Besides being a gallery owner, Picard is–among other things–a painter, collagist, writer, and bookbinder. By establishing an independent press as part of The Green Lantern (now a 501(c)3 organization), Picard reinforced her desire to work across mediums. The Green Lantern Press publishes limited edition original fiction with an emphasis on “underdressed intelligence.” According to the mission statement, these are works that “relate old dusty books to contemporary experience without a lot of noise and pointing”–works like Nicholas Sarno’s God Bless the Squirrel Cage, Moshe Zvi Marvit’s Urbesque, and A.E. Simn’s Lust and Cashmere. The GLP also publishes Phonebook, a handy guide to alternative art spaces in the U.S.

A unique aspect of the press is its “slow media” approach: Books are printed in small, collector’s editions of 1,500. The first 500 books in each print run feature silkscreened covers designed by local artists. The remaining “no frills” editions are sold at a lower price, allowing the books to reach a larger audience. This is just one way that Picard, and her collaborators at The Green Lantern, approach their publications and projects with imagination and resourcefulness. Picard believes that many Chicagoans have these qualities in spades. “I don’t think I could have started [in any other city],” she says. “There is such a strong DIY tradition here. I was talking to a friend of mine once about how Chicago is like the Wild West, where anyone can come and set up a little shanty, put a sign out, and sell bonds. People will always come to check it out. They buy the bonds and, generally speaking, the bonds are legit. Sometimes they’re fake, and then people stop going…. But how crazy that people are always willing to give you the benefit of the doubt!”

I corresponded with Picard about the origins of The Green Lantern, book publishing as compared to co-op milk production, and future projects.

Laura Pearson: I’m curious about how you started The Green Lantern. Did it begin as an individual project or a collaborative effort?

Caroline Picard: The Green Lantern began years ago in a series of conversations that ebbed and flowed between myself, Nick Sarno, Jason Bacasa, and a handful of others who happened to be in the same bar or coffee shop at the same time. Depending on who was involved in the conversation, it tended to have different emphases, For instance, I remember sitting on a stoop with Moshe [Zvi Marvit] in Washington D.C. He suggested we one day buy a warehouse building and open a bar with live music for our friend, Peter Speer, who runs an independent music label called Colonial Records (at the time an undeveloped idea without a name). Moshe suggested we could fund the press with the bar, offer live music, and hang art on the walls. I believe we had just come from a lecture given by Noam Chomsky, after which Moshe (age 20 at the time) and I (18) shook the man’s hand and informed him that we wanted to start a revolution. Chomsky gave us his card. I think, somehow, opening the bar was tied into the revolution idea, but I can’t be sure.

A few years later, after college, Nick and I were roommates in San Francisco and the idea resurfaced. This time we thought we’d start a literary journal. We did the research, felt daunted by the economic prospects and, in all honesty, didn’t have the money. The house we lived in caught on fire; I moved to Philadelphia, another roommate moved to Florida, and the other two–Nick and Kate–stayed in the city.

Obviously, things don’t turn out the way one expects, though I think this is generally for the better. We’d always been interested in independent venues and culture, and it was probably only a matter of time before one of us set up shop someplace. The literal beginning of The Green Lantern happened somewhat arbitrarily. I had lived in Chicago for a year, house-sitting. I decided I would stay in the city more permanently and needed to find a more permanent place to live. I looked at various apartments–dark garden places with sketchy landlords and high price tags. In the midst of this, I happened to walk past the Singer Sewing Machine Shop. Above it, there was a For Rent sign. I went to look at it and realized that it would be cheaper to run a space than go to grad school. It would also be more efficient to run an apartment gallery than to rent a single apartment and a studio (I was painting at the time). So I took the place. The next day I called Nick and asked him if he wanted to start the press with me. That was it.

LP: Were there other small publishers that you looked to for inspiration?

CP: I don’t know. Featherproof, certainly. McSweeney’s. Even the not-so-indie New Yorker magazine.

We got our business model from Slow Food organizations. I worked for a year at The Cowgirl Creamery, an artisan cheese company in California. For that year I helped make 350 cheeses a day (their production has gone way up since). The Slow Food movement has enabled mom-and-pop dairies to stay open. By becoming organic, they are able to control their price points, and thus thrive outside of the rubric of co-op milk production, which, from what I understand, is a real machine that streamlines production to such an extent as to squeeze out the little guys. I really liked this approach, because it showed how innovation and creative thinking could create new avenues of economy that then liberate the individual within the corporate system. Obviously, The Green Lantern has a long way to go before we get to such a point. I hope we can though.

LP: GLP publications are lovingly designed! I understand you’ve chosen different silkscreeners (Mat Daly, Alana Bailey) to design the covers. Any specific artists you’d like to work with in the future?

CP: This year we’re working with Nick Butcher from Sonnenzimmer. I don’t know who we’ll work with next year, but I like the idea that each year is a kind of screen-printer’s residency.

LP: What’s next for GLP?

CP: I’m working out the exhibition schedule for 2009/2010 this January. We will be publishing a few smaller books, in editions of 100–200, a long prose poem by Devin King that references The Odyssey, a translation of Rimbaud’s "A Season in Hell" by Nick Sarno (the proceeds of which will be donated to a children’s hospital in San Francisco), as well as a reprint of The North Georgia Gazette, a newspaper published in 1821 by a fleet of English sailors who were trapped in the Arctic for nine months. Our edition will include the original manuscript, as well as an excerpt from the Captain’s journal, some annotations kept by the transcriber, Lily Robert-Foley, and contemporary artworks by Jason Dunda, Daniel Anhorn, Rebecca Grady, Deb Sokolow, and Nick Butcher, who will be pressing a 7-inch record. This book–it’s probably our most ambitious project–is due for release in February, in an edition of 250. Nick Butcher is also going to be making the covers.

