Category: Book Parties

From left: Susan Lehman, Ed Hayes, Susan Hayes, Henry Schleiff

Gov. George Pataki may have ditched Mayor Michael Bloomberg yesterday, but he did summon the energy to attend a book party for power lawyer Ed Hayes last night, author of Mouthpiece: A life In -- and Sometimes Just Outside -- the Law. The event may have been too much for the guv - he had an emergency appendectomy early this morning.

Hayes is most famous for being the basis of the "strutting trial attorney" character in Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities, but we find Susan Lehman to be quite interesting in her own right. After all, how did she deal with the force of Hayes' personality all those long months of drawing out his stories (and editing them down!)? More on that later.

The party was packed into the McManus Midtown Democratic Association on West 44th Street. We arrived at 7 sharp (an hour into it) and people were stampeding the coat check, both leaving and entering. We made our way about three feet into the room to find Lehman huddling with her old pal Times' columnist Randy Cohen. Given the venue, the last person we expected to be pushing through that crowd was Governor Pataki. But there he was, right to our left. Cohen took it upon himself to appeal to Pataki on a burning issue: "I'm a Times writer, but I never get the chance to speak to you in person like this. So, I have to ask. Please, Governor, where's New York City's school aid program? You've got to fund that!" He was silently seconded by Lehman and others present. Pataki merely muttered something like "yes, the Times would complain about school funding," and how he didn't come here to be attacked again by the press and he quickly moved on through the crowd. Perhaps that's when his appendix exploded, or maybe it's because he blew off Bloomberg. Who knows?

At around 7:15 pm, Court TV's ceo Henry Schleiff addressed the crowd. He was in fine form, speaking like a proud father at a bris: "The book is even being reviewed in the Times Book section this weekend. Not the cover, but a full page at least!" he exclaimed, holding up the advance-copy evidence. He then ad-libbed about his good friend Ed, Ed's wife, Susan Lehman and other topics which we can't recall. He was very funny, especially when he mispronounced Anna Wintour's name "Winitour" (she blurbed the book). He acted as if he had never seen the word before.

Then, Tom Wolfe took the stage and he was funny, too, but not quite as funny as Schleiff had been (sorry, Tom). Then, pictures were taken, interviews were given, books were signed and Ed did his best to strut through the wall-to-wall bodies shaking hands.

Also present, in order of sighting:
author Jesse Kornbluth
author Thomas Kelly
Harper Collins Editor David Hirshey
Harper Collins ceo Jane Friedman
The Daily News' Lloyd Grove
writer and beauty Judith Newman
Sylvie (oh, i forgot your last name!) from ABC News' Law and Justice Unit
Audrey H. Baker, who works for ABC's 20/20
hot-shot attorney Mickey Sherman
The Nation's Eric Alterman
The Contortions' James Chance

More pictures after the jump:

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Nibbled Indian delicacies last night at a dinner honoring U.N. communication director Shashi Tharoor for his newest tome, "Bookless in Baghdad." He read, mainly from the title essay, telling us of the Iraqi capital's "book souk," a bazaar where Tharoor saw people selling their book collections for the equivalent of pennies in order to survive.

There weren't too many other media types among the two-dozen or so guests, at the East Village digs of D.C. lobbyist and fundraiser Martin Davis, who brought us together to benefit the PEN writers' group. His snazzy tri-level is a former synagogue that comes with a wonderfully East Village story of evictions, arguments, lunatics and court cases. We did get to meet KPMG media analyst Stephanie Badii, who argued with Tharoor over his U.N.-centric interpretation of Iran's nuclear ambitions, and Karl Kerstead, a former Wall Street hedge-fund guy who's now running the Running Start Foundation, which helps east Africans go from shoeless runners to world-famous athletes. Tharoor, sadly, told us he's not able to write so much, now that he's been elevated to right-hand of U.N. secretary-general Kofi Annan, and spends so much time jetting around the world and working evenings and weekends.

Tharoor also filled us in on the Muhammad caricature controversy, but the quote that most sticks in our heads is how publishing works in the middle east: "Egyptians write, Lebanese publish, Iraqis read," he said. Reminds of what used to be said about Catholics, Jews and Protestants here at home.

