First of the Month has published excerpts a review of Lollipop:

https://www.firstofthemonth.org/a-year-in-legal-limbo/

Followed by excerpts from the book itself:

https://www.firstofthemonth.org/licks-from-lollipop-bob-levins-essential-memoir-of-the-sixties/

Copies available ONLY from www.theboblevin.com or by sending $20 to Spruce Hill Press, POB 9492, Berkeley 94709.

Less than 75 remaining.

Don’t be left out.

Holy Moly! I’ve been at this SIX years.
[For those of you who don’t know what “this” is, every morning I sit in a café with a selection of my books and a sign, either “Buy Bob’s Books” (S. Clay Wilson), or “Meet the Author” (J.T, Dockery). I record all sales and noteworthy conversations that result – as well as related matters – here. Performance art, I think of it, an opinion, based upon the number of galleries who have invited me, unshared by a single curator.]
Anyway…

Sold five “Lollipop”s, one “Schiz, one IWKYA (via Amazon).
The “Lollipop”s went to (a) the editor who bought two last week. It was for a contributor to his mag who teaches a course on the ‘60s. (Now if he adds it to his reading list…); (b) a fellow at the café to whom I’d given a copy because (i) he’d lacked cash and (ii) my new iPhone wouldn’t accept my old Square. His check finally arrived; (c) a lawyer-pal/aspiring novelist/ regular reader; (d) and (e) a college pal/ex-journalist/attorney who wanted one for himself and one for a friend in Chicago.
The “Schiz” went to a therapist-friend following a discussion of the rewards and tribulations of our professions.
IWKYA went to the attorney to whom I’d offered a pdf after she’d said she was disabled from handling a physical copy (for $15) an e-book of which there are none. After discovering she could save some bucks ($7, new, $11 used), she must have decided the pain and suffering was worth it. (She did post a lovely five-star review (“intimate,” “vivid”) which, unfortunately, due to the scam our former distributor pulled, will benefit only Jeff Bezos.)

In other news…
1.) Sent a “Lollipop” to a review which only discusses books about Chicago or by Chicagoans. It provides a brief bio of its stable of reviewers; you pick three; and if one wants your book, you send it. I chose two attorneys and one South Side resident, and the younger attorney asked for my book.
2.) A college friend, who had served four-years in Air Force intelligence, complained that I had mistreated the military in “Lollipop.” He noted that while I was living penuriously in the Y (See: Chapter II), he was out-earning me a few-fold, living in a high rise in Alabama, on a floor filled with nurses – and probably in less danger than I was. (I told him, next edition, I’d give him a footnote.)
3.) A café regular/novelist/UC writing professor, who has been reading “Goshkin,” e-mailed me he found in “rich AND strange.” (I liked that “strange.” I see it as a future blurb.)
4.) Have begun clearing storage boxes from the basement. The first to hit the recycle bin were drafts of “The Schiz.” Future generations of scholars will be out of luck. You libraries that failed to come calling for my papers have no one to blame but yourselves.

Sold five “Lollipop”’s; swapped one; gave one away.
The sales were to (1) a friend from here, who had moved east decades ago and was back visiting; (2) a friend from my lawyer-days, one of the two remaining on my most-likely-to-buy-a-copy-but-hadn’t list; (3) a college friend who usually ignores news of my books; and (4) and (5) both to the editor of a journal in which I publish, one for a fellow-contributor, who writes about his volunteer work in Haiti, and one to replace the copy his son took back with him to college – in Chicago, the first copy to return to the land of its origin.
The swap was for a self-published collection of children’s (and discerning adults) stories by an 88-year-old author/ex-high school teacher/ex-commercial fisherman, whom I’d met at one of the readings I’d run, pre-Covid. The swap occurred at a North Oakland cafe, where we sat trading stories of the ‘60s – sex, drugs, and the Creative Writing program at San Francisco State – to who-knows-what thoughts of the younger generations at surrounding tables.
The gift – per previous instructions (see: “Adventures” 310) – was to the fellow who’d asked two-or-three times if I was the “Bob” I would have thought my books and signs would have made clear. In his mid-50s and an “activist” (self-described) by trade, he lives in a tent “in the woods.” My largesse led to him sharing his experiences of being arrested coast-to-coast, eight times in Berkeley alone for bike law violations. (He also gave me a flyer of his creation (“Founding Fathers Tortured Slaves,” it began), a limited edition, the library only permitting patrons five free photo-copies. He promised to read my book and give it to someone else.