The next book we’re gearing up for is an original novel by Terri Griffith, due out this spring. Next fall, we’re going to release a book called The Concrete of Tight Places, by Justin Andrews, as well as a collection of short stories by Ashley Murray.

Which, I guess is to say, we’re going to be really busy. In the best way.

LP: In keeping with the final question of my last column, what are three words you’d use to describe your independent publishing experiences in Chicago?

CP: Wide open. Supportive.

If you’ve ever worked at a tiny bookstore (narrow aisles, teetering piles of overstock, employees generally crashing into one another), perhaps you can relate. Maybe you too have taken refuge in this sense of immensity: all those words, all those worlds captured on all that paper.

When I worked at a little independent bookstore, my favorite task was opening boxes of new books and giving them a pre-shelving perusal, à la Léopold Sfax. I noticed that often the most interesting, most expansive stuff came in small boxes—promising new titles from small indie publishing houses, unadorned by stickers declaring “Now a Major Motion Picture!,” “Oprah’s Book Club,” or “Reading with Ripa.” Admittedly, some of the least interesting lit also arrived in small boxes, but more often than not, the independently published fiction and nonfiction we received and eagerly hand-sold (an effort led by one of my particularly book-savvy coworkers, Javier), crept onto the store’s bestseller list. Thus, while working at a neighborhood book retailer in this Amazon.com-ian age, I took refuge in this fact—that tiny presses can have immense impact.

While unpacking those boxes, I became especially intrigued by a press based in Hoboken, New Jersey, called Melville House Publishing. Their books were wide-ranging in subject matter and dazzlingly well-designed (Simplicity! Originality! French flaps!). I was not surprised to learn that the company had won several AIGA (American Institute of Graphic Artist) Awards for book covers and interior design. When the bookstore hosted a Melville House writer, Benoit Duteurtre, who was on tour for his fascinating novel, The Little Girl and the Cigarette, I took some time to learn about the origins of this fast-rising press.

Melville House was founded by a couple who had no experience in the publishing field: Dennis Loy Johnson, a Pushcart Prize-winning fiction writer and creator of the book blog MobyLives, and Valerie Merians, a sculptor and photographer. At first, the two didn’t intend to form a publishing company; their sole goal was to release a book that responded to the events of September 11, and particularly the U.S. political climate at the time. In 2002, they published Poetry After 9/11: An Anthology of New York Poets, and it attracted major media attention—CNN, NPR, Good Morning, America, etc. In a New York Times article from July 28, 2002, Merians said, “We thought [the book] would be very modest. We would hand-sell it just to area bookstores. You know, an out-of-the-back-of-the-car kind of thing.” But one book led to another, and after publishing a work of literary criticism by B.R. Myers, deciding to incorporate, finding a distributor, and figuring out things like printing costs and royalties, Melville House Publishing was born.

From the beginning, Johnson and Merians wanted to avoid becoming a niche publisher. Many small presses occupy a niche, they reasoned, but releasing books in a range of genres, subjects, and styles would enable them to stand out as a truly independent voice. In an interview with Bookslut, Johnson said, “We want to do what Random House does, but we want to do it right.” True to their mission, Melville House has assembled a catalog that is as wide as it is deep: French novels in translation (as in the aforementioned Duteurtre book and Justine Lévy’s Nothing Serious); classic and contemporary novellas (such as Adair’s The Death of the Author, plus a lot of other sharp, previously unpublished prose narratives); avant-garde fiction (from the likes of Stephen Dixon and Tao Lin); and leftist political reportage (i.e., Who Killed Daniel Pearl? by Bernard-Henri Lévy, and Torture Taxi, by Trevor Paglen and A.C. Thompson). The latter political books made big waves by being ahead of the news. Who Killed Daniel Pearl? was the first source to reveal that US ally Pakistan was trading nuclear technology to Iran and North Korea, and Torture Taxi was the first book to explore the CIA’s rendition program. In fact, the book was being printed at the precise moment President Bush made a public admission of the program’s existence.

Melville House continues its wave-making efforts, but now from a new location in Brooklyn, complete with offices and a sparkling new bookstore. (I’ve seen pictures, and it looks anything but claustrophobic.) Fortunately for the book industry and for readers everywhere, Johnson and Merians show no signs of slowing down. Last year, the press received the Miriam Bass Award for Creativity in Independent Publishing, otherwise known as the Indie Publisher of the Year Award. At his acceptance speech, Johnson reflected, “Valerie and I entered this business with absolutely no background in it… But the fact is that once we had entered the business we quickly found a huge community, both in and out of publishing, who shared a passion for it and supported our approach to it.” He went on to say that in the aftermath of distributor fiascos and in the midst of financial crises, this community has persevered. “There are a lot of publishers out there right now who deserve an award for creativity by simply staying alive,” he said. Here’s hoping that the life of this fresh, fearless publishing company is very long indeed.

“reverse-gentrification of the literary world.” But what exactly do these reverse-gentrifiers publish? And how are they doing their own awesome thing at a time when small presses face the challenge of promoting and distributing books to a dwindling readership in an increasingly corporate-dominated climate, among other pressures?

I knew a bit about Akashic via its Punk Planet imprint and wildly successful noir series, but in an effort to learn more, I spoke with founder Johnny Temple about his free-spirited, wholly independent Little Press That Could.