Per today's custom of better-late-than-never party reporting, last week we attended The Nation's party in celebration of "Dictionary of Republicanisms,"* the magazine's brand-new book of reader-submitted "definitions," edited by Nation editor Katrina Vanden Heuvel.

At Pravda, the appropriately-named SoHo venue, Vanden Heuvel was on hand to welcome guests with drinks, delicious french fries, yummy spinach-pastry appetizers, and the above-mentioned chicken skewers, plus a few choice words for the subject of the book. We photographed her but they came out dark; fortunately, she looked just like she looks on the cover of the book (except with sheer black hose). If we may say so, she has lovely legs.

To the crowd of guests including Eric Alterman, New Yorker scribe Hendrik Hertzberg,WaPo's Richard Cohen, leftist activist/PR guy David Fenton, , Columbia J-school prof and author Todd Gitlin, former mayoral candidate Mark Green, and the NYT's Deborah Solomanand Dinitia Smith , Vanden Heuvel talked about the impetus for the project, which was "conceived in the darkness of post-election 2004" and break the "Orwellian encrypted code" of the Republican Right (she also got in a dig at arch-nemesis Rush Limbaugh, calling him "such a swine"). She read off a few choice bits (here's one: "Democracy - A product so extensively exported that the domestic supply is depleted") along with some interesting factoids about the contributors (try this on for size: most submissions came from Texas. Don't mess with Texas!). So far, she said proudly, Nation readers had planned book parties in 44 states. She seemed pleased as punch. Aw.

After her remarks there was more mingling and fry-eating and guests were invited to take a book, which was a nice touch (I should note, however, that the book is dedicated "to the victims of Hurricane Katrina" - the all royalties are being donated to the ACORN Hurricate Recovery Fund). We said hello to Ms. Vanden Heuvel, although when the moment for salutation was upon us, we choked and called her by the more informal Katrina, scared as we were of butchering her last name (and, let's face it, the impulse to address her as "Ms. Vanden Rosen Rosen" would have been too great. I am only human). She was very gracious, greeting me and perennial FishFriend Elizabeth Spiers warmly, but I'm not entirely sure that she knows what Fishbowl is. Which is a pity, really, because we went and said such nice things about her legs (and her book, obvi; that's a given).

See more "Republicanisms" here; buy the book here; enjoy delicious french fries and chicken skewers here.

*Full title: "Dictionary of Republicanisms: The Indispensable Guide to What They Really Mean When They Say What They Think You Want To Hear."

It is unfair to the delicious selection of other cheeses at New Yorker/NYT mag/New York scribe Eric Konigsberg's book party to single out Jarlsberg for attention, not to mention the ginormous fruit-topped multi-layered cake, or the two snack-o-licious varieties of goldfish (cheese AND pretzel!). It is also unfair to Eric Konigsberg, whose book "Blood Relation" is based on one of the most incredible stories I have ever heard: growing up in a quiet Midwestern household as a Jew in Omaha, Nebraska and then subsequently finding out that your uncle was a Mafia hit man and is serving a life sentence for murder.

I know. There are Jews in Omaha?

Konigsberg's account of his great-uncle Harold "Kayo" Konigsberg, legendary Mafia enforcer and probable icer of upwards of twenty luckless victims, brought a standing-room crowd out to the Chelsea Barnes & Noble for a reading and Q&A last month (which is what we now call October). As his mother, father and grandmother* watched from the audience, he read about learning about Kayo for the first time (from a loose-lipped groundskeeper at his east coast boarding school, and then ten years later in the course of writing a magazine story on a Mob hit, when a former detective asked him if he was related to "the famous Konigsberg"; when he called his father to investigate, his father said "That's my Uncle Heshy. Please tell me you said you weren't related") and then about actually meeting his uncle, the killer, face to face ("I ain't gonna hit you," he said, suddenly calm. "You know you got your grandfather's nose?"), and subsequently visiting the grown son of one of his uncle's victims, still suffering the pain of loss a generation later ("If you talk to your uncle, could you please ask him where my father is, I mean the body?").