In other news…
1.) The editor of a book I’d reviewed favorably expressed interest in buying one of mine. I directed her to my web site (www.theboblevin.com, for the curious), which resulted in… So far, nothing. But it’s only Day Eleven.
2.) A lawyer-friend, physically disabled from holding an actual book, asked about purchasing an e-book of IWKYA. There was none, I told her, but I could send a pdf – for $15. Nothing, again. Ten days there.
3. A fellow in Idaho e-mailed interest in Adele’s and my article on Dori Seda (“‘I Don’t Fuck My Dog’”). He had purchased an “Outlaws, Rebels…” (No doubt “pre-owned,” since it’s out of print), in which it is collected, but needed it sooner and wondered if I could send him a pdf. Unfortunately, we’d written it pre-computer, so I couldn’t. I suggested he check libraries near him, but none in all of Idaho was holding.

Sold four “Lollipop”’s – and swapped one to a fellow author/publisher for a volume of his seniors’ erotica.
The sales went to (1) a poet/short story writer and ex-secretary of mine in upstate Michigan; (2) a retired boxing promoter/memoirist of Philadelphia and Boca Raton; (3) a retired ER physician and long time friend in Napa; and (4) a Doctors Without Borders radiologist who frequents the café. He paid double and, while I was groping for change, said I should give a copy to someone in need.
The first candidate to engage me was a toothless, semi-incoherent, shriveled woman, her face wrinkled as an apple left too long in the sun. I had already questioned her fitness as a reader before she responded to management’s requests for a face mask by curses and threats of murder.

All, I should note, except her, have been previous readers. Strangers have been staying away.
I thought what I needed was one of those sexy women – usually Asian – whom vendors at Comics Cons post beside their tables. (For $10, you can have your photo taken with the sexy woman.)
“Will I do?” Adele said.
“Sure,” I said.

Last 10 Books Read (XII)
(in order of completion)

1. Shirley Hazzard. “Transit of Venus.” Boy, does she know how to work a sentence. She may spend more time on them than I do paragraphs and I spend a lot time on paragraphs. But “Venus” had about the cruelest ending I can recall since I was a little kid and someone’s pet died.
2. Wendy Bartlett. “Girl With a Violin.” Enjoyed two-thirds, but the ending didn’t work for me. Wendy, a café pal and I have discussed it and decided I am not attuned with the zeitgeist.
3. Emmanuel Carrere. “Limonov.” Most of the way I was thinking I had never met such an unpleasant guy. But then you got a pretty good look at Putin – before he began this current madness. (I wonder where Limonov stands on it.)
4 and 8. Sigrid Nunez. “Mitz” and “What Are You Going Through” My second and third Nunezes in recent months – and I’m into a fourth. “Mitz” was delightful and WAYGT, while not up to “Friend,” to which it is similar – even an improvisation on – is a fine work.
5, 7 and 10. Janet Lewis. “The Ghost of Monsieur Scarone,” “The Wife of Martin Guere,” and “The Trial of Soren Qvist.” I rarely read historical fiction, but, once I’d read one and learned the back-story, I was hooked. It seems Lewis’s husband, Yvor Winter, hoped to cure her writer’s block through a collection of case studies, published in 1873, of murderers convicted on circumstantial evidence in the 16th and 17th centuries.. (At about that time, a colleague of theirs in the Stanford English Department was being of convicted on circumstantial evidence of killing his wife). It worked and she got these novels – compelling but grim, grim, grim.
6. Iris Murdoch. “The Sea, The Sea.” I like Murdoch and I’d been looking for this a long time, except I thought its title was “The Sun, The Sun.” Anyway, it was a fine, old-fashioned (1978) novel. Won the Booker Prize, though I liked a couple others by her more.
9. Renata Adler. “Reckless Disregard.” (Second time.) Adler is among my favorite writers. I’d been thinking of writing about her but her work seemed daunting. This was short and I thought it might have been a way in, but I didn’t find one. In fact, I thought it lacked clarity.
Semi-Honorable Mention: (1) Read most of Dave Hickey’s “Invisible Drug,” a collection of art criticism I thought might be useful to me, but I started skipping paragraph, then pages and didn’t retain an idea or word of it. (2) and (3) John Hawkes’s “Death Stops the Traveler” and Iain Sinclair’s Downriver.” I couldn’t understand either guy and quit both books early. (4) Dan Rottenberg’s “Education of a Journalist.” I could understand this but found, while it might be of interest to someone who wanted to become a journalist, I didn’t and it wasn’t.

Sold one “Lollipop.”
The buyer was “Marcel,” my café pal with the fuel-injected hatchback and the Christian Scientist mother. (See “Adventure” 306.) Three people have said they intend to buy it but have not as yet, and the fellow who said he’d send me $10 has not as yet.