Temple’s first foray into indie publishing happened in the late nineties when his band, Girls Against Boys, signed to Geffen Records, and he decided—on a whim—to use some of the money from his music career to publish a book. The adventure went well. His debut title, Arthur Nersesian’s The Fuck-Up, was picked up by MTV Books/Simon & Schuster, eventually achieving cult classic status. Following the resounding success of The Fuck-Up, Temple established Akashic Books. Now the press puts out an impressive array of titles, including an urban noir series beginning with the award-winning anthology Brooklyn Noir.  Akashic also prints literary fiction from the Caribbean Islands and political nonfiction.

I spoke with Temple about the origins of Akashic, his involvement in the independent publishing community, and this thing called the Internet. How do I adequately describe his creative and collaborative efforts? Two words to start with are inspiring and unrelenting.

Laura Pearson: When you started the press in ’97, did you anticipate it becoming this productive and eventually being your full-time job?

Johnny Temple: Not at all.

LP: It was just kind of an experiment?

JT: Yeah. It was an experiment.

LP: So how many books are you publishing a year now? Do you have a full-time staff?

JT: About 25 or 26 books per year. We have a paid staff of five people, and we also have two interns.

LP: I know each small press does this differently, but how do you decide what to publish? Are you soliciting submissions from authors you like or are you taking some unsolicited submissions?

JT: We get them from all different directions. We also have areas that we’re particularly interested in—really dark fiction, for example—so we have a certain taste in terms of the stuff that we’re looking for.

What I’m really looking for is a book that, when I read it, it moves my stomach. Or I have some sort of visceral response to it. A book that stays with me and resonates with me. So we’re not marketing-driven in terms of what we’re looking for. Books from the Caribbean, fiction from Jamaica—these are areas of specialty for us, and that’s not some “trendy” angle.

LP: Right. That leads me to a question about the noir anthologies. Because while this series seems like something very in line with your interests, it also has, incidentally, turned into something that readers really gravitate towards. Do you start by picking the cities for these books or do you first find great writers covering particular cities?

JT: It’s a combination. There are some cities where there will be a writer who I know who should absolutely edit the anthology, no doubt about it. A good example of this is George Pelecanos in Washington, DC. He is one of the best crime fiction writers living today, and he’s totally associated with Washington, DC and knows the city inside and out. I was born and raised in DC, so I know the city quite well, and his representation of [it] is one that I’ve always loved and admired. So I approached him and said, “Please give this serious consideration.” I convinced him to do it, and he did an amazing job. So that’s one way that we get the people.

The other way is every single day I’m receiving proposals from people all over the world [asking to edit] the anthology in their respective cities. Now, we work vigorously to maintain our high editorial standards. Our books have to be tight; they have to be sharp; they have to be easy to read and fun to read, and I think we’ve done a good job of that. So most of the people approaching us I have to politely turn away, because we’re looking for the books to be as strong and great as possible. It’s very important to us that we pick the right person to edit a particular city—one of the most important decisions that we make.

LP: Speaking of decision-making, something that has come up a lot in writing this column is: how do small presses decide what role the Internet should play in publishing? It no longer seems like a question of if it should play a role, just to what degree.

JT: Almost every aspect of our business now has a relationship with the online world, whether it’s production, interactions with authors, promotion, or the actual selling of books…. Publishers have to stay up-to-date. Things are changing fast; books are becoming more digitized. And that’s all fine…but I love books in their print form. Still, it would be foolish of me to ignore the digital revolution that’s taking place. So I’m not leading the publishing digital revolution, but I’m following it closely.

LP: I think you can’t really help but participate on some level. And with distribution being such a huge challenge for small presses—I think in that sense, in getting the word out, it’s a useful tool.

I was reading in an interview about some collaboration you’ve done with other small presses, like Seven Stories. Do you have plans for more collaboration in the future?

JT: Sure, yeah. I’m part of the independent publishing community. I’m an active member of it, and I do all sorts of collaborations with my colleagues—fellow publishers. They’re wonderful people, and we help each other out a lot. And sometimes we endeavor yet more formal projects, like when Akashic and Seven Stories actually co-published a book, which was very involved. But there are other things: the Brooklyn Book Festival, for example—our country’s most exciting new book festival, now in its third year. I’m very involved with that, as are a lot of other Brooklyn publishers.

Also, the Brooklyn Public Library has started a program called Brooklyn Independents, which is a collaboration between Akashic and a bunch of other independent publishers. We program a series of events once every month at the Brooklyn Public Library.

LP: Very awesome. When you started Akashic were there certain presses you looked to for inspiration?

JT: Definitely. Presses such as 2.13.61, which was a press run by Henry Rollins, They helped us a lot getting started. There are also presses like Seven Stories Press and Soft Skull Press, both in New York, which started before Akashic and were always an inspiration. And there’s a great British publishing company called Serpent’s Tail. Their list is so strong, and they’re really great people.

I asked writers, publishers, booksellers, distributors, teachers, editors, and supporters of independent publishing—some of whom have been featured in this column, some who have not—to provide a list of recommended reads for summer. Their suggestions range from short stories to comic books, from classic fiction to contemporary poetry. There’s a book recommendation for “people who think they’re scared of Shakespeare” and one for people who cook with a cast iron skillet. Other publications feature beautiful illustrations (The Never Mind) and soaring titles (Oh Pure and Radiant Heart). And let’s not forget such vibrant inclusions as World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War (an audio book read by Henry Rollins and Mark Hamill) and Thank You and You’re Welcome (an “entertaining volume of ‘Kanye-isms’” from the humble pen of Kanye West).

