Lydia Millet's new story collection, Love in Infant Monkeys, is one of my favorite books of the year. Each story is about the relationship between a celebrity and an animal, either directly or obliquely—an internal monologue from Madonna after she's shot and killed a pheasant; a melancholy profile of the professional dog-walker who cares for David Hasslehoff's dog; an account of Nicholas Tesla's romantic feelings for a pigeon. It's a weird, moving collection; I read it a few weeks ago when I was sick, and it made me cry, but I couldn't really breathe in the first place so the crying caused like a vacuum effect that sort of had me worried my eyeballs might get sucked into my skull. But they weren't. Anyway, it's absolutely worth picking up. Largehearted Boy just posted a Book Notes with Millet, where she pairs each story with a song:

"Chomsky, Rodents" is a fictionalized anecdote about a real-life episode when my husband ran into Noam Chomsky in a town dump on Cape Cod and Chomsky was trying to give away a gerbil cage. It's a lot about mothers too, women and men and parenting, so though I'm not much of a Sinead O' Connor fan in general I think I'd recommend "Emma's Song" to go with it.

The Chomsky story is particularly good.

Despite dire advance warnings out of Seattle, last night's Literary Death Match was fun. The judges were witty (Scott Poole's reaction to one story: "It made me feel like a hobo reading Vanity Fair in a dumpster and getting a hard-on from smelling the perfume ad") and/or entertainingly wasted (Zia McCabe: props for demanding—and getting—tequila shots from the audience. And for smoking weed onstage. You're still rock 'n' roll). The readers were invested and animated (although, Kerry Cohen, if you're going to flash the judges, you really oughta throw the audience a bone as well). The crowd was drunk and affable, and were good sports about the fact that by night's end, the host was too drunk to complete a sentence, and things had gotten pretty fucking ridiculous.

For the promised "absurdly comical climax to decide the winner," Arthur Bradford and Riley Parker faced off in a smoothie-making contest. (I volunteered to be a judge and was given fruit-slicing duties that included cutting a mango in half. Seriously, that is how drunk people lose fingers.)

Future Tense's Riley Michael Parker won the night, and deservedly so, with a precise, mordant piece that judge Chelsea Cain described as a cross between Bukowski and Judy Blume. That kid can write. Never read his stuff? Want to? Why it just so happens that I have copies of his first three chapbooks, which I will happily send to whomever can do the best Bukowski-meets-Blume impression in the comments. By 3 pm on Monday, please.

Opium Magazine has hosted "Literary Death Match" events in New York City, San Francisco, Boston, Chicago, Denver, Beijing, Los Angeles, London, Seattle, Paris, and Raleigh. And tonight, after sampling the charms of Raleigh and Denver, the event finally comes to Portland. What it is:

Four authors "perform" their work—give 8-minute-or-less readings, with an emphasis on entertainment value and humor. Three judges critique the performances, humorously (but gently). Two writers advance to the finals, where, according to press materials, "the show's literary sensibility [is traded in] for an absurdly comical climax to decide the winner."

I like absurdly comical climaxes. Most readings are terrifically boring. It's rare in Portland to see readings organized around the premise of not being boring. The authors reading tonight each represent a Portland literary organization—Jeff Hardison's repping storytelling series Back Fence; Riley Michael Parker, publisher Future Tense Books; Kerry Cohen, Writer’s Dojo; and Arthur Bradford, Tin House. Having read Cohen's book, seen Parker and Bradford read, and gotten into a drunken argument with Hardison, I'm grudgingly putting my money on Hardison.

Judges are OPB's poet-in-residence Scott Poole, the Dandy Warhols' Zia McCabe, and mystery-writin' hotshot Chelsea Cain.

The Blue Monk, 3341 SE Belmont, $10, 8:30 pm, with an afterparty at 10 pm

Also tonight, at various Powell's locations:

At the Hawthorne store, Keith Stern outs gays through the ages in Queers in History.

At the downtown Powell's, Jennie Shortridge reads from When She Flew, "a new novel about faith, family, and finding the courage to do the right thing." (I think that description may have been generated by a computer program.)

And at the Beaverton store, Ethan Gilsdorf reads from Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks, "a new memoir about Monty Python, Dungeons and Dragons, and finding the courage to embrace your inner murloc." (Reviewed here by the Mercury's resident expert on all things nerdish, Erik Henriksen).

