requires determination, focus, extensive research, practice, practice, practice every day. Apparently, it also needs a lot of cigars. Even with a cracked voice, virtual instruments and limited experience, Paul Chowder chugs along, under his own steam, watering our dry grounds with poems, prayers and promises, rhymes and reasons. (the John Denver reference is mine, not Paul’s)
And then it’s as if I’m a kid who’s fallen on his bicycle and skinned his knee: there’s this damaged, wrecked, injured vocal cord, with half its phlegm scraped away and half still there. It’s just really revolting. I’m sorry about it. It’s a product of my own nervousness. I have to overcome some powerful desire to be entirely private by talking to myself in this almost public way. Whisper-talking. Breaking the silence.
These tags that people use: freedom fighter, terrorist, Communist, fellow traveler, dupe, stooge: I want to forgive everyone. I want to do better with my life. Maybe doing better is somehow finding a way to make people’s imagination work better.
I don’t want to spread the knowledge of evil. I just want to know about love.
Of all sounds, the human voice is the sound that we hear best, just as faces are the sights we see best. The slight skeptical contraction at the corners of the eyes, the tiny, indulgent almost smile – we’re immediately aware of those clues, because we’re born experts at reading faces. And likewise we hear a hundred subtle clues in a singing voice, clues about love and regret and rapture, and some of those clues are dulled or lost in mono.
and finally,
Out of worry or trouble or despair must come some enlightenment. Maybe that’s what a chord progression can teach us. Out of the shuffling mess of dissonance comes a return to pax, to the three-note triad of something basic and pure and unable to be argued with.
Good stuff!
Now I’m off to listen to some songs.
December 21, 2014
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher through Netgalley. I had not heard about Nicholson Baker until now. I really enjoyed reading this book. It's not the story -- because there is essentially no story -- it's the voice and musings of the narrator that make this book. Having hit 55, the narrator regrets a lost girlfriend, and feels he's done his time as a poet. So he works on reconnecting with the lost girlfriend and teaches himself to play music so he can write songs instead of poetry. As I said it's not the story that makes this book good. It's the narrator's personality -- an oddly loveable curmudgeon who is generous with the small circle of people in his life -- and all of his random thoughts and observations about contemporary America. A great little book.
April 23, 2018
This book is a whiny guy with no life who places his arbitrary thoughts about nothing in particular on paper. That's it. Nothing happens, he just thinks to himself about himself.
Think back to the most boring small talk you've ever heard from the most uninteresting person you've ever met, then make him a stoner who's been burning brain cells daily for 30 years. Give him a bassoon and listen to him discuss his poetry. If that sounds like a good time, you'll love this book.
Think back to the most boring small talk you've ever heard from the most uninteresting person you've ever met, then make him a stoner who's been burning brain cells daily for 30 years. Give him a bassoon and listen to him discuss his poetry. If that sounds like a good time, you'll love this book.
August 20, 2015
The title Traveling Sprinkler was what drew me to this book in the first place. I was intrigued. As it turns out, it seems to be some sort of metaphor for creativity. I think. I didn’t analyze this too closely, I was having too much fun.
This was a pretty fast read, except where it slowed in spots with detailed descriptions of all kinds of modern technological gizmos that can now be used to make music—I’m not really a technology person -- and one part where Baker was apparently trying to teach me to read music, which was more musical education than I’ve had in decades. And it went no better, in fact, than when a high school boyfriend tried to teach me to play guitar, but the less said about that and him, the better. Other than those limited sections, this book was good for a light read and I laughed out loud in a few places. I was definitely entertained.
This was a pretty fast read, except where it slowed in spots with detailed descriptions of all kinds of modern technological gizmos that can now be used to make music—I’m not really a technology person -- and one part where Baker was apparently trying to teach me to read music, which was more musical education than I’ve had in decades. And it went no better, in fact, than when a high school boyfriend tried to teach me to play guitar, but the less said about that and him, the better. Other than those limited sections, this book was good for a light read and I laughed out loud in a few places. I was definitely entertained.