Yes, some of the items on the list are simply meant to inspire lighthearted literary recreation during the summer months. But in keeping with the reverential tone of this column, I’d like to give props to all the great stuff included below that was released by small presses on shoestring budgets. In fact, I encouraged participants to mention their own work—zines or books they’ve written, recent titles they’ve released—in hopes that you’ll seek out these fine publishers and publications, for summer reading and beyond!

So enjoy the selections below, and whether you’re embarking on an epic road trip, taking your lunch break in the park, or floating on a raft in the waters of Fiji whilst drinking a piña colada out of a coconut shell, may you never be without good reading material.

Without further ado, the summer reading list:

David Lasky, Comics Artist and Teacher

Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow, by Anders Nilsen (Drawn and Quarterly)

Escape From Special, by Miss Lasko-Gross (Fantagraphics)

Happiness? An 826 Seattle Comic Book (826 Seattle) — I edited this.

365 Days, by Julie Doucet (Drawn and Quarterly)

Lone Wolf and Cub, Volume 16: Gateway Into Winter, by Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima (Dark Horse)

Hunter Clauss, Freelance Journalist and Chicago Public Radio Contributor

Crime, by Alix Lambert

The Killing Joke, by Alan Moore

Y: The Last Man, Volumes 1–10, by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra

Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm, by Ulrich Haarburste

Fantomas, by Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre

Jocelyn Burrell, Editor, South End Press

Books I truly wish I could read again for the first time:

Play It As It Lays, Joan Didion

Incognegro: A Memoir of Exile and Apartheid, by Frank B. Wilderson (South End Press)

The Collected Stories, Leonard Michaels

Ariel, by Sylvia Plath

Sister Outsider, by Audre Lorde

Jonathan Messinger, Co-Owner, featherproof books

The Facts of Winter, by Paul LaFarge

Jamestown, by Matthew Sharpe

Nellcott Is My Darling, by Golda Fried

Oh Pure and Radiant Heart, by Lydia Millet

I Am Death, by Gary Amdahl

Kathryn Lebo, Development Associate, Richard Hugo House

The Real West Marginal Way, Richard Hugo — memoir

The Egg and I, Betty MacDonald — memoir

Set This House in Order, Matt Ruff — fiction

The Cast Iron Skillet Cookbook, Sharon Kramis and Julie Kramis Hearne — cookbook

Dog & Me, Kary Wayson — poetry

Kaya Oakes, Writer and Former Senior Editor, Kitchen Sink magazine

Reading Comics, by Douglas Wolk — An excellent critical overview of both underground and mainstream comics that will be interesting to both comics addicts and laypeople. Newly out in paperback too, for all of us who are too poor to buy hardcovers.

Catching Tigers in Read Weather, by Andrew Demcak — One of the most powerful, kick-ass books of poetry I’ve read in ages (and I wrote one of his cover blurbs!). It’s from a very cool small press called Three Candles.

Shakespeare the Thinker, by A.W. Nuttall — A fascinating analysis of Shakespeare’s—well, thinking, and not too dense or overly academic. Good for people who think they’re scared of Shakespeare.

Anything from the 33 1/3 series of books about albums — Good for a few hours of informative and entertaining music-related reading.

The Braindead Megaphone, by George Saunders — Proves that essays can be entertaining. When people talk about nonfiction being dry or dull, this book is a good counteractive weapon.

Liz Mason, Manager, Quimby’s Bookstore

The Bad Lyrics Project, by me: Liz Mason! — I am very proud of this zine. It’s a sociological study of sorts of rock music lyrics. I personally think it’s very funny and entertaining, but then I’m the author!

Caboose #5: The Health and Recreation Issue, also by me: still Liz Mason! — A look at my adventures in the world of both traditional and alternative medicine with my weirdo undiagnosed illness (which has since been diagnosed as Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a type of cancer, but I’m doing pretty rockin’, all things considered).

The Body Has a Mind of Its Own, by Sandra and Matthew Blaksee — This book is authored by a mother-son science writing team. It’s all about maps in the brain and how they’re affected by what goes on around you. Heavy shit, but they make it light and fun.

Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda — What I like about this book is that occasionally the author has some nice spiritual experiences that make the story juicy, but he learns a lot on the way, which makes him seem like a regular person.

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, by Mary Roach — The same author who wrote Stiff (about human cadavers) and Spook (about the afterlife) tackles sexual physiology in a hilarious and PERSONAL research book chronicling what happens during the ol’ in-and-out.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, by Max Brooks — This is read on CD by a full cast, and the cast rocks! Henry Rollins, Carl Reiner, and a bunch of other folks—even Mark Hamill, who is actually really good. The price ($14.99) is about what you’d pay for the book in soft cover, so you might as well get the CD set. Max Brooks, by the way, is Mel Brooks’ son, in case you’re curious. This book is all about the zombie war that came close to eradicating humanity. Very apocalyptic and dark, but totally compelling.

