the · affected · provincial’s · almanack

Anything you'd like to ask about the next book?

In Laurence Sterne's wonderfully digression-riddled novel, Tristram Shandy, Tristram's father is described as being the lively-minded sort of fellow who, despite not being a deep scholar, was adept at picking up fancies and notions, playing with them for a half hour's time, refining the points, adding some of his own, polishing them idly in his hands—then blithely tossing them aside in favor of some other trifle.

That's Affected Provincialism in action: modest in scale, but broad in scope. Rather than a grand ball it's a fête champêtre; instead of a court painting it's a pastorale; and rather than a huge symphony it's a string quartet, or perhaps woodwinds on the grass. It's a lighthearted synthesis of small, provisional, disparate ideas--a bit of a muddle, actually. I think Sterne put it best when he wrote:

Affected Provincials are prolific crackpots brimming with the amateur spirit. They are often autodidacts and do-it-yourselfers not accredited in their field(s) of study, often living on the margins of where the action is purported to be. With their boundless energy and restless minds, they tend to be entrepreneurs, philomaths, aesthetes, dilettantes, and jacks-of-all-trades. You'll know an Affected Provincial by the air of improbability they have about them, and by their nonchalant rumpledness; their style is a bit off, but has its own kind of dash. Erasmus Darwin, Benjamin Franklin, the Wright Brothers, Joseph Cornell, Erik Satie, and Edward Gorey all had a bit of the Affected Provincial in them. Affected Provincials are cosmopolitan in their own way: They may travel widely and get about in cities, but they will consciously choose to cloister themselves in some way--either in a secluded urban oasis or a geographically isolated area. Because they need space for the peculiar milieus they create for themselves, they live in a state of self-imposed exile, keeping the world at arm's length.

Affected Provincialism can take many forms, but personally I prefer borrowing heavily from the combined qualities of the naturalist, philomath, dandy and aesthete. Independence, liberality, optimism, playfulness, curiosity, lightness, and generosity are integral to Affected Provincialism; it's modeled loosely on the idea of the eighteenth-century gentleman amateur, as wrongly imagined by a twenty-first-century twit. Aspects of the urbane, aristocratic parlor vulture combine with the contradictory image of a country gentleman puffing a clay pipe under a sweetgum tree, breezing through a field guide on wildflowers (an archetypal dandy would never be caught in such a setting, let alone gushing enthusiastically about it). I enjoy the inherent contradictions in a notion like pastoral dandyism: a silk tie in the shade of a straw hat.

The Affected Provincial is a slightly more droll, playful creature than his cool, reserved cousin in the city; he doesn't take himself too seriously; he believes that humor and playfulness are far more civilized than bitchiness and bile. Victor Hugo wrote: "The provincial dandy wore the longest of spurs, and the fiercest of moustaches." Hugo implied disdain, but where he found fault, I find something reassuringly exuberant. Because the diasporan, aesthetically feral Affected Provincial lives beyond the city's halls of mirrors, he is free to nurture the idiosyncrasies that would have been pruned in more proscribed, fashion-conscious environs. Thus, he tends to raise eyebrows when he sticks a feather in his cap and rides into town. Affected Provincialism proposes that not all of our innovations, in the interest of our culture’s health, must bear urban DNA—especially in a time when cities (and in some cases, the people in them) are becoming more alike.

Like Sterne's father, I presumptuously fancy myself a man of parts--but it may be more accurate to say I am a deeply committed dilettante. Being a sort of dabbler, I'm not an expert in any one field of study or discipline, but I do fancy myself an expert in synthesizing what I know. Some people might describe such a state of mind as postmodern. I would call it making the best of a public education.

~W

John Tresch, Assistant Professor of History and Sociology of Science at the University of Pennsylvania, sat in on one of my readings last fall. Here's an excerpt of his incredibly kind letter:

"Last autumn I had the dagger-like pleasure of attending the public reading you magnanimously bestowed upon the Kelly Writer’s House of the University of Pennsylvania. Although I was already under the spell of your elegant, uproarious, and erudite volume, The Affected Provincial's Companion, I was delighted both by your ensemble, with its delicately outré combination of lavender and mossy green, and by your presentation, with its mélange of wit, extravagance, and modest breaks for the drinking of water.

Rather than grant you the warrior’s repose you had so forcefully earned, following your oratorical exertions I took the liberty of requesting your handwritten dedication upon a copy of your verdant tome for a dear friend of mine. (This friend has subsequently inaugurated a Whimsy Reading Circle in the outskirts of Chicago.) Yet more presumptuously (astonishing even myself), I dared to say a few words to you about my research into France in the nineteenth century, and, perhaps slightly less impertinently, about a course I will be teaching at Penn on aesthetics and technique next year. Your graceful response to these pleasantries stoked my audacity to a feverish blaze. Recklessly, I dared to presume upon your patience yet further and ask whether, by any ice-swan's chance in the Inferno, you might be willing to visit this class and deliver a light dusting of brilliance to a room of eager yet undercultivated minds on the topic of the theory and practice of dandyism."