June 27, 2013
When I saw this available on NetGalley, I was surprised because I hadn't heard that Nicholson Baker had a new novel coming out. It took just a few pages before I realized what this is! A sequel to The Anthologist, a book I loved and got me into reading poetry again, with one of my favorite characters lately. I was happy to jump into his mind again.
Now I will put the rest of the review behind spoiler tags because my friend who first recommended Baker to me will lose it if I give anything away before he gets to read it!
This is Paul Chowder, sitting in a plastic chair. I want-I want-I want to tell you something new. I feel that I have a new thing.
Now I will put the rest of the review behind spoiler tags because my friend who first recommended Baker to me will lose it if I give anything away before he gets to read it!
February 6, 2017
A light, fun, quirky, sometimes instructional and curling back around like its eponymous sprinkler system love story that you read in a day and go ha!
February 4, 2022
I don't know anything useful about poetry any more. I love it, sort of, but I also don't love it and every day that I live, it seems more mysterious and farther away from me. p20
This is Paul Chowder, with three books of poetry on the shelves and a new anthology of poetry that he has slaved over (as recounted in the first chronicle) selling well on the college circuit. He thinks that's enough poetry. He wants to move on to other endeavours.
I want to be starting out. I want to be speaking in a foreign language. I want to offer an alternate route. I want to amass ragged armfuls of lucid confusion. p20
So, something else to do with words then. Language. You have plenty of ideas, Nicholson Baker, and the audacity to give your alter-ego the guts to actually go out and not just get the stuff to look at on the shelf, but to dive right in with the special effects. He's writing songs! Maybe not enough music to release an album yet, nor the inclination to write a whole book on music theory or literary criticism. Is all that about Archibald McLeitch really true? Perhaps drones are the urgent thing to be writing about. But social commentary is risky. Maybe you are mildly depressed. Your publisher doesn't like that idea much either. What you really want to do is write a romantic saga that will have readers spontaneously leaping up to dance.
You have to be careful not to over-listen to a piece of music you love, or you'll wear it out- it has to last your whole life. p253
How about a novel? Yes! and you could include all of the things and keep the love interest alive at the same time. Then those people who would never pick up a book about drones, or language, would read the bits that you slipped in about drones, and language.And I certainly appreciated all your recommendations for my playlist. Quite brilliant, actually.
I have no faith in books to stop anything. You need something more than a book. p58
You need more than words. You need shouting. You need crowds of people sitting down in the road. You need audible outrage. p59
This is Paul Chowder, with three books of poetry on the shelves and a new anthology of poetry that he has slaved over (as recounted in the first chronicle) selling well on the college circuit. He thinks that's enough poetry. He wants to move on to other endeavours.
I want to be starting out. I want to be speaking in a foreign language. I want to offer an alternate route. I want to amass ragged armfuls of lucid confusion. p20
So, something else to do with words then. Language. You have plenty of ideas, Nicholson Baker, and the audacity to give your alter-ego the guts to actually go out and not just get the stuff to look at on the shelf, but to dive right in with the special effects. He's writing songs! Maybe not enough music to release an album yet, nor the inclination to write a whole book on music theory or literary criticism. Is all that about Archibald McLeitch really true? Perhaps drones are the urgent thing to be writing about. But social commentary is risky. Maybe you are mildly depressed. Your publisher doesn't like that idea much either. What you really want to do is write a romantic saga that will have readers spontaneously leaping up to dance.
You have to be careful not to over-listen to a piece of music you love, or you'll wear it out- it has to last your whole life. p253
How about a novel? Yes! and you could include all of the things and keep the love interest alive at the same time. Then those people who would never pick up a book about drones, or language, would read the bits that you slipped in about drones, and language.And I certainly appreciated all your recommendations for my playlist. Quite brilliant, actually.
I have no faith in books to stop anything. You need something more than a book. p58
You need more than words. You need shouting. You need crowds of people sitting down in the road. You need audible outrage. p59
January 24, 2015
I don't like Nicholson Baker, I think, but after reading his books I always feel that I happen to love him, which is weird, because as far as I can tell from his author photo, he's a big hairy dude with a beard. I guess what I mean is he writes with compelling immediacy and intimacy. He's so situated in the mundane curiosities of driving around, going to the grocery store, taking a bath, calling his ex-girlfriend, and in the case of this book -- gossip about poets -- that reading him feels like knowing someone very well, knowing someone so well that they can tell you stuff like that, stuff that itself doesn't take shape in the currency of 'interesting things', but happens to be so because of the relationship it is encased in.