Mairead Case, Managing Editor, Proximity magazine

Awe, by Dorothea Lasky (Wave Books)

Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality, by John Darnielle (Continuum)

A New Quarantine Will Take My Place, by Johannes Göransson (Apostrophe)

Lust, by Ellen Forney (Fantagraphics)

Kill All Your Darlings, by Luc Sante (Yeti)

Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm, by Ulrich Haarburste (Serapion)

Shoot the Buffalo, by Matt Briggs (Clear Cut)

The Age of Flowers, by Umberto Pasti (Pushkin Modern)

Beauty Talk and Monsters, by Masha Tupitsyn

Any interview Sylvere Lotringer ever did (most on Semiotext(e))

Chronology, by Daniel Birnbaum (Sternberg)

Complete Minimal Poems, by Aram Saroyan (Ugly Duckling)

Selected Poems, by William Bronk (New Directions)

On the Lower Frequencies: A Secret History of the City, by Erick

Lyle (Soft Skull)

Dancing After Hours, by Andre Dubus

Cabinet magazine’s Colors column

Marco Kane Braunschweiler, Co-Owner, Golden Age

The Never Mind, by Robin Cameron — A small limited-edition drawing publication with a lot of funny transcriptions of real and fake conversations.

WON magazine, Volume 1, Issue 2, Autumn 2008 — Featuring: Daniel Wang, Will Sweeney, Aaron Rose, Ken Werner, Mårten Lange, The Changes, Nienke Klunder, Robert Cook, Thobias Fäldt, Amanda Maxwell, Linus Bill, Jeremie Egry, Andrew Long, Thomas Baldischwyler, Ben Barretto, Hoger Czukay, Vernon Treweeke, Deanna Templeton, Matt Wolf, Rosemary Scanlon, and Sarah Larnarch.

Wikipedia Reader, by Various Artists — For this project, the publisher asked artists with varying interests to create a thread of linking Wikipedia articles starting with something they found interest in, and continuing to other topics from links within the page. The results are a group of similar or dissimilar topics that are all linked together linearly. This is a really fresh, tasteful book.

Accounting for Dummies, by Somebody — Seriously, this is really good to read.

Kingsboro Press, Volume 1, Issue 3— Sixty-four pages of Riso printed glory. Features interviews and work with artists like Inka Jarvinen, C.W. Winter, Kim Hiorthoy, Karma International, plus writing from KBoro regulars like Alex Gartenfeld, Yan Yan, and Jonathan Basile.

Martine Syms, Co-Owner, Golden Age

Getting Things Done, by David Allen — For all rippers and rulers.

Modern Typography: An Essay in Critical History, by Robin Kinross — I’ve been trying to get through this all year. Maybe now I’ll finally have a chance.

Appendix Appendix, by Stuart Bailey and Ryan Gander — The perfect conceptual art supplement to marathon TV watching (available at Golden Age).

The Kingsboro Press, Issues 1–3 — My art/design/culture periodical of choice (available at Golden Age).

Thank You and You’re Welcome, by Kanye West — The man, the performer, and the poet graces us with wise words. I got it for free, but it’s still priceless. I’m trying to find a way to make it required reading for my students this summer.

Richard Nash, Publisher, Soft Skull Press

All About Lulu, by Jonathan Evison (Soft Skull)

Black Flies, by Shannon Burke (Soft Skull)

The Good Fairies of New York, by Martin Millar (Soft Skull)

My Zorba, by Danielle Pafunda (Bloof Books)

The Changeling, by Joy Williams (Fairy Tale Review Press)

Zach Dodson, Co-Owner, featherproof books

Bicycle, by Paul Fattaruso (St. George Press) — This clever little book will make you want to ride your bike all summer long.

This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record, by Susannah Felts (featherproof  books) — Our first young adult novel. Set over a dramatic, nostalgia-drenched Nashville summer.

Paper & Carriage, Issue 3 (Green Lantern) — A beautiful letterpress cover and Henry Darger inside! How could you go wrong with this Chicago-based  “slow media” magazine?

The Order of Odd Fish, by James Kennedy (Delacorte) — Reading this debut young adult novel by Chicago author James Kennedy is better than a nuzzle on the nose from Aznath, the Silver Kitten of Deceit!

boring boring boring boring boring boring boring, by Zach Plague (featherproof books) — I uncomfortably recommend my own book to anyone who is listening.

Mule magazine, Issue 5 — It’s mystical!

The Mayor’s Tongue, by Nathaniel Rich (Riverhead) — It starts off with an awkward sex scene. Need I say more?

Why the Devil Chose New England for His Work, by Jason Brown (Open City) —Save this lachrymose short story collection for a rainy indoor day.

The publication became a program of the Neighbor Lady Community Arts Project, an Oakland-based arts organization. As a result of the staff’s dedication and tendency to broaden—rather than narrow—its themes and content, Kitchen Sink quickly asserted itself as a bright, free-spirited magazine, or, as one journalist described it, a “zine that went to graduate school.” Via grass-roots involvement, various partnerships, and some well-attended parties, the staff worked to make Kitchen Sink more than just a magazine: It was ultimately a tribute to, and enabler of, dynamic community.

It’s these community-forging publications that leave a particularly noticeable void when they cease to exist. Lest the past tense has failed to give it away: Kitchen Sink no longer exists. It too was a casualty of a now-familiar set of factors: a decrease in ad revenue, dwindling subscription numbers, and the dissolution of the Independent Press Association (announced early last year). As you’ve probably read, this unholy trinity of causes has spelled the demise of many independent publications over the past year or so.

It makes one wonder what happens to the people who labored over these publications and the communities that sprang up around them. In some cases, staff members go on to explore other forms of publishing, e.g., blogs and online journals. Others spend time writing or researching different modes of print publishing, such as POD (print on demand). Undoubtedly, some people—especially those who’ve devoted decades of their lives to indie publishing—just need a break from it all.

I caught up with two former Kitchen Sink staffers who shared what they’ve been up to since the magazine ceased publication.

