May 27, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Words We Don’t Say; The Tao of Travel By Lorin Stein Kurt Andersen had his list of “Words We Don’t Say.” As the editor of The Paris Review, what are some of yours? —Tom Michaels Usage snobbery is a poor man’s snobbery. It has no place at The Paris Review. When Kurt Andersen compiled his list of peeves, he had the excuse of working at New York—a magazine that pretty much exists to market snootiness on a budget. You will notice that most of his verbotens come from the tabloids, the trades, or lifestyle magazines. (There is something, not just ironic, but deep about a lifestyle magazine banning the word lifestyle.) Which is to say, Andersen was doing his job. He was maintaining a tone. Here at the Review we have no such excuse. All we’ve got are hang-ups. I blame mine on The Worth of Words, a late-Victorian usage manual that I picked up at a yard sale during high school and subsequently destroyed. It was too late. The Worth of Words had singed it onto my brain that the phrase due to should be used only in instances of someone actually incurring a debt of gratitude, that aggravate must never be used except in the sense of adding to, and that partially means only “with bias.” (Google Books has now reunited me with this manual and its insane author, Ralcy Halsted Bell. Entry one: “ABORTIVE means of untimely birth … To speak of an abortive attempt or act is hardly short of the ridiculous.” I do not recommend The Worth of Words, and I offer this tiny (partial) list of my own in a spirit of confession and contrition. Recently our managing editor, Nicole Rudick, cured me of an aversion to forthcoming (in the sense of “soon to be published”) with the help of the OED. Here, off the top of my head, are some more: Home (for house) Hopefully (for “I hope”) Disinterest (for “lack of interest”—yes, even though I know it’s totally correct) Delicious, Spicy, Tangy (used metaphorically) Tasty (ever, but especially in reference to a “lick”) Pleasantry (except in the sense of “joke”) Following (to introduce a list: as in “the following”) Contact (as a verb) Relationship (ever, ever, even when it’s the mot juste) Impact (unless we’re talking about, e.g., a car crash) I could go on. (Couldn’t you?) Read More
May 20, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Good Food Writing; Crazy People By Lorin Stein Since being diagnosed with various health and digestive problems, I’ve had to change my diet and lifestyle drastically. In order to feel more as if it’s my decision and not my doctor’s, I have read various books on diet and nutrition, like Loren Cordain’s The Paleo Diet and Gary Taubes’ Good Calories, Bad Calories. But diet and nutrition books are one thing. Now I’ve discovered the amazing thing that is food writing, through my reading of Mireille Guiliano’s French Women Don’t Get Fat. Who needs to eat bad food when you can read delicious descriptions of good food? I’m officially converted, but I don’t know enough about food writing to know where to turn next. Can you recommend some good food books? —Hannah Gómez Dear Hannah, To answer your question, we enlisted Gena Hamshaw, who for years maintained a double life as a brilliant book editor and a plant-based nutritionist. She kindly sent us the following: Isn’t it amazing to discover how much nutrition writing pales in comparison to really wonderful food writing? If you’re just getting into the world of gastronomical prose, you should probably begin by reading everything M. F. K. Fisher ever wrote. And if that’s too much, do at least read The Gastronomical Me, How to Cook a Wolf, and An Alphabet for Gourmets. They’re all exquisitely written, brilliant, and sumptuous, but never precious (which is a rare balance in the world of food writing). When you’ve finished devouring the Fisher oeuvre, you may want to explore some of Elizabeth David’s work, which is a little more exacting but no less smart. French Country Cooking and French Provincial Cooking are the real stars, but if you’ve had enough of France, Italian Food is great, too. A little more contemporary but just as compelling are Laurie Colwin’s food books; Home Cooking is a must read. And if you’re interested in the politics of food just as much as its pleasures, Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma is fairly indispensable. Of course, lots of cookbooks feature writing that’s fine enough to stand apart from the mouth-watering photos and instructions. I’m thinking in particular of Anna Thomas’s The New Vegetarian Epicure, which might as well be an essay collection, Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone (don’t let the candid and modest attitude fool you; the writing is superb), and most anything by Alice Waters. Mark Bittman’s writing is direct but sparkling with wit. Keep in mind, though, that some of today’s best food writing is on the web. Food blogs are tremendous resources, not only of recipes, but also of passionate and erudite food writing. I recommend Clotilde Dusoulier’s Chocolate and Zucchini, Shauna Ahern’s Gluten Free Girl, Molly Wizenberg’s Orangette, and, if you’ve got the patience for a perspective that’s as far from Paleo as can be, you can poke around my blog, Choosing Raw. Explore blogrolls and comments: the food-blog world is rich and full of excited writers. Happy reading, Gena As a general rule of thumb, how can you tell if a crazy person is too crazy? —Going Nuts Boredom. At least this is the view I heard years ago from a psychiatrist who spent his career treating schizophrenia. The tell-tale sign of insanity (he said) is to be profoundly boring to other people. There are some obvious holes in this theory; still, I like it on pragmatic grounds. Let’s say a crazy person may be too crazy, but he or she interests you. Then you may want to say “too crazy for what?” Whereas, if somebody’s droning on till you think you might cry—even if that person’s in his or her right mind, who cares? It may not be grounds for committal, but you still want to get off the phone. Have a question for The Paris Review? E-mail us.