Here are some sentences from the first chapter of the book
"The first time I read Keats's sonnet 'When I have Fears," I was eating a tuna sub. I was an applied music major, with a concentration in bassoon. I'd found the poem in the Norton Anthology of Poetry -- the shorter black edition with the Blake watercolor of a griffin on the cover. I propped the Norton open with my brown plastic food tray and I started reading and eating the tuna sub and drinking V8 juice occasionally from a little can"
Keats says: 'When I have fears that I may cease to be." He doesn't say, "When I have fears that I may," you know, "drop dead," or "breathe my last" -- no, it's "cease to be." I stopped chewing. I was caught by the emptiness and ungraspability in that phrase. And then came the next line, and I made a little hum of amazement: "When I have fears that I may cease to be," Keats says, "Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain."
I don't want to pretend that the cafeteria spun around. It stayed still. I heard the grinding sound of the cash register printing. But I was thinking very hard. I was thinking about a large tortoiseshell that somebody had given me when I was small. There was a sort of fused backbone on the inside of it that ran down the middle. This bony ridge smelled terrible when you sniffed it close-up, although it had no odor from a normal distance. I imagined the tortoiseshell as the top dome of a human skull, and I imagined Keats's pen gleaning bits of thought flesh from it.
In this passage, Baker takes the extremely average experience of reading keats in the norton and turns it into a unique, specific, sensorial experience. There is the historical context -- "music major", "with a concentration in bassoon". There is sight -- "the shorter black edition with the Blake watercolor". There is the sound of the poem's iams, which Baker analyzes, and the surprising ending -- "cease to be". There is taste -- "tuna sub" and "v8". There is the work of the imagination -- "the tortoiseshell", and there is even smell -- "this bony ridge smelled terrible when you sniffed it close up".
Later in the book, Paul Chowder (the narrator) mentions that he's begun a practice of meditation. each morning he takes an object, and ponders for ten minutes on all the sensations it evokes, in terms of each of the seven senses. In a way, this meditative practice also suggests the whole structure of the book.
Here are some sentences from the first chapter of the book
"The first time I read Keats's sonnet 'When I have Fears," I was eating a tuna sub. I was an applied music major, with a concentration in bassoon. I'd found the poem in the Norton Anthology of Poetry -- the shorter black edition with the Blake watercolor of a griffin on the cover. I propped the Norton open with my brown plastic food tray and I started reading and eating the tuna sub and drinking V8 juice occasionally from a little can"
Keats says: 'When I have fears that I may cease to be." He doesn't say, "When I have fears that I may," you know, "drop dead," or "breathe my last" -- no, it's "cease to be." I stopped chewing. I was caught by the emptiness and ungraspability in that phrase. And then came the next line, and I made a little hum of amazement: "When I have fears that I may cease to be," Keats says, "Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain."
I don't want to pretend that the cafeteria spun around. It stayed still. I heard the grinding sound of the cash register printing. But I was thinking very hard. I was thinking about a large tortoiseshell that somebody had given me when I was small. There was a sort of fused backbone on the inside of it that ran down the middle. This bony ridge smelled terrible when you sniffed it close-up, although it had no odor from a normal distance. I imagined the tortoiseshell as the top dome of a human skull, and I imagined Keats's pen gleaning bits of thought flesh from it.
In this passage, Baker takes the extremely average experience of reading keats in the norton and turns it into a unique, specific, sensorial experience. There is the historical context -- "music major", "with a concentration in bassoon". There is sight -- "the shorter black edition with the Blake watercolor". There is the sound of the poem's iams, which Baker analyzes, and the surprising ending -- "cease to be". There is taste -- "tuna sub" and "v8". There is the work of the imagination -- "the tortoiseshell", and there is even smell -- "this bony ridge smelled terrible when you sniffed it close up".