Jen Loy was a founding Editor in Chief at KS, as well as a writer and event coordinator. She was also coproprietor of Mama Buzz, a café and gallery (and former Kitchen Sink clubhouse) in downtown Oakland that has been credited for invigorating the city’s art scene and being a “nexus for all things artistic.” These days, Loy is taking it easy.

“I’m proudest of our success as a creative community,” she says of her friends and former coworkers at Kitchen Sink, describing how they’ve gone on to publish books of poetry and comics, do curatorial and design projects, and start journalism school. “As for me, I’ve learned to say ‘NO.’”

After Kitchen Sink folded, Loy sold Mama Buzz and moved to Richmond. She’s not far from Oakland and other KS alumni but decided to “purposefully withdraw” from collaborative, community-based publishing/art/writing projects.

“I’m currently focused on a professional publishing venture and specializing in health care and labor issues,” Loy says. “I’ve survived a few photography classes and have been challenged by a friend to write creatively again. I’ve written a few art and culture pieces for Bay Area publications, but mostly I’m saying ‘NO,’ which is new for me.”

Kaya Oakes is another KS staffer who’s busy working on individual writing and publishing projects. A former senior editor at the magazine, Oakes is currently writing a book about independent culture, which will be released by Henry Holt sometime in 2009.

When I contacted Oakes, she was about to dive into her chapter on independent publishing, so we discussed current ways of making indie media. Oakes affirmed that the web plays a vital, simplifying role in the way of publication and distribution. “The logistics of mag publishing are just ridiculous, and the cost is getting harder to bear unless people want to keep things very small,” she says. “Even with Kitchen Sink’s initial print run of only 2K, we had a really hard time paying the bills. When this increased to 10K, we were hopelessly in debt all the time.”

Oakes was also quick to add that print publications need to be supported and sustained, but perhaps they need to scale back a bit: “I do continue to believe in print media, of course, but I also think independent print media have to think micro these days to survive… I’m also a firm supporter of POD, which is going to be a method of survival for a lot of small presses.”

Both Loy and Oakes cited examples of indie publishers and publications that have inspired them lately: Ugly Duckling Presse, Action Books, and Flood Editions (all tiny literary presses); Make/Shift, a feminist magazine founded by Kitchen Sink staff writer Jessica Hoffman; Other, the project of another KS affiliate Charlie Anders; and Watchword, a literary journal published by Watchword Press.

Although Kitchen Sink has sunk, its hardworking staff members continue to pursue projects that will no doubt improve and enliven their communities; they’re just approaching them in perhaps quieter, more individual ways. As for her “Just Say No” phase, Loy says, “I predict this will last for about 12 months. And then, who knows? Maybe the world will be ready for another publishing project.”

This latest installment of Preserving Our Independents doesn’t feature an official small publisher (as has been the case in past installments) but rather a small publishing venture. And just like the presses previously featured, this project uses a DIY approach to pursue admirable initiatives.

Are you aware of the incredible adaptations of cephalopods? Or that scientists have discovered a special virus that kills harmful bacteria in hot dogs? Do you know that people use different sets of muscles to create fake smiles and genuine smiles? Maybe these facts are new to you; maybe you learned some of them in school. Or maybe you were riding the train the other day and happened upon a little zine that cleverly explained some of these scientific curiosities.

In the latter case, you might have stumbled upon a publication from the Small Science Collective, a public education project that aims to put scientific information in the hands of non-scientists. The collective accomplishes this by publishing one-page zines and pamphlets on a range of enlightening topics—everything from smiles and cephalopods to stem cells and pheromones—and then distributing them in public spaces: at coffee shops, on park benches, inside the sugar packet containers at restaurants, between the pages of in-flight magazines.

The zines are written and designed by Small Science Collective founder Andrew Yang, as well as fellow scientists, friends, and his students at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where Yang teaches courses in biology and the intersection of art and science. The idea originated when Yang was a student himself, and he kept finding Chick tracts—little illustrated booklets designed to be evangelistic tools—popping up around campus, particularly in the building where he was doing his graduate studies in evolutionary biology.

“I think the cleaning staff might have been putting them around surreptitiously—trying to convert our wayward souls to their view of things,” Yang says. But while he took issue with the content and intent of these booklets, he still considered them interesting on an aesthetic level. “Although the tracts can be pretty ridiculous, I have never picked one up that I haven’t read through. As little comics, they are really compelling and kind of beautiful objects,” Yang says.

Yang already had an interest in zines and handmade brochures as a way of disseminating ideas, but he was frustrated that science information wasn’t being disseminated as widely or earnestly as these religious stories. Yang began discussing these issues with a friend, astrophysicist Jeff Oishi. Both wondered how useful, interesting, and educational science could be communicated. “Science as an institution does a very bad job at educating people about its concerns, its findings, and how science works,” Yang says. “It strikes me as strange that as significant as it is, science doesn’t penetrate the everyday lives we lead, and…is often restricted to very formal venues, like the textbook, the museum, the standardized font.”

For these reasons, Yang eventually started making science zines with his students at the Art Institute. In this way, students who were already adept at combining visual and narrative content and thinking about ideas creatively could learn about science topics by actually communicating about science.

“There is this whole other issue about who gets to communicate science, how experts and teachers appear to be the ones exclusively with that authority,” Yang says. “But that lack of personal agency is so much of the problem of why people don’t engage with science or technology and feel helpless and daunted by it.”

The one-page zines certainly encourage engagement and discovery, and they do so with a sense of wonder and often a sense of humor. Some zines are typed; many are handwritten. Some contain field drawings and illustrated diagrams; others incorporate old sepia-toned photographs, comics, and collage. All of them present facts and scientific tidbits in an entertaining, easy-to-understand format.