• Chip Kidd

A gallery of Nabokov's book covers, redesigned for display in specimen boxes. I like Despair.

Nabokov's final, unfinished book, The Original of Laura, comes out next week—his son Dmitiri decided at last to defy his father's wishes and publish the thing. From the last lines of Dmitri's intro, after he's explained that he doesn't feel his father would really mind the book being published after so long:

"But why, Mr. Nabokov, why did you really decide to publish Laura?

Well, I am a nice guy, and, having noticed that people the world over find themselves on a first-name basis with me as they empathize with 'Dmitri's Dilemma,' I felt it would be kind to alleviate their sufferings."

Slideshow via Bookslut.

Yesterday, very early in the morning, I had the opportunity to interview Augusten Burroughs, author of the monstrous bestseller Running with Scissors. (By opportunity, I mean I walked backwards into a 6am interview.) You can split modern fiction readers into two camps: those who have never heard of him and those who are sick of hearing his oh-so-dysfunctional stories (the latter group being made up of equal parts those who actually turn their nose at him and those who just confuse him with David Sedaris). He was in Austin, TX yesterday touring with his latest book, You Better Not Cry, a collection of stories about his ruined, but still merry, Christmases. (It has its moments, according to me.) He wraps up the seven-city tour here in Portland, tonight at 7 pm at the Bagdad.

I thought playing Mad Libs with a "real" writer would change the game, like cooking brunch with a chef, or playing HORSE with Chris Paul. And you know what? I think I was right. But if you hunger for a "real" interview, one in which Augusten talks about Christmas, gay marriage, and Linux, it's after the jump.

So this is what happened, and this is Mad Libs, for your reference.

• Extreme close-up

'Twas The Night Before [Holiday]”
- A Christmas Carol Lib by Augusten Burroughs(ish)

'Twas the night before kwanzaa (holiday), when all through the black sand beach in maui (location)
Not a creature was stirring, not even a naked molerat (animal).
The great aunts (family members) were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that John Wayne Gacy, Polo the Killer Clown (infamous person) soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sodium bicarbonate (chemical) danced in their heads.
Mama in her eye patch (article of clothing), and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long mostly horizontal for about an hour and a half long* (how did you sleep last night?) nap.

The newly launched Publication Studio is located in The Cleaners at the Ace Hotel; it's a "book laboratory," founded by Matthew Stadler and Patricia No, that prints and binds books on demand, while also endeavoring to foster a spirit of conversation and community (the studio also worked with Phil Eleverum on documenting his residency in the White Stag Building). Tonight they're hosting an event called "Stay Happy Hour," which extends Clyde Commons' happy hour to the Cleaners for an extra hour of drink and food discounts. Stadler says it's the "first of what we hope will be a regular forum about the future of publishing, plus of course lots of good cocktails and books":

This week our subject is bootlegging*, piracy, and non-exclusive rights. Meet Hedi El Khoti, co-editor of the venerated radical press, Semiotexte, author Bruce Benderson (whose new book, Pacific Agony, published by Semiotexte, is a Rabelaisian send-up of the politics and pretensions of our region), and Publication Studio co-founder Matthew Stadler (who, in his former role as editor of Clear Cut Press, commissioned the book from Benderson) in an open and ranging discussion about print rights, bootlegs, pirating, electronic rights, and the writer's best interests.
* Do exclusive rights (the publisher can prevent the writer from working with other publishers) really serve writers well?
* Should electronic reproduction be controlled and commodified, and if so, how?
* How can publishers survive if they don't control exclusive rights?

Eat, drink, and be voluble at this lively, ranging, and recurring forum.

That's tonight at Publication Studios at The Cleaners, SW 10th & Stark, 6 pm. Tuesday=Mercury press day=I can't go, but if anyone makes it, drop your impressions in the comments?

The Mercury's annual charity auction is just around the corner, and one item that's always up for bid is a subscription to the literary journal McSweeney's. If you wait until the auction to pick up a subscription, though, you might miss out on the fall issue, which is unusual even by McSweeneys' quirk-embracing tendencies: It's an homage to print media that simultaneously explores new funding models.