Later in the book, Paul Chowder (the narrator) mentions that he's begun a practice of meditation. each morning he takes an object, and ponders for ten minutes on all the sensations it evokes, in terms of each of the seven senses. In a way, this meditative practice also suggests the whole structure of the book.
July 2, 2016
Nowhere Man
Paul Chowder is a distasteful little man drifting through life like the aforementioned sprinkler. Except that he contributes nothing to anyone or anywhere he happens to exist at the time, unlike the sprinkler, which has a purpose to water the grass. He just sucks down oxygen and waits to die.
He has no passions, but gets some money out of thin air from his vapid poetry. The apex of his life was playing the buffoon in an orchestra before he became a poet. He is always thinking about the buffoon and how it sounds, and dead composers, and the CIA and drones, while he spends all his money on equipment to make a pop song about street sweepers. When he isn’t bothering his ex-girlfriend because he needs a woman to take care of him and because of her “lady parts,” he can’t even bestir himself to watch porn online, but did go out on one online date. It, like everything else did not interest him much.
He is afraid of deer, Quaker Meetings, and most of all the CIA and drones. He has no stress or worry at all except when he goes to Quaker Meetings and has to hold his car keys there to control himself. He can’t figure out how to flush a toilet or why his car is breaking, since he is a complete idiot about anything useful. But he does manage to “get high” smoking cigars. He was drinking too much teenager Yukon Jack and needed a new drug. He is the kind of person for whom Meth was invented. Unfortunately he did not discover it early in the book and off himself. Paulie want some heroin?
The nowhere man is the toothless hillbilly rocking on the dilapidated porch in the woods, he does apparently live in the woods of Butthole Vermont of someplace like it—a completely worthless, disposable person who doesn’t try to do much of anything, waiting peacefully for it all to be over. “All” is an exaggeration in his case.
The book only works, and I only read it past the first chapter, quit about half-way, because it is a stream of consciousness style of writing with no narrative text. The book would be a complete flop if told in narrative. It is an interesting structure for a writer to study.
The East Coast literati called it, “funny.” Really? But then, they are amused by pointless New Yorker cartoons…
Paul Chowder is a distasteful little man drifting through life like the aforementioned sprinkler. Except that he contributes nothing to anyone or anywhere he happens to exist at the time, unlike the sprinkler, which has a purpose to water the grass. He just sucks down oxygen and waits to die.
He has no passions, but gets some money out of thin air from his vapid poetry. The apex of his life was playing the buffoon in an orchestra before he became a poet. He is always thinking about the buffoon and how it sounds, and dead composers, and the CIA and drones, while he spends all his money on equipment to make a pop song about street sweepers. When he isn’t bothering his ex-girlfriend because he needs a woman to take care of him and because of her “lady parts,” he can’t even bestir himself to watch porn online, but did go out on one online date. It, like everything else did not interest him much.
He is afraid of deer, Quaker Meetings, and most of all the CIA and drones. He has no stress or worry at all except when he goes to Quaker Meetings and has to hold his car keys there to control himself. He can’t figure out how to flush a toilet or why his car is breaking, since he is a complete idiot about anything useful. But he does manage to “get high” smoking cigars. He was drinking too much teenager Yukon Jack and needed a new drug. He is the kind of person for whom Meth was invented. Unfortunately he did not discover it early in the book and off himself. Paulie want some heroin?
The nowhere man is the toothless hillbilly rocking on the dilapidated porch in the woods, he does apparently live in the woods of Butthole Vermont of someplace like it—a completely worthless, disposable person who doesn’t try to do much of anything, waiting peacefully for it all to be over. “All” is an exaggeration in his case.
The book only works, and I only read it past the first chapter, quit about half-way, because it is a stream of consciousness style of writing with no narrative text. The book would be a complete flop if told in narrative. It is an interesting structure for a writer to study.
The East Coast literati called it, “funny.” Really? But then, they are amused by pointless New Yorker cartoons…
October 6, 2013
Good goddamn. What a book. This book is intensely personal and surprisingly political, but not in the "I have an agenda" self-serving bullshit way of politics.