I know I should be talking about the boldface names (artists! editors! Canadians!) and we'll get to that but I am compelled to say more about this book because it is fantastic. Konigsberg writes so easily, it all comes to life so immediately in a wonderful effortless way, from the small details that evoke Konigsberg's grandfather -- Heshy's brother, a man of real virtue and charity -- to the larger-than-life Heshy himself, a classic sociopath: charming, voluble, expansive, volatile, and utterly amoral. I'd love to see this as a movie, with some great actor chewing the hell out of Heshy's scenery. The book is good. Really, really good.**

Which brings us back to the Jarlsberg: also good, also went down smooth n' easy. It seemed to be enjoyed by the crowd, which included (segue!) Konigsberg's gracious hosts, the New Yorker's Shauna Lyon and her husband, filmmaker Ramin Serry ; Konigsberg's wife, the foxy, leggy, charming and fabulous Ruth Davis Konigsberg (Ed. - in the spirit of disclosure, that is the only editorial contribution suggested by Konigsberg - no need for a TTB there!), deputy editor of Glamour (and mother of their baby boy, Alec, whose birth coincided with the final deadline of the book; Konigsberg was at the hospital with a manuscript and a red pen); HarperCollins Senior V.P. and Eric's editor David Hirshey, who knows from good Jarlsberg -- and good books; Konigsberg's "agent for life" ICM's Sloan Harris, who received that shout-out from his grateful client later in a brief impromptu speech; William Finnegan, David Grann, and Ben Greenman from The New Yorker; John Homans from New York Magazine with co-worker Ariel Levy, chronicler of bewitching MoDo-charms; Michael Massing of the New York Review of Books, who wrote this stinging piece debunking Judy Miller's WMD claims; Tom Scocca from the New York Observer, who joined me in gratitude to Mr. Harris for the lift downtown; Elle executive editor Alexandra Postman, the New Republic's Michael Crowley (accompanied by his brother, who had just been to an extensive wine tasting and was very excited about it); Susan Dominus from the New York Times Magazine; Vanity Fair photographer Wayne Maser; artists John Currin, Rachel Feinstein, Philip Smith, and (novelist-painter) Jonathan Santlofer; authors Joshua Wolf Shenk ("Lincoln's Melancholy"), Dirk Wittenborn ("Fierce People"), Tara Bray Smith, ("West of Then") and Eugene Linden (The "Parrot's Lament"). It should also be noted that I met a party guest who was not only from Toronto but had gone to my high school (he was shy though, so you can't find out who he is!). But how's that for coincidence. People, we really are everywhere. Finally, there was HarperCollins Associate Editor Nick Trautwein who edited the book with Hirshey and earned high praise from Konigsberg as his "brilliant and tireless" editor (Hirshey was runner-up as a "brilliant" editor but then again, Nick was the one who fielded the phone calls on, er, either side of the conventional business day. That does tend to require tireless).

The evening waned and so did the cheese (which, frankly, is usually my cue to go). Konigsberg, resplendent in a blazer and highly-patterend shirt and tie, thanked us all for coming and hugged most of his guests (aw). We're confident that, despite familial precedent, he won't make a habit of burying bodies in unmarked graves. Aim high, right? Fortunately, with "Blood Relation" he does, and hits the mark. And just so you know, I'd have said so even without the cheese. Heshy would be proud.

*Clarification of lineage: Uncle Heshy was Konigsberg's father's father's brother, i.e. no blood relation to his grandmother. But still, no one likes a goniff in the family.
** I'm not finished yet but that's only because I let my mom read it while she was here -- I've been instructed to bring it for my Dad on my next visit. I will do so, as evidence: they're not all nice Jewish boys, nu?

It's David Margolick week! The prolific author, former NYT legal affairs editor (another lawyer!) and Vanity Fair contributing editor's latest book, "Beyond Glory: Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling, and a World on the Brink" is coming out and it's been a week of parties, articles and interviews. The book is about the racial and geopolitical tensions bound up in the famous 1936 and 1938 matches between the Louis, the African-American underdog and Schmeling, the Aryan poster boy for the Germans. We haven't read the book but someone spoiled the plot for us. It doesn't end well for Schmeling.*

But Margolick has done well by it; first there was last week's boldface-name-studded book party on the windswept roof of Nina & Tim Zagat's apartment building on Central Park West; then there was Sunday's NYTBR review by Joyce Carol Oates (no relation to the guy who sings "Private Eyes"), a cover story that weighed in at 2600-plus words and called it "a heavyweight of a book that is likely to be the definitive chronicle of its subject." Ding! Then there was yesterday's mediabistro Q&A (wherein you learn what Margolick thought of said review -- ooh, the reviewer, reviewed! Spicy!) -- followed by what is no doubt the crown jewel of his week: the Fishbowl Party Report.