Issue 33 of McSweeney’s Quarterly will be a one-time-only, Sunday-edition sized newspaper—the San Francisco Panorama. It'll have news (actual news, tied to the day it comes out) and sports and arts coverage, and comics (sixteen pages of glorious, full-color comics, from Chris Ware and Dan Clowes and Art Spiegelman and many others besides) and a magazine and a weekend guide, and will basically be an attempt to demonstrate all the great things print journalism can (still) do, with as much first-rate writing and reportage and design (and posters and games and on-location Antarctic travelogues) as we can get in there.

The issue will feature a piece of long-form investigative reporting (as far as I know, the magazine's first): a report on the history and current status of the Golden Gate Bridge, co-written by Pulitzer Prize-winning Bob Porterfield and "structural-engineer-turned-reporter" Patricia Decker. The piece is being funded through donations to Spot.Us, which allows readers to contribute money to support worthy pitches. I like the concept of the whole issue, and it's available for pre-order here.

And... speaking of McSweeney's, I just so happen to have an extra copy of The Wild Things, Dave Eggers' novelization of Where the Wild Things Are, still in its original shrinkwrap and everything (which is probably for the best, since it's a pretty book and my desk could charitably be described as "totally fucking disgusting"). Email me with Wild Things in the subject line by 3 pm tomorrow for a shot at winning it—I'll pick a winner at random.

• Photo by Everett Irving

(A very big thanks to Dave Bow and Ali Reingold for their help in speedily transcribing this interview. Again, Irving reads at the Bagdad Theater (3702 SE Hawthorne) tonight at 7 pm. Doors open at 6 pm, and $28 will get you in the door plus your own copy of Last Night in Twisted River, which is Irving’s best novel in over a decade. Read the Mercury’s review here.)

MERCURY: At the beginning of Last Night in Twisted River, there’s a quote from Bob Dylan's "Tangled Up in Blue," which in a video interview you said was the flash of inspiration for the book. What is your relationship to music—has it been a source of inspiration to you in the past?

JOHN IRVING: Nowadays you make these video interviews that are put on various websites, for Borders or whatnot. What happened in the case of that Dylan quote is that somebody edited my interview.

MERCURY: Yes, that particular interview was on the New York Times website…

IRVING: I have to tell you what the truth of that situation is: I am not inspired by music. I love Dylan and I like that song; “Tangled Up in Blue” is one of my favorites, but that song contributed nothing to the so-called inspiration of this novel. It was just that I knew that song so well, and as long as 20 years ago I knew that there was a novel I was thinking of about a cook and his son that began in a kind of frontier town right under the Canadian border somewhere in northern New England. And I knew that song. I said, if I ever write this book or if I ever begin this book, I’m certainly going to use that song, or that stanza: “I had a job in the Great North Woods working as a cook for a spell.” I just knew it was a suitable epigraph for a novel that has been in my mind for 20 years. I must’ve heard that song a hundred times. It is one of my favorite Dylan songs. Or let’s just say it’s from a period of his songwriting that I especially like.

But the song itself, or that stanza itself, was no trigger. And, from the number of questions I’ve had, I can almost see in my mind’s eye how the video interview must’ve been edited in some way that made it appear that way. That’s all. The only connection is that my process is such that I never begin a book until I have a last sentence. For 12 novels now, that last sentence has never changed. Not even a comma, not even the punctuation. And, although this book has been in the back of my mind longer than any other novel I’ve written—20 years… My wife argues that it’s actually been there longer, but I can’t remember past 20 years in most things, you know. So, well, I happened to be listening to that very song in my car on a CD player—and I just play it obsessively; I like that piece—and I just happened to be listening to that very song when I did get the last sentence to this book. Not until January 2005. But the simultaneity of that song on my car CD player and getting this last sentence was pure coincidence.

started yesterday! You're already behind.