Most of my review would be redundant with my other reviews of Nicholson Baker's fiction. Brilliant. Genius. Blah blah blah. A few incomplete sentences I'm not sure if I've said, or if I have, not in these exact words: His subtle metaphors, so simple and so complex. The metaphor of the traveling sprinkler is genius, as well as Baker's refusal to explain himself to you. His incredible talent with the English language, in deconstructing existing words and constructing new ones. His ability to make me laugh, cry, and think so deeply all at the same time. Ah! Writerly love.
There's so much love in this book, but there's anger, too. And writing about how to deal with this anger. Anger at war and destruction. Anger at the people who perpetuate it. The underlying message through it all is this: the world fucking sucks right now. And it's so easy to think there's nothing we can do about it, but we can. We can try harder to love one another.
Most of my review would be redundant with my other reviews of Nicholson Baker's fiction. Brilliant. Genius. Blah blah blah. A few incomplete sentences I'm not sure if I've said, or if I have, not in these exact words: His subtle metaphors, so simple and so complex. The metaphor of the traveling sprinkler is genius, as well as Baker's refusal to explain himself to you. His incredible talent with the English language, in deconstructing existing words and constructing new ones. His ability to make me laugh, cry, and think so deeply all at the same time. Ah! Writerly love.
There's so much love in this book, but there's anger, too. And writing about how to deal with this anger. Anger at war and destruction. Anger at the people who perpetuate it. The underlying message through it all is this: the world fucking sucks right now. And it's so easy to think there's nothing we can do about it, but we can. We can try harder to love one another.
June 15, 2013
Poet Paul Chowder is in between--middle aged, living off a briskly selling poetry anthology, not working on a book, and pining a bit for his ex-girlfriend, Roz. Frankly, he just wants to write a good old-fashioned anti-drone strike protest song. He sits in his car and fiddles with lyrics. He attends an occasional Quaker meetings. He smokes cigars and waters his neighbor's tomatoes. His barn floor collapses, he fiddles with words some more. He muses about Debussy, Stravinsky, John Mayer and how music works. He goes to Best Buy. Calls his agent. Roz has a hysterectomy. Paul finally decides what he needs to do. One of Nicholson Baker's best by far, this quiet, charming and intelligent novel is one of the many I picked up at the Book Expo this year and almost didn't. My life would have been so much different, if I hadn't. The second "middle-aged man as disgruntled writer" novel I've read this year, and the sweetest thing I've read in a long time.
(Title released in September '13.)
(Title released in September '13.)
August 10, 2016
I might've lost that lovin feelin for Nicholson Baker. If he ever came to town to speak, and i knew about it in advance, i'd probably try to arrange to hear him. If he offered a class, i'd definitely plunk down some money to learn from him. But my reactions to this, his latest novel, lead me to believe he might be moving in a direction i don't wanna follow OR that i have moved in a direction he ain't headed in.
Still, good for you, Paul Chowder! Keep crankin out them books cuz you must be pleasing most of the people much of the time.
Still, good for you, Paul Chowder! Keep crankin out them books cuz you must be pleasing most of the people much of the time.
March 16, 2015
Nicholson Baker is a new author for me. I really enjoyed this book. I loved his voice throughout, his storytelling ability and the way he created himself. Definitely finding another one of his books to start immediately. This is one of those books I am sorry I finished.
December 5, 2019
Fairly potty sequel to "The Anthologist". A jobbing poet is trying to move over into making music rather than poetry, though caught between the influences of classical and modern pop/dance music, what he (ironically) struggles with are the lyrics - they are terrible! The titular metaphor of the travelling sprinkler, the sprinkler that is not fixed but uses the water pressure to direct it's aim, constantly moving and changing trajectories, is I suppose a metaphor for Paul the poet's own life and how he lives it fairly purposelessly and randomly. A stoner who smokes cigars rather than ganja. Like I say, fairly potty, but reasonably enjoyable.
June 28, 2020
A fun read. Baker has a very nice way of unravelling Paul's character and story through a stream of thought approach in his writing style. I especially enjoyed his descriptions of how to make a track on Abelton.