Fishbowl arrived at our Upper West Side destination as any smart person attending a party at Nina & Tim Zagat's would arrive: hungry. We stepped out on to the roof and moved exactly one inch, because it was packed. All we could see were people; none of them appeared to be carrying appetizer trays. In fact, there was no room for trays -- a waiter stopped by us carrying two bottles, red and white, and whisked some wineglasses out of his pocket to attend to our needs. Now THAT'S New York City efficiency for you.

We were with MB EIC and, as referred to below, Fishbowl homie Elizabeth Spiers and though we assumed we'd know people at the event the only person we could identify by name was Russell Baker, who rode up in the elevator with us. Nina Zagat's efficient and charming assistant Cybele Kadagian had greeted him effusively as one Russell Baker, and by the time we got to the tenth floor it seemed that he was another Russell Baker entirely (sample dialogue: Cybele: "Oh, I thought you were the Russell Baker who wrote for the New York Times" Russell Baker: "I've written for the New York Times." Cybele: "Oh." Rest of Elevator: Uncomfortable silence). We're still not completely sure which Russell Baker it was, but that didn't stop us from enthusiastically greeting him with a cheery "Hi, Russell Baker!" a few glasses of wine later. Parties are fun.

The party was still very, very packed but we managed to make our way over to Margolick to congratulate him on his success (that's him pictured at the right, with charming hostess Nina Zagat). Joining us in our pilgrimage of praise was an impressive array of boldfacers: Maury Povich and Connie Chung; legendary First Amendment lawyer and former Judy Miller advocate Floyd Abrams; New Yorker scribe Ken Auletta; The Nation's Victor Navasky; Newsweek EIC Mark Whitaker; renegade Hillary biographer and non-O'Reilly guest Ed Klein; (current Judy Miller?) editor Alice Mayhew; Channel Thirteen's Susan Lacy; former Bill Clinton jokewriter Mark Katz (not jokes about Clinton, but for him; he was his humor speechwriter. There's funny and then there's presidential funny); WSJ Weekend editor Amy Stevens; Vanity Fair's Michael Wolff; Jameses Atlas and Taranto; plus an impressive delegation from the NYT including (deep breath) Alex Kuczynski, Ira Berkow, Kristine Nicholas, Warrens Hoge and St. John, John Landman, Mike Molyneux and Lally Weymouth. Most important boldface guests: Moe and Gert Margolick, David's proud parents. It must have been lovely for them.

It was lovely for us for slightly different reasons (not that we weren't proud! We were!) but the crowd had thinned with the departure of the first wave of guests and suddenly trays were circulating. HOORAY! We enjoyed some scrumptious chicken skewers and shrimp while others who eat smoked salmon enjoyed the little gravad lox appetizers, which is what they call it on the Upper West Side. Now that there were less people, we could literally see across the roof and saw to our joy that there were tables, with trays of cheese and veggies and snacks. The Zagats had totally come through. This was our kind of party. We stopped briefly to chat with NYT Styles writer Warren St. John, who mentioned that he recieved a disproportionate amount of email from Canadian football fans (and even a photo of his book next to a thermometer showing a temperature of -40 degrees Celsius -- he was impressed that I instinctively knew it was from Winnipeg). Then we were happy, because we ran into New York Magazine's hilarious and bubbly Jennifer Senior, who guided us to some extremely tasty guacamole. There was no need to move more than an arm's length from the guacamole for quite some time.