• Monkey wrestles with own perfectionist tendencies

The 2009 Oregon Book Awards were presented last night during a ceremony held at the Armory. Finalists in all six categories — fiction, poetry, general & creative nonfiction, children's literature, and young adult literature — are promoted to Oregon libraries and bookstores, and invited to take part in a statewide reading tour. In addition to the obvious honor of being selected, I'm inclined to think that each of the winners must be awarded some sort of cash prize (the OBAs are presented by Literary Arts, an organization which doles out tens of thousands of dollars in grant money to individuals and groups each year) but the Awards' website was surprisingly unforthcoming. Well, just in case their prize is prestige and nothing more, let me go ahead and boldface each of their names, just to make my announcement extra prestige-y:

Fiction: JOHN RAYMOND for Livability: Stories

Poetry: MATTHEW DICKMAN for All-American Poem

General Non-Fiction: TRACY DAUGHERTY for Hiding Man: A Biography of Donald Barthelme

Creative Non-Fiction: JOHN KROGER for Convictions: A Prosecutor’s Battles Against Mafia Killers, Drug Kingpins, and Enron Thieves

Children's Lit: DEBORAH HOPKINSON for Keep On!The Story of Matthew Henson, Co-discoverer of the North Pole

YA Lit: ROLAND SMITH for I.Q. Book One: Independence Hall.

I suppose the No-Duh awards go to Portlanders Dickman and Raymond, whose work has, in the past six months, been met with much popular and critical acclaim on the national stage. (Not to take anything away from either winner; both are producing really striking, superior work and we are lucky to have them in town.) My personal favorite this year is Daugherty's Hiding Man, a biography which manages to capture quite clearly one of the canniest and crankiest members of America's literary Avant-Garde, short story writer Don Barthelme

Here, in honor of the winners is my favorite Barthelme quotation: "The aim of literature ... is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart."

Last night, Jonathan Lethem took to the book-shaped podium at Powell's to read—in front of a not-quite-packed house—from his new novel Chronic City. The reading really impressed upon me how much most published authors could stand to learn from the average kindergarten teacher. Lethem is an excellent reader, and why? It's because he reads like he's talking to a room full of kids. He's animated! He varies his vocal inflection! He does voices! And lo, his reading becomes storytelling, rather than the mere recitation of words on a page.

After the reading, Lethem answered a handful of audience questions, most of which were mercifully succinct. I didn't take notes, but here's what I remember:

When asked who he considers his literary peers, he mentioned Stephen Milhauser and Don DeLillo—and noted that even though he's often lumped in with writers his own age, the authors that influenced his own writing were necessarily from an older generation. "I didn't grow up reading Michael Chabon," he said at one point, sounding a little exasperated. Philip K Dick was cited as a specific influence on Chronic City—Lethem edited a Library of America collection of four of Dick's novels, and he noted that in re-reading the books for the first time since his early 20s, he gained a new perspective on Dick's work. He also noted the influence of cinematic techniques on his writing, and expressed admiration for the way Graham Greene and Nabokov in particular helped to translate storytelling language of film to the novel. Also, he said something about novels used to be considered lowbrow ("for women, to keep their idle hands busy") and how one day genre fiction and comic books will be considered high art, just like literary novels are now. You heard it here first, folks.

Lethem also talked about the Promiscuous Materials Project, and giving away the film rights to You Don't Love Me Yet, his last novel—an effort to "put his money where [his] mouth is" after taking a strong position in favor of creative plagiarism.

All told, one of the best readings I've seen in a while (not counting, obviously, James Ellroy at Wordstock telling an audience member to shove their question up their ass). If you want more Lethem, Jacket Copy has an interview right here.

The 23rd annual Oregon Book Awards are tonight at the Armory, but the real action is over at Reading Local , where the first person to correctly guess the night's winners gets a $25 gift card to the bookstore of their choice.

My picks:

FICTION:
Liveability, by Jon Raymond
POETRY:
All-American Poem, by Matthew Dickman
GENERAL NONFICTION:
Hiding Man: A Biography of Donald Barthelme by Tracy Dougherty
CREATIVE NONFICTION
Live Through This by Debra Gwartney
YOUNG ADULT
A Tugging String by David Greenberg

Though I haven't read or heard of any of the YA nominees, so that's a wild card. Hit the Reading Local blog to check out the lists of nominees and throw in your picks.

The PDX Writer Daily blog is dead! After a three month hiatus, the staff of PSU’s Writing Center returned this week to announce the end of PDXWD. The post includes a link the first issue of Propeller, a new online magazine with an epigram from Kingsley Amis’ drunken latter days and a fairly awful cover that's been Photoshopped within an inch of its life.

For anyone who appreciated PDXWD’s focus on book news and Portland literary happenings Propeller’s quarterly publication schedule is a disappointment (as is the magazine’s mile-wide editorial scope: music and restaurant reviews; short fiction and an artist’s notebook; interviews and an article about finding the perfect pencil).