February 8, 2020
Sweet and gentle - lots about music, poetry and books, kinda nicely dated now with discussions on the movie Garden State and older bands. Got a little dull tho at times.... But feel it could be just the thing for some readers!
January 4, 2021
The kind of novel that makes you want to read a (better) novel. Not atrocious, but soporific in almost every element.
August 2, 2021
After reading The Anthologist, and seeing Nicholson Baker in person speak at UVA, I loved this book. Paul Chowder exemplifies middle-age ennui in the most honest, empathetic way with some of the most hilarious quips and jokes I’ve heard (definitely in the dad jokes category). If anything Chowder (Nicholson?) has shown me there is no age limit to intelligence, love of literature/poetry, creation of the latter, brotherly love, and inventiveness.
April 2, 2014
Paul Chowder is back... the feckless (that word shows up a lot), rambling, self-obsessed poet-protagonist of Nicholson Baker's short work The Anthologist returns, in this longer and somehow even less-focused novel.
Traveling Sprinkler picks up pretty much where its predecessor left off. Paul's girlfriend Roz has left him to start a radio show that regularly debunks myths of the medical establishment—a distinctly valuable public service, in contrast to the more ambiguous benefits society may receive from a modern-day poet (albeit one who gets taught in college courses).
Chowder's into broadcasting too, kind of—at least, several chapters start with him introducing a notional podcast, of all things (although it's not clear whether he's actually producing said podcast or merely thinking about the forms one might take).
The Anthologist benefited from having a clear central conflict: Chowder had a deadline, and was having trouble meeting it. But... in Traveling Sprinkler, all the pressure is off (heh). That anthology has been published, and is earning royalties. Paul's working on a new collection (which he wants to call Misery Hat, over his editor's objections), but he doesn't have a timetable for that. He's not a wealthy man (what poet is?), but the wolf doesn't seem to be anywhere near the door.
Oh, sure, things happen that Paul has to deal with—Roz has health issues, and the decrepit New England farm to which Chowder has retreated has a few structural problems of its own... but most of this novel involves Chowder's series of personal enthusiasms and distractions. He goes to Best Buy and picks up a crappy guitar-in-a-box. He listens to a lot of music on his iPod—some of which is quite good (by which I mean: to my own taste), and spends a fair amount of time online (I believe this is the first Baker book to contain a YouTube URL—a valid one, at that, pointing to Stephen Fearing's rendition of "Don't Wanna Know about Evil" {p.107}). Chowder attends Quaker assemblies and sometimes even speaks, when the silence has gone on too long. He sits in his car and works on that poetry collection. He downloads a music-generation software package called Logic to his Mac (of course it'd be an Apple) out in the barn, and spends an inordinate amount of time thereafter explaining exactly what presets he's chosen for his various half-written songs about egg slicers, canoes and the eponymous traveling sprinkler.
In short, the man rambles.
But... this is Nicholson Baker we're talking about here—the guy who once expanded twenty minutes spent rocking an infant to sleep into an entire novel. Rambling is what Baker does—and like Garrison Keillor, at least these days, you just have to give Chowder a chance to circle around to the point. And although he (unlike that traveling sprinkler) has no predefined path to follow, an overall arc to Paul Chowder's story eventually does become apparent.
I didn't like Traveling Sprinkler quite as much as I did The Anthologist, despite the newer novel's wealth of shared cultural touchstones. It just didn't seem to contain as much of an animating spark. But Baker on a bad day is better than most books' authors on their best, and sharing Paul Chowder's life is by no means the worst way to spend part of your own.
Traveling Sprinkler picks up pretty much where its predecessor left off. Paul's girlfriend Roz has left him to start a radio show that regularly debunks myths of the medical establishment—a distinctly valuable public service, in contrast to the more ambiguous benefits society may receive from a modern-day poet (albeit one who gets taught in college courses).
Chowder's into broadcasting too, kind of—at least, several chapters start with him introducing a notional podcast, of all things (although it's not clear whether he's actually producing said podcast or merely thinking about the forms one might take).