We spotted MB founder and cyberhostess Laurel Touby in the crowd and, bidding the guacamole farewell, moved in that direction, stopping at another table to pay homage to the sweetest, most delicious yellow grape tomatoes that we had ever tasted. Seriously. Actually we were pretty clever because we kind of talked Laurel over to the tomato table, where we chatted and were introduced to James Taranto (who we learned is part Turkish but has no quibble with the Armenians, and who didn't laugh at our joke about how we come from a city that sounds like his last name. BTW it's not Ottawa). I recommended the delicious yellow grape tomatoes to Taranto; I think he was appreciative. Seriously, they were like sweet juicy mouthfuls of goodness. We also recommended the tomatoes to Diane Heifetz, real estate writer from the New York Post. She was in a colorful flowing dress that we fretted wasn't warm enough, but she seemed just fine.

We then stopped to say hello to Michael Wolff, which I will be honest scared me a bit. Is it me, or does he sometimes seem a little aggressive in print? Plus he was a few feet too many from the tomatoes. Those are hard decisions. Compromising by slipping a few in our pocket, we went over to say hi -- and darned if he didn't turn out to be a delicious yellow tomato of sweetness himself! Seriously, he was very pleasant. Wolff was talking to the infamous Russell Baker; it was at this point that we said our chirpy hello. No need for an introduction, Russell Baker. We know who you are.

By this time the party was winding down and people were complaining loudly that there were no more tomatoes. We bid our adieus to the lovely, windswept roof with the beautiful views, thanked our host and the Zagats for a lovely party, and headed down in the elevator, befriending a charming man named Sidney. Sidney turned out to be Sidney Zion, 42-year veteran of the New York Daily News (and another lawyer!). He had never heard of Fishbowl because he's not, as they say, down with the new media -- he doesn't use email and he's still acclimatizing to the fax machine. Sidney was a real character and not only knew his boxing, but had been at the 1962 fight where Emile Griffith killed a man in the ring. He said that people were yelling, "stop, stop, you're killing him" but he kept on going. We would have been happy to hear more of what Sidney had to say but at this point we were out on the sidewalk and frankly we'd guess a guy like Sidney has places to go (though he was very charming about his elevator ride with the three young ladies from a newfangled website). We wished we'd saved him some tomatoes.

*In the ring, that is. Louis died drug-addicted and destitute at 66; Schmeling died a celebrated millionaire at 99.
**Photo and Russell Baker identification provided by Cybele Kadagian.
***Benny "The Kid" Paret had flung a homophobis slur at him during the weigh-in, and Griffith had to be restrained from pummelling him on the spot; Griffith may have been gay himself and been attempting to "prove" otherwise

Softball may have dominated the media news of late -- but that's only because the mad skills and kickin' uh, kicks of the Media Soccer League have yet to be unleashed upon the blogosphere.

Though they are without Gopnik or his seed, Fishbowl has nonetheless learned that the team from HarperCollins demolished the challengers from ABC 9-1 on earlier this week, putting the cap on an undefeated season and taking the League title in a blaze of glory that was anything but bookish. We weren't there but we feel like we were, thanks to intrepid leader senior vice president and executive editor David Hirshey, as impassioned as he was in yesterday's New York Post*:

But when you think about it, it makes perfect sense why HarperCollins bestrides the Media Soccer League. After all, we are the publisher of the bestseller "How Soccer Explains The World" by Franklin Foer (yes, Jonathan's brother) as well as the great Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz and Czech novelist Milan Kundera, neither, by the way, who are on our team. Also, I edited David Beckham's autobiography and have seen him with his shirt off.

For disgruntled and dispatched opponents who feel like they've been had - yep, HarperCollins is loaded with ringers, and most of their strapping young ladies played soccer in high school and college.

Full-sized team photo after the jump, along with Coach Hirshey's stirring congratulatory email to the team. For those of you wishing to get a glimpse of a shirtless Gui or Hirshey in cleats, the Fall Season kicks off a week from Monday night at Pier 40.

*On golfer John Daly's mid-six figure deal with Harper Collins, from yesterday's Media Ink: "He's the hero of every 19th hole in America," said HarperCollins Executive Editor David Hirshey. "His life has had enough heartache and heartbreak to inspire an iPod worth of country and western songs."

