McSweeney's like to mix it up. The quarterly review which brings American literature to the masses has been published in a box, as a pile of mail, and one was in Icelandic. Ever inventive, their latest edition, Issue 36, has been published as a 275-cubic-inch, full-colour crate in the shape of a middle-aged man's head.
Author Dave Eggers, well-known for pillaging his life for the sake of his books, founded McSweeney's several years ago as an independent publisher in an effort to get the ideas and works of a host of indie literary-fiction writers out into the world. Inside the latest issue, in the metaphorical mind of the man with green eyes, friendly jowls and a receding hairline, you'll find a 100-page annotated fragment of the allegedly 'lost' novel never published by Michael Chabon, new short stories by John Brandon and Colm Tóibín, a play by Wajahat Ali, eight booklets, some other bits and pieces and a tiny scroll. And they're selling it with remarkable gusto: "it will fit on your shelf, it is compatible with most hats, and the stuff inside is wonderful."