The Anthologist benefited from having a clear central conflict: Chowder had a deadline, and was having trouble meeting it. But... in Traveling Sprinkler, all the pressure is off (heh). That anthology has been published, and is earning royalties. Paul's working on a new collection (which he wants to call Misery Hat, over his editor's objections), but he doesn't have a timetable for that. He's not a wealthy man (what poet is?), but the wolf doesn't seem to be anywhere near the door.
Oh, sure, things happen that Paul has to deal with—Roz has health issues, and the decrepit New England farm to which Chowder has retreated has a few structural problems of its own... but most of this novel involves Chowder's series of personal enthusiasms and distractions. He goes to Best Buy and picks up a crappy guitar-in-a-box. He listens to a lot of music on his iPod—some of which is quite good (by which I mean: to my own taste), and spends a fair amount of time online (I believe this is the first Baker book to contain a YouTube URL—a valid one, at that, pointing to Stephen Fearing's rendition of "Don't Wanna Know about Evil" {p.107}). Chowder attends Quaker assemblies and sometimes even speaks, when the silence has gone on too long. He sits in his car and works on that poetry collection. He downloads a music-generation software package called Logic to his Mac (of course it'd be an Apple) out in the barn, and spends an inordinate amount of time thereafter explaining exactly what presets he's chosen for his various half-written songs about egg slicers, canoes and the eponymous traveling sprinkler.
In short, the man rambles.
But... this is Nicholson Baker we're talking about here—the guy who once expanded twenty minutes spent rocking an infant to sleep into an entire novel. Rambling is what Baker does—and like Garrison Keillor, at least these days, you just have to give Chowder a chance to circle around to the point. And although he (unlike that traveling sprinkler) has no predefined path to follow, an overall arc to Paul Chowder's story eventually does become apparent.
I didn't like Traveling Sprinkler quite as much as I did The Anthologist, despite the newer novel's wealth of shared cultural touchstones. It just didn't seem to contain as much of an animating spark. But Baker on a bad day is better than most books' authors on their best, and sharing Paul Chowder's life is by no means the worst way to spend part of your own.
June 14, 2025
hear the word
get up soon
kiss the lips
bite the moon
feel the fruit
find your way
sail the boat
dream of me
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride
Take a ride in my boat
fix the text
take the stick
crack the nut
make it slick
chomp the bit
drink the beer
wipe the spit
check the gear
crack the nut and drop the pants
milk the meat and learn to dance
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
get up soon
kiss the lips
bite the moon
feel the fruit
find your way
sail the boat
dream of me
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride
Take a ride in my boat
fix the text
take the stick
crack the nut
make it slick
chomp the bit
drink the beer
wipe the spit
check the gear
crack the nut and drop the pants
milk the meat and learn to dance
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
Take a ride in my boat
July 28, 2013
Traveling Sprinkler ended up being surprisingly touching for me. At first, I felt like the main character/narrator, Paul Chowder, rambled too much and went into too much detail about musical theory. I soon became aware of what a mild mannered charm and boyishness Paul had, and I grew to appreciate his enthusiasm for the subjects he was passionate about.
Paul Chowder is a minor poet who is due to write a new book, but his heart just isn't in it anymore. Music is what captures his attention, and he desires to write a song. He thinks about writing a pop song, or a protest song due to all of the worries he has about where our country is headed, and he'd really like to write a love song. Paul is still completely hung up on his ex-girlfriend Roz, and he worries when she has to undergo major surgery. The way their relationship ended is one of his biggest regrets, and he still hopes that they will have a future together. This book follows Paul as he meanders along, and tries to decide what direction to take next.
As I read, I decided that Paul was an exceedingly nice and caring man, and I enjoyed his story. I also liked the character of Roz quite a bit. I was rooting for Paul throughout the story, and wishing good things in his life. Paul was an individual who liked to do what good things he could for others, and that made him even more endearing. I received this ARC from the publisher.
Paul Chowder is a minor poet who is due to write a new book, but his heart just isn't in it anymore. Music is what captures his attention, and he desires to write a song. He thinks about writing a pop song, or a protest song due to all of the worries he has about where our country is headed, and he'd really like to write a love song. Paul is still completely hung up on his ex-girlfriend Roz, and he worries when she has to undergo major surgery. The way their relationship ended is one of his biggest regrets, and he still hopes that they will have a future together. This book follows Paul as he meanders along, and tries to decide what direction to take next.