There’s a zine about evolutionary biology called Snake Legs and Wisdom Teeth, which was designed to look like one of the aforementioned Chick tracts, and a publication titled simply Ants, which shares facts about such fascinating types of ants as the honeypot ant, leafcutter ant, and weaver ant. The Mini Book of Sexual Selection explains different traits in animals that contribute to their reproductive success, and Hole in Yer Head identifies the various uh, holes in our heads that make sensory experience possible.

Whatever the topic discussed therein, each zine attempts to explain scientific concepts and discoveries to people who might not otherwise be exposed to (or independently pursue) such information. In so doing, the collective hopes that everyone, particularly non-scientists and non-specialists, will feel empowered to learn more. “When folks spot me on the train dropping [the zines] around, it starts conversations and sparks curiosity,” says Yang. “In that sense, it isn’t exclusively an ‘anonymous’ format; it also provides a lot of opportunity to connect with people.”

And that’s what this publishing venture is all about: starting conversation, sparking curiosity. Via simple, easily distributable zines and pamphlets, the Small Science Collective is helping people more actively engage in their world. For copies of the zines, visit the SSC website and simply download, print, and fold the publications of your choice.

I first heard about the Northampton, Massachusetts-based micropublishing house a few years ago when I was working at an independent bookstore. One of my well-read coworkers had hand-sold dozens of copies of a short story collection called Stranger Things Happen, which featured great Vintage Nancy Drew-style cover art and a blurb from Jonathan Lethem describing the author, Kelly Link, as “the exact best and strangest and funniest short story writer on earth that you have never heard of at the exact moment you are reading these words and making them slightly inexact.” It was true: I’d never heard of her, but I became increasingly curious about this book that, at least in our little store, was outselling The Da Vinci Code. So I read these strange and funny stories-stories that, by some special alchemy, imbue everyday events with a fantastical weirdness while treating haunting Brothers Grimm-esque themes like they’re nothing out of the ordinary. After reading, enjoying, and starting to recommend the book myself, I discovered that Link had self-published Stranger Things Happen, or I should say co-published it (with her husband Gavin J. Grant), on Small Beer Press.

Link and Grant founded Small Beer in 2000. In some ways, the evolution of their publishing endeavors can be described as two people working with greater and greater amounts of paper: starting with zines, experimenting with chapbooks, and finally arriving at trade paperbacks. In 1996, while working at Avenue Victor Hugo Bookshop in Boston, they collaborated on publishing a literary zine called Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet. “Gavin had access to a photocopier at his temp job, and we both knew a fair number of writers,” says Link. “After awhile, we put out two chapbooks to experiment, just a bit, with more book-like design and layout… It seemed as if we could probably sell a certain number of books, and having worked in bookstores for years, we really wanted a chance to see what making books would be like.” According to Grant, publishing Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet had already taught them “(in small affordable steps): marketing, distribution, design, how to work to deadlines, and most of all, the importance of professional proofreaders.”

Obviously the experience paid off, because after releasing the two chapbooks, Link and Grant went on to publish two short story collections: Stranger Things Happen and Ray Vukcevich’s Meet Me in the Moon Room. Now, in addition to still releasing the twice-yearly zine, Small Beer Press publishes novels, collections, chapbooks, anthologies, and classic reprints. “Most of the books that we’ve published have had some element of fantasy or strangeness to them,” says Link, “but that wasn’t a conscious decision… We set out to publish books that we loved.” Recent releases include the novels Endless Things, by John Crowley, Water Logic, by Laurie J. Marks, and Generation Loss, by Elizabeth Hand (another book that enchanted my well-read former coworker).

This labor of love isn’t strictly a paper venture. Like other indie publishers, Small Beer uses the Internet, in various imaginative ways, to get the word out. Which leads me back to that free book I mentioned: After Link published her second short story collection, Magic for Beginners, Small Beer made Stranger Things Happen available for free download under a Creative Commons (Attribution-Noncommerical ShareAlike 2.5) license. Not only was this a way of promoting downloadable story-sharing with no Digital Rights Management (DRM) strings attached, but it also served as an expression of gratitude. As Grant and Link explain on their website, “When we published our first two books, we were incredibly lucky and received an incredible amount of support, advice, help, and enthusiasm from readers, publishers, writers, and others across North America and beyond. So this is one way to say thanks, everyone.”

Yet as indie publishers like Small Beer Press continue on-not only holding their ground but even claiming new territory (content-wise, distribution-wise)–it’s we grateful readers who are saying thanks and raising our glasses and toasting: Live well. Live long.

Small Beer Press online

Free Download of Stranger Things Happen

Previously in the Preserving Our Independents series

And then there is the literary journal Tin House that—by way of compelling themes, great cover art, and an aesthetically pleasing design approach (one that’s contemporary but never forced or offputtingly trend-driven)—stands out on the shelves. “Design has been important to us from the start,” says editor Rob Spillman. “When we first [launched] the magazine, we really wanted to make something that looked crafted… Back then, there was this prevailing attitude that literary magazines had to be like castor oil—ugly, hard to swallow, humorless, bland, but good for you. No wonder people said ‘bleck.’”