Here are some reactions: Adele loved it. So did a close friend. Another friend praised my writing and “sensibility,” but, word has reached me, disapproved of my political thinking. The first friend and another person have said they hope to review it. One of the two places from which I had solicited reviews has noted I am not a subscriber and suggested, while this would not influence its decision, I might wish to become one. I explained that my policy (unexpressed), when I used to submit stories to quarterlies who hit me up for subscriptions, was that I would subscribe if they published my story and that if they didn’t, I wouldn’t. I offered that, even if the review was a hit job, I would buy a subscription, which I thought was more than fair.

I also had several visitors to my table.
“An-ti-GO-knee” (See a previous “Adventure”) looked over both “Lollipop” and IWKYA and said she hoped to talk more but had a BART train to catch. (She had a question in reference to the latter though: “How long have you been married?”)
A tall, thin fellow with long dreadlocks and wearing a white plastic Targer bag on his head asked how much my books cost. When I told him, he said, “Mmmm” an asked the barista how much a refill was. When the barista told him, he said, “Mmmm” and left.
I had a longer conversation with a young man of Indian descent who managed one his family’s hotel (rooms for $100-150) in downtown Oakland. He had developed an entire philosophy of hotel management (“Your rest is our reward”), which he intended to develop into a book and was interested in my thoughts on and experiences with self-publishing.
Then I had an even longer conversation with the husband of a colleague of Adele’s who had died several years ago. He had moved to NYC a year ago and was back in Berkeley tying up loose ends. (When I saw him enter the café, I shifted my book arrangement to what I thought would most engage him.) We covered the usual grounds: children (his); grandchildren (his); health (everyone’s); work; exercise; politics. Then I said, “Good seeing you, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

When I told Adele the closest I had come to a sale was the guy wearing the plastic bag, she said, “What you are getting out of this is more valuable than anything you got from Harper & Row. These are jewels you are polishing and polishing.”

Sold four “Lollipop”s.

Three at the cafe (one on credit, payment a week overdue) and one at my web site. Swapped one for a promised CD and sent one to a cartoonist in Slovenia who’d sent me her most recent book.

Deliveries have occurred in Washington and Colorado but not, so far as I can tell, on the east coast. Reactions have been positive, but no one has reported reaching beyond Chapter 8. One fellow has asked to review it at a journal to which we both contribute, but, unfortunately, I know from having made a similar request the journal — commendably — does not allow one contributor to review another; and I have sent copies to a book review near Chicago and applied — you have to apply — to be reviewed by an outfit in the city itself.

In other news…

1.) Not directly on point, but I received an e-mail from a woman in New York who wanted to surprise her husband on their 20th wedding anniversary with a gift of some of my art work in the $300-$35oo price range, though she could “be flexible with the cost.”

I thanked her but said, regrettably, I had no artwork. I did have several books I would happily sell her for $300-$3500 and, if it would make them more appealing to her, offered to doodle alongside my signature on the title page.

She has not replied as yet.

The initial public response to my announcement of “Lollipop”s availability at Facebook (not a single “Like” or “Comment”) and blog (one belated “Congratulations”) was tempering and that of the 100-150 friends and acquaintances to whom I sent a personal e-mail
(four purchases, plus one “Cheesesteak”) only slightly widened my smile. But I sold eight books at the cafe in two days, including one to a fellow who had never bought from me before. Still, though I kept my print run (and costs) down, my break-even point is far away.

I know this is not the point. The point is the experience — of which this is part — and the enjoyment thereof; but it is a handy way to keep score, and it is difficult to shake the idea that “score” is what counts. It is also odd, as I have noted before, since books can only be bought from me, to know who has and who has not bought one, and then to have one’s attitude toward that person shaped accordingly. Odd and not particularly flattering about one’s ability to “rise above” such pettiness. (I am particularly grated by those whose own self-published books I have purchased but who have kept silent about their intentions toward my own.)

Adele is the only person I know who has begun “Lollipop”‘s reading. She has laughed, exclaimed, and asked a couple questions. (“What’s the Fourth Amendment?” “What’s DIY?”) She loves it, but she’s reading it from the POV of “This-is-the-guy-I’m-going-to-meet-and-marry-and-live-with-for-50-years.”

Oh, and George R. asked, “What’s the worst thing that happened to you?”, which led to a good discussion at a sidewalk table at the cafe.

LOLLIPOP has arrived — one day after UPS had said it would be here and four months after I’d projected originally. It looks GREAT and Adele, who has read to page 10, has chuckled, learned things she did not know, asked for certain clarifications — but spotted no GAFFES. If you took advantage of my SASE-offer or if you ordered a copy from my Web Site or from me or Spruce Hill, your copy will ship no later than tomorrow. If you do not receive it within five-to-ten business days thereafter, it may be that you didn’t do what you think you did, or there has been a glitch in the shipping department. Call customer service — or contact me directly.