As I read, I decided that Paul was an exceedingly nice and caring man, and I enjoyed his story. I also liked the character of Roz quite a bit. I was rooting for Paul throughout the story, and wishing good things in his life. Paul was an individual who liked to do what good things he could for others, and that made him even more endearing. I received this ARC from the publisher.
September 22, 2014
What a charmer! The narrator of Baker's The Anthologist, Paul Chowder, doesn’t want to be a poet anymore. He wants to write protest songs, or love songs, or protest-love songs. He's a bit unsettled in every sense. With songs on his mind, he’s forever talking about music and how music is made and the motivations to do so, the artifice of translating music onto paper (much like stories into text). There are asides about cigars, Obama’s drone war, Quakerism – a Blll Bryson-ful of accessible facts wittily told. Baker constantly references songs and videos, even including a cumbersome YouTube address for a Stephen Fearing video that is well worth stopping what you're doing to peck out. And I kept doing so -- interrupting my reading to jot down titles or call up music, as if these were audio footnotes to the text. Then I remembered that Baker has employed extensive footnotes in the past, so, AHA!, I see what you’re up to, you scamp! Seemingly scattered, this is no collection of random facts. They are pieces of loveable, flawed Paul Chowder, a man trying to get back on track. Not a difficult book by any means but a playful pleasure.
September 21, 2013
While I enjoyed this return of Paul Chowder from "The Anthologist", unlike many reviewers here, I think "The Anthologist" is a better book (5 stars from me). Maybe that's because I prefer Paul to be obsessed with writing poems rather than pop songs as he is in this book. I know about poets and poems, so I really enjoyed all the references and funny comments about them in "The Anthologist". My knowledge of recent pop songs and their writers is, ummm, rather lacking, and so many of the pop song references and comments fell flat for me in "Traveling Sprinkler". But at least Paul and Roz seem to have gotten their relationship back on track and so, hopefully, there will be no more of Paul pining away over Roz in any future Baker books, although that pining provides many funny and sweet moments in both books. And, hopefully, there will be future books about Paul and his creative quests because he is such a memorable and endearing character, and oh so funny. Nicholson Baker's prose is sparkling and witty as always. There are few writers who entertain me as much as Nicholson Baker.
October 7, 2013
There are few writers that I read that I really wish I could develop a friendship with; Nicholson Baker is an exception. He is thoughtful, funny, and deeply compassionate; of course, all those things don't necessarily make for a good writer, but he is talented to boot. Or maybe it's just Paul Chowder that I like so much, who seems to have all these qualities I'm attributing to Baker but maybe is a little less talented. Anyway, I the mixture of poetry and music that buoys the storyline of Chowder trying to win back the affections of his friend Roz simply works -- at no point does it feel like Baker has created a "sound-track" that could readily be tapped into with a movie option for the novel. I think "The Anthologist" was a stronger book, but this novel had a very relaxed and nice groove to it.
For anyone interested, I made a fairly inclusive music list of practically every song Baker mentions in the novel housed at Spotify: http://open.spotify.com/user/12184334....
Enjoy the tunes and help yourself to a good read with this novel!
For anyone interested, I made a fairly inclusive music list of practically every song Baker mentions in the novel housed at Spotify: http://open.spotify.com/user/12184334....
Enjoy the tunes and help yourself to a good read with this novel!
February 25, 2014
Although this felt like a quite light, slight, but very funny read, Nicholson Baker's voice (the same protagonist that I thoroughly enjoyed in The Anthologist) is wry, engaging, sort of endearing ... distinctive. If you like its mix of self-aware and self-deprecating, whiny apathy and earnestness, it's really an enjoyable (and funny!) read. The emphasis on music here brought Nick Hornby to mind, and music junkies will probably chuckle at Paul Chowder's obsessive music research, conducted while trying to write a pop song, and while trying to win back his ex-girlfriend.
I listened to it as an audio book, narrated by the author.
I listened to it as an audio book, narrated by the author.
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