[...]

"Although your calendar certainly now grows weedy with invitations—- to pyramid excavations, opium tastings, limousine-demolition derbies-- I wonder if there is any reason to hope that you might be enticed to return to the desert of West Philadelphia for a conversation with our class. Permit me to bore with details: The course’s marquee will read: “Instruments in Music and Science, 1750-1850.” In fact the course will be co-taught by myself, bringing a perspective from the History of Science (“dropping science,” one might say) and by a dear colleague, Emily Dolan, opalescent pedagogue of the Music Department. Emily has also devoured each word of your book and matched, gasp by gasp, my enthusiasm for the possibility of an appearance by you. The course will address the usual scholarly detritus: matter and mind, beauty, genius, cat pianos, electromagnetism, natural history, phantasmagoria, and weather-related mania. Ideally, your entrance will have been preceded by inquires by Kant and Foucault into “What is Enlightenment,” as well as texts by Hoffmann, Poe, Baudelaire, and other technicians of taste. On the general topic of transforming the persona into a work of art and tempering the delicate instrument of the self, I can think of no more exalted expert than yourself. [...]"
......

Help teach a class in an Ivy League university. This is comparable to the thrill I felt when I was told that the library at Yale had acquired a copy of my book for their permanent collection. How could I possibly say "no"?

I've also been asked to serve as a board member for the 215 Festival, an annual literary event held in Philadelphia. It should be great fun. Past luminaries include Amy Sedaris, John Hodgman, Robert Christgau, Sarah Vowell, Dave Eggers, Harvey Pekar, Patti Smith, etc. The other person who was asked to join along with me is a Jeopardy champion, American Philosophical Society-person, and a Ph.D. candidate at Penn. Goodness. Perhaps I'll simply serve coffee and pick out flyer fonts while the other members actually make the real decisions.

Chats on New York indie radio. Appearances on European television. Custom pocket squares. Surreal parties held in my honor in taxidermy-choked houses. Breakneck rides on Vespas through San Francisco. This whole movie nonsense. I'll say this much for the book: it will never sell millions of copies, but the opportunities and the wonderful people it has brought to my door have enriched my life immeasurably. It's both overwhelming and humbling.

~W

I can finally announce what I have known for well over a year: Infinitum Nihil, Johnny Depp's production company, has bought the option rights to the Affected Provincial's Companion, Vol. 1.

I had to hold my tongue until the official announcement, which was just released in Variety--first page, I'm told:

Variety: "Book Buys for Depp"

I'm officially a "consultant" for the film, but not sure if that means houseguests anytime soon. Never had a movie made about me before. Call me provincial.

I'd like to offer my sincerest thanks to my friends at Regal Literary, United Talent Agency, Infinitum Nihil, Initial Entertainment Group, and Warner Bros. Most of all, I thank the public for going to see Pirates of the Caribbean--I can assure you the proceeds have been well spent.

(Additional note: I am now scheduling auditions for groupies and/or mistresses. No experience necessary, as I have none myself. A winsome, wholesome pulchritude and the ability to keep a secret a must. Snug knit sweaters and pencil skirts a plus. Accepting applicants of a zaftig build on a case-by-case basis.)

~W

PS: A little under the weather at the moment (I think my body gave itself permission to collapse after the book tour), and am eating Progresso Fortified Tomato Soup for Invalids. Vile brew. How they make tomato soup taste like fish is beyond me.

THE AFFECTED PROVINCIAL’S COMPANION by Lord Breaulove Swells Whimsy

Bloomsbury ₤9.99, 176 pages

This miscellany of foppish ephemera is a bizarre satire worthy of McSweeney’s oddball publications. The robustly “affected” author chooses snippets on penis girth and eccentric self-publicity in this spurious, camp pillow book of dandyish distractions.

Admittedly, they did list it under "gift books"; but as we all know, recommending any book--especially a trifling one--as a gift is no trifling matter, so I'll take it as high praise. How wonderful to have a pink publication pay such a compliment!

~W

that_cad

swirlychick

my_tallest

The Victorian B&B where I spent the night was lovely, although the house dog and I never met. Pity. Great mango cookies, though. Train ride was pleasant too, careening through the misty back bays of Connecticut and Rhode Island while reading in silence and comfort. A wonderful trip.

~W

My sincerest thanks to both Kenny and Irwin for their kindness and hospitality!

Lurv,
W

Now that the book has been out for a month, I'm curious if everyone who has bought and read a copy of The Affected Provincial's Companion feels it was worth their hard-earned dollar, and if they would recommend it to a friend, hurl it at an enemy, or toss it off a pier.

( Inside shots for those who haven't bought the book and wonder if there is in fact actual content. )

Comments about certain parts? Questions about the ideas in the book, or its production? Things that left you cold? Fire away.

~W

~W