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Across the country tonight, Democrats are bracing themselves for the likely confirmation of John Roberts and whatever conservative Roe v. Wade-eschewing inclinations lie unplumbed in his depths. Across the country, they are thinking wistfully of centrist Sandra Day O'Connor and how she grounded the court, staying the legal course with her refusal to tow any line for the left or the right. And tonight, while a nation reels from the outgrowth of her resignation, Sandra Day O'Connor is thinking wistfully of a horse named Chico.

Chico is the star of O'Connor's new book, the beloved pony of her youth who is set to romp through "Chico: A True Story from the Childhood of the First Woman Supreme Court Justice" with all sorts of Penguin Young Readers come August 18th. This is O'Connor's very first children's book but if the kids love Chico like I think they will, look for "Chico: Fully Loaded" in a year or so, right about when Roe v. Wade is officially overturned.

Grown-up books by Sandra Day O'Connor (presumably not like those grown-up books by Judy Blume):
Lazy B : Growing up on a Cattle Ranch in the American Southwest
The Majesty of the Law: Reflections of a Supreme Court Justice

Purely random:
Sandra Day O'Connor Wall Poster, 17x22 [Amazon]

It's midnight and Harry Potter is back! I'm excited; I adore these books and I think J.K. Rowling is a brilliant and lovely writer (feel free to disagree with me, Muggle). Not only that, the books are oddly apropos to the state of affairs these days (come on, as if you can't recognize Cornelius Fudge on the pundit circuit. And Rita Skeeter is just another reporter with sourcing issues. Meanwhile, I'd love to get into Robert Novak's pensieve. If you've never read Potter, that sounds kind of dirty). In any case, just because I obviously can't have read the thing yet, I thought I'd make a few predictions after the jump. It's Friday night and I'm home, okay? Humor me.

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Part two of Fishbowl's exciting MePa book party coverage!

Book: "Aces & Kings" by Michael Kaplan and Brad Reagan
Venue: Soho House Library, kitted out with four big gaming tables.
Attendees: Editorial types from Esquire, New York, the NY Post, the Daily News, Rolling Stone, ESPN, Salon, Vanity Fair, CBS News, Oddjack, Maxim, Sports Illustrated and, of course, Fishbowl. Also a strong family turnout from the Reagan family, all the way from Waco, Texas. Also a strong turnout from a bunch of random NHL players, who, with their broad shoulders, bulging muscles and craggy faces were difficult to distinguish from the coffee-nourished, carpal-tunnelled journalists. Oh yes, it was a strapping bunch.
Drink du nuit: Open bar, baby! Have another martini, guy from Esquire.
Edibles: Little puff pastries with mushroom mush inside; pastry shell with tomato and cheese; some prociutto-looking things. Did not circulate as much as Fishbowl would have liked.
Probability that we'll actually read the book: Pretty good. Our poker face could use some work. Uh, so could our poker game.
Ebay turnaround potential: Why would we sell something that's going to make us rich?
Specifics: The party was fun, but the real incentive was the pot - $5,000 for whoever could outplay, outlast, and have the most chips (prize money was put up by party sponsor PartyPoker.net). That's a hefty wad o' cash, so the atmosphere at the tables was intense. Around the perimeter, it wasn't so intense because really, how long can you watch poker for? Plus there was the sixth-floor bar of Soho House to sneak up to. A common conversational theme was, "so why exactly are these NHL players here?" and an uncommon theme was "Hi, Fishbowl, I'm a strapping, rich hockey player and I was hoping to get your number." As the level of play escalated, the tables were winnowed down from four to three to two to - you guessed it - one, and the top players of the night battled it out (including Mediabistro's own publisher, Kyle Crafton). Meanwhile, the NHLers played for real money at another table, because they actually have it. That wasn't quite allowed but what the hell, there were no reporters there.* In the end, Sports Illustrated writer Brian Cazeneuve beat out a professional poker player, New York Islanders Dave Scatchard and Steve Webb, and Brad Reagan's girlfriend's mom to take home the $5,000 plus a swell trophy. The rest of us got a gift bag with the book and a "Party Poker" hat.
Safran Foer Factor (aka books sold to friends): We're pretty sure "Aces & Kings" is going to sell out in Waco.

*The real money thing only lasted until the party planner got wind of it and shut it down. Party pooper's more like it.