Tin House not only has good looks, but it also comes with plenty of personality. Open up an issue, which is also weightier than most other lit journals (coming in at around 200 or 300 pages), and the contents will not disappoint: engaging essays, envelope-pushing fiction, and original poetry by a range of writers, some new, some established. Each issue is loosely organized around a theme—e.g., evil, obsession, squatters, or psychedelia—which the contributors approach from various imaginative angles. One of my favorite issues is The Graphic Issue (#29) which features cover art and a graphic essay by Lynda Barry, an interview with Marjane Satrapi and an excerpt from her graphic novel Chicken With Plums, an excerpt from Women’s World—a painstakingly conceived collage of texts from 1960s women’s magazines, a satirical piece called “Why Have Their Been No Great Women Comics Artists?”, and much more. Another standout issue is Fantasic Women (#33), which presents writing by female authors who infuse their work with a degree of fantastical twists and modern-day magic. Contributors include Lydia Millet, Aimee Bender, Miranda July, Samantha Hunt, Shelley Jackson, Stacey Levine, and Kelly Link, to name a few. By delivering consistently solid writing in a very readable, very attractive format, both of these issues carry out theTin House mission: to “salute the artistic edge,” while remaining “rooted in the tenets of the classic storytelling tradition.”

This dedication to both graphic appeal and the narrative tradition extends beyond the magazine. The ten-year-old quarterly, which has offices in Portland and New York City, established a book-publishing arm five years ago. During that time, Tin House was in a three-year joint venture with Bloomsbury USA, but, after the contract ended, the journal decided to declare its independence and take sole control of the book division. “It was very useful to see how book production worked,” says Spillman, “but…we wanted more flexibility and control. Bloomsbury was limited by their huge overhead.”

Now Publishers Group West handles distribution of the books and magazine. Like many other independent publishers, Spillman admits that it can be difficult to bring attention to Tin House books with corporate publishers “making a lot of noise.” But he also notes that some people would rather tune out that noise and tune in to quality material: “These days, readers are increasingly looking to indie publishers for real books and not the “products” that the conglomerates feel that they must turn out to keep their institutional investors happy.”

So in spite of distribution-related challenges, Tin House has carved out a nice place for itself as a small press, garnering numerous awards and continuing to introduce new voices. “I’m encouraged by the indie scene. Through the web, it is easier than ever to find audiences…and now more than ever, there seems to be camaraderie among publishers. This is spreading worldwide,” says Spillman. who is also involved with African literary magazines—Kwani in Nairobi, Chimurenga in Cape Town, and Farafina in Lagos. “As for Tin House, I’m surprised by how far it seems to be reaching. I love nothing more than when I hear from a teenager in the middle of nowhere who has seen Lynda Barry or Kelly Link in the magazine, and it gives them encouragement to embrace their weirdness and creativity.”

Visit tinhouse.com for the latest news and look for the spring 08 issue, Off the Grid (#35), enlivening a bookstore shelf near you.

Quimby’s bookstore in Chicago. Photo from Quimby’s Flickr account.

As the bankruptcy saga unfolded last year, and more and more publications started to fold, many people involved in independent media considered giving up and retreating to that comfortable hole in the ground. Blogs and message boards conveyed recurrent themes: “Print media is dead;” “This is the end of independent publishing as we know it;” “New distribution models are needed;” “The future is the web.”

There are still no easy answers. Just as these conversations reveal the difficulties of independent publishing in an increasingly corporate-dominated climate, they also-somewhat miraculously-contain glimmers of hope. Despite numerous print casualties (a death toll that has grown steadily since last year), there are still small publishing houses and indie publications forging ahead with new ideas (many of them web-centered), determined to preserve their voice.

One of many such forgers-ahead is Featherproof Books. “All sorts of people point to declining ad sales and reading surveys in an alarmist way, but I really think that energy is still there,” says Zach Dodson, co-founder of the small Chicago-based press, “It’s just moving to different places.” In addition to publishing perfect-bound fiction, Featherproof also offers downloadable mini-books-short stories and novellas available online that the reader can print on ordinary paper and fold into pocket-sized books. “The free and easy distribution that the Internet allows is great,” says Dodson, “but we are in love with paper, and the physical object that a book is, so the minis were a way for us to combine the two… We’re trying to think of ways to embrace technology, while retaining the things we love about books.”

Such imagination and synthesis of print/web content seems vital to indie press survival, but understandably, not everyone is convinced. Certain publishers, like the owners of No Depression magazine, bear some pretty fresh wounds: Last week, they wrote a letter announcing that the 13-year-old magazine would cease publication after the May-June issue. In the letter, the three owners cited some of the all-too-familiar circumstances that forced them to call it quits: a decrease in ad revenue, the downfall of the music industry, and the struggling economy. “The cumulative toll of those forces makes it increasingly difficult for all small magazines to survive,” they wrote. “Whatever the potentials of the web, it cannot be good for our democracy to see independent voices further marginalized. But that’s what’s happening. The big money on the web is being made, not surprisingly, primarily by big businesses.”

But despite varying perspectives on what role the web should play in independent publishing, one thing is clear: An ever-growing readership is still valued, and full-fledged support is needed. Disillusioned though indie media advocates may be, we shouldn’t forget that there are great things still being printed and great things on the print horizon. To that end, Is Greater Than is beginning a new bimonthly feature showcasing new and noteworthy publications released via tiny budgets. We’ll try to include a range of titles, from political nonfiction to short stories and graphic novels; from science writing to zines and artist books. Our hope is to bring some much-deserved attention to various independents, to shine a spotlight on small presses working tirelessly to convey big ideas. And in case you ever need to tune out the bad news and escape into that aforementioned hole in the ground, at least you’ll be accompanied by some good reading material.

Other installments of Preserving Our Independents