Born in California in 1970, author Daniel Handler is best known for A Series of Unfortunate Events, 13 children’s books written under the pseudonym Lemony Snicket. To celebrate the 25th anniversary of the series, Farshore is publishing new editions with covers illustrated by Emily Gravett; the first six – The Bad Beginning, The Wide Window, The Miserable Mill, The Austere Academy, The Reptile Room and The Ersatz Elevator – are out now. Handler’s books have sold more than 70m copies and been adapted for stage, film and television. He is also the author of seven novels, and his memoir And Then? And Then? What Else? is published on 4 July. He lives in San Francisco with his wife and son.
1. Book
Vexations by Annelyse Gelman
I am reading this book-length poem for the third time in order to keep thinking about a poem that keeps thinking. So deft it feels almost offhand, Vexations captures how the mind chews over ordinary details and observations, enlarging them with imagination and anxiety. Inspired by Erik Satie’s piano piece of the same name in which the same short melody is repeated hundreds of times, Vexations feels like a long walk with a friend you don’t get to see nearly enough.
2. Live music
Trio Kurtág
One rainy afternoon, I slipped into a small church hall and found the beautiful spaciness that comes from hearing music played with care and invention, part of a new generation of chamber music players who seem guided by their own enthusiasm, rather than the weight of tradition or canonisation. The trio takes the name of the Hungarian composer György Kurtág, who even as he approaches 100 years of age, sees music as stuff to be played with. The piece the trio played that afternoon – Signs, Games and Messages – encapsulates his gently playful strategy.
3. Food
When I heard that the poet Jennifer Knox had a side gig in the spice biz, I signed right up, and what came in the mail reinvigorated my cooking. Bangla-Dash, an Indian-inspired mix with a layer of dried rhubarb, made a boring vegetable soup a curious adventure; Peter Rabbit, sprinkled last-minute on some simple fish, made the meal seem like I’d copped the recipe from a witch in a forest. Now I hardly fry an egg without Rooster Snake to keep it zippy, and a plate of meatballs without Das Bigfoot draws complaints from my guests.
4. Television
My algorithm suggested this show, which I gather has aired on the BBC since the mid-19th century, and my wife and I can’t stop. We hurry home from social engagements to have enough time for an episode or two before bed, and when we’ve tried to share our enthusiasm with friends they say things like: “Isn’t it just some panel show where people Americans have hardly heard of try to fool each other with fake stories?” So we’ve given up on having friends to lie on the couch daydreaming about being contestants.
5. Song
Kamasi Washington first grabbed my lapels with an avalanche of a debut, The Epic, a three-hour album of volcanic ambition and deep pleasure. I saw him perform at SF Jazz [in San Francisco] and I think I might have actually hit the ceiling. His new record is out on 3 May and already its title – Fearless Movement – is thumbtacked in my mind as a new life motto, and this early released track finds me splayed out on the floor of my office. Something incredible is going on here, and trust me – you want in on this.
6. Card game
Contract bridge
When I was a child, my father played contract bridge every Tuesday night with a congenial group of men his age. I would fall asleep hearing them laughing and bickering downstairs for hours and hours. In this game, one can be alternately clever, obtuse, sneaky, blatant, strategic and inept, all with very low stakes and an ice-cold cocktail in hand. My wife and I have spread this gospel to carefully selected partners, and while we remain only mediocre at the game itself, it’s brought us endless evening delight.