The good news? The writing in Propeller is solid, the reviews are crisp, and of course, like PDXWD, all the content is free. Oh, and editor Dan DeWeese is a pretty wonderful writer. Check out one of his stories here on the New England Review site.

•The best theater bet of this weekend comes from Portland Playhouse, who open their second season tonight with Stephen Dietz's Fiction. I was not particularly enthralled with Dietz's Becky's New Car, currently running at Artists Rep (though I have been sternly admonished in the comments on my review that in interpreting it as a "mom wish-fulfillment fantasy," I missed the "larger themes" at work. Probably). Portland Playhouse tries, with varying degrees of success, to produce theater that is accessible and relevant—their theater space is comfortable, the atmosphere low-key. Fiction is about a lady with terminal cancer who demands to read her husband's diary. [Insert artist's statement about the nature of truth here.]

•Also this weekend, dance company Hot Little Hands hosts a benefit show with performances by Benjamin Asriel, John Bacone, Jessica Burton, Jaime Lee Christiana, Convenient Noise, and more. That's at the Someday Lounge, Sat Oct 10, 8 pm, $8-20.

•Then of course there's Wordstock—the convention floor opens tomorrow. I'm torn between Scott Westerfeld and Debra Gwartney at noon; and James Ellroy at 2 pm seems like a safe bet. Plus, if you're roaming the convention floor, don't forget to swing by the Stumptown Graphic Novel Garden and say hello to your friendly neighborhood comics professionals. (One thing I've heard from a several people who work in comics is that even though graphic novels were a featured genre at Wordstock last year, very few books were sold, and interest seemed low—which is perhaps why Dark Horse doesn't even have a table this year; just speculatin'. The phrases "graphic novel ghetto" and "people who go to Wordstock don't like comics" were both used, which is kinda sad. Oni, Top Shelf, Cosmic Monkey, Too Much Coffee Man's Shannon Wheeler [who's been doing work for the New Yorker lately], Slow Wave's Jesse Reklaw, and more will have tables, so throw your local comics artists and publishers some love, if you're there anyway.)

•UPDATED 5pm: Graphic novelist Jeff Lemire cancelled all Portland appearances this week, but his publisher, Top Shelf, has put together a replacement panel with "Top Shelf, Oni, hopefully Sparkplug, and somebody from the Stumptown Comics Foundation (to talk about Comics Month, and the Stumptown Festival)." That's tomorrow at noon, McMenamins stage. Also, don't forget the Multnomah County Library's book sale all weekend.

•Also in conjunction with Wordstock, the IPRC's Text Ball, which promises word games, word nerds, and elaborate word-related costumes. "Attendees are encouraged to come dressed with text as part of their evening attire. The theme for this year’s ball is 'A Novel Idea.'" That's tomorrow, 7 pm-midnight, at galleryHOMELAND.

•Tonight also marks the opening of Land, Buy Olympia's new store and gallery on Mississippi. Swing by after 6 pm and say hello.

So about two months ago, I picked up the book "Socialism is Great!" at Powell's, because, I'm not going to lie, I liked its shiny and intriguing title. I sat down in the Powell's cafe with Lijia Zhang's memoir of life as a Chinese worker and by the time the store closed, I had a headache and two empty cups of hot chocolate but still hadn't stopped reading. Zhang's life seems like it should be the fodder for a tearful story of victimization—as a teenager Zhang dreams of going to college, her mother forces her into years of dull factory work—but instead, Zhang's memoir is compelling and refreshingly honest. She is straightforward about her own shortcomings as well as the things she loves in her country and family.

And then surprise surprise, it turned out Zhang was coming to Portland as Wordstock's featured author and speaking at no other than Eastside bar Rontoms. I was a little skeptical of how a discussion with the illustrious Zhang would pan out at a place I know for its Session and tomato soup, but when I arrived last night the place was packed with a group lured to the "Think and Drink" by Wordstock and Oregon Humanities. I didn't take any notes (READ THE BOOK!) but wanted to post this little video I took of Zhang, red-faced, as the crowd and co-presenter goad her into singing the Chinese folk song her book is named after. The man on the plane next to her coming into the United States apparently told her "Socialism is Great!" was a terrible name for a book. "He said, 'Americans hate socialism!'" Zhang recalled. But, hey, it's what caught my eye in the first place. Enjoy this strange little artifact:

Wordstock officially kicks off tonight with a performance from Chicago-based storytelling group 2nd City.

Here's what Wordstock director Greg Netzer had to say about the Chicago group, specifically in response to my question about what differentiates 2nd City from local storytelling events:

They’re really different. There is the no-script narrative aspect, but the people in this group come out of the Chicago theater community, and in particular the Goodman theater, so they have this real attention to theatricality, to stage presence, and they also introduce live music into the program. They came out here [to check out the space], and I left that meeting with them going “Holy shit, I’ve stumbled into the coolest group in America."

So: Live music, theater, storytelling, tonight at the Bagdad, 8 pm, $20. Tickets are no longer available online; try the venue. For more on Wordstock, see their website, or my feature here, though be warned that it's probably crammed with more food puns than you can stomach (!!!).

Also, if you missed Wordstock headliner Sherman Alexie on Think Out Loud this morning, it's downloadable here, and worth a listen. (If you failed to a get a ticket to his reading this weekend, you're out of luck—according to the Wordstock site, it's sold out.)

New Yorker writer David Owen's new book Green Metropolis posits that density is the single most important factor in determining how "green" a city is. By that measure, Manhattan has Portland and other so-called eco-friendly cities beat—a fact Owen cheerfully points out in the book's introduction. And while the "in yo' FACE, Portland!" drum-beating of the book's intro feels like overkill for what is fundamentally a very straightforward premise (more density=fewer cars=less reliance on dwindling fossil fuel reserves), the bulk of Green Metropolis is a methodical argument for why lobbying for dense, mixed-used neighborhoods is a better use of one's time than devising solutions like solar panels and electric cars:

"The real problem with cars is not that they don't get enough miles to the gallon. It's that they make it too easy for people to spread out, encouraging forms of development that are inherently wasteful and damaging. Most so-called environmental initiatives concerning automobiles are actually counterproductive, because their effect is to make driving less expensive (by reducing the need for fuel) and to make car travel more agreeable (by eliminating congestion). What we really need, from the point of view of both energy conservation and environmental protection, is to make driving costlier and less pleasant."

Owen seems to take some satisfaction in tipping the sacred cows of the environmental movement—telling us to in effect get over the idea that any car-based lifestyle is an environmentally responsible one. Driving all the way out to Sauvie to buy local peaches? Owen would tell you to save the gas and go to Fred Meyer. (And hippies who flee the city to live in the country only drag sprawl along with them, he says.) He's also a big fan of providing disincentives to drivers, arguing that it's better to have fewer cars idling in traffic jams than to add an extra lane and encourage more commuters to drive.

Tonight Owen appears at Powell's City of Books, at 7:30 pm, in conversation with Ethan Seltzer, director of PSU's School of Urban Studies and Planning (the event is co-sponsored by Portland Spaces and the City Club of Portland). I'm looking forward to it—I found Owen's book very persuasive, but I'm hoping to hear some different perspectives tonight.

• Hot shot Portland author Chelsea Cain reads from I Am the Cheese last night.

The event, hosted by a tired-seeming Storm Large, highlighted the still-controversial nature of the printed word. Even here in blue state Oregon, the ACLU has been keeping track of books that were banned or challenged in public places over the last 30 years.

You can download the whole list of books banned or challenged in Oregon since 1979, but here's the abbreviated version of "Materials Challenged in Oregon in 2009":

Official High Times Pot Smokers' Handbook, challenged in a public library. Retained.

Help From the Forest, a pro-environment book that besmirched the reputation of loggers raised public school parents' ire in Grants Pass. First grade copy replaced with a revised version.

Alpha Bravo Charlie: A Military Alphabet, challenged in a public library for having a political viewpoint that may promote war. Retained.

Best Gay Bondage, challenged in a public library. Retained.

Picasso at Lapin Agile, a Steve Martin play at La Grande high school that students were banned from performing thanks to fears about its sexual content. The students managed to raise money (including a check from Steve Martin himself!) to perform the work at Eastern Oregon University.

In the Realm of the Senses, challenged in a public library. Retained.

Master Math: Basic math and pre-algebra. Challenged in a public library as factually inaccurate. Removed.

How dare those math moralists remove Master Math!!