May 13, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Hempelian Moods; My Friend’s Fancy Book Deal By Lorin Stein The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel has converted me back to reading short stories. Where would you go next after Hempel? Isn’t she good! If you want to expand on that Hempelian mood of yours, I suggest—in no particular order—any of the collections of Mary Robison, the latest issue of the short-story annual Noon, David Gates’s Wonders of the Invisible World, Gary Lutz’s Stories in the Worst Way, Christine Schutt’s A Day, A Night, Another Day, Summer, Sam Lipsyte’s Venus Drive, and Gordon Lish’s What I Know So Far. I know this person who got a fancy agent and sold a book, and, recently, I’ve noticed he has a very inflated ego. He talks about how great he is compared to other people, and how he has to network and get to know important editors. It’s a little weird, especially after years of saying he was devoted to the “craft.” Maybe it’s a case of sour grapes, but it’s pretty damn annoying. I also feel pretty strongly that this book won’t be making it onto the best-seller list. Nor does it mean he’s going to be published by the New Yorker. Is it my job to manage expectations here? —Sam is not my name Well, “not-Sam,” getting a fancy agent and selling a book have been known to puff a young writer up. And it can be annoying to watch—yes, even when you know the book is going to sink like a stone in the scum pond of posterity. But really there’s no percentage in trying to manage an author’s expectations. For one thing, it simply can’t be done. No one but an academic ever believes he has written a dull book until it is too late. Even after the book fails, disappears from the shelves of Barnes & Noble, and is pulped, if your friend has invested time and libidinal energy into schmoozing editors, he won’t blame his book. He will blame all the powerful new friends who didn’t give him the review he wanted or wrangle him the blurb he deserved. He will blame his publisher for not taking out an ad on the front page of USA Today. And he will blame you (buzz starts at home). Besides, I have found it’s hard to give good, gentle, constructive advice when you want to slap somebody upside his silly melon-head. My advice is to be friendly and supportive. Go to the launch, ask him to sign your copy (buy a copy), and otherwise try to avoid quality time alone with him until the thing’s in paperback. Have a question for The Paris Review? E-mail us.
May 6, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Strong and Wise Mothers; No Children, Please By Lorin Stein Dear Lorin: This Mother’s Day, I’d like to give my mom a thoughtful gift as a gesture of my deep love and respect for her. I’d like to give her a book with a strong, wise female character whom she might resemble. Do you have any suggestions? Laurel Yes, I made that mistake once: I gave my mother To the Lighthouse—and told her that Mrs. Ramsay reminded me of her. She didn’t much like the comparison. Mrs. Ramsay is certainly strong and wise, and we want our mothers to be strong and wise, but so often our mothers have ideas of their own. I suggest Lydia Davis’s Collected Stories, which contains not only tributes to strong and wise mothers (including Mrs. D) but also funny and sympathetic stories about mothers under pressure. My mother has an etiquette question: is it impolite to say when being seated in a restaurant “Away from children please,” given that she has four children (but they are adults and she didn’t take them to restaurants until they had manners). —A friend This one I checked with my own mother, who managed a restaurant when my sister and I were children, and has pronounced views on restaurant etiquette. Her view: away from children, by all means! I feel the same. It is always depressing to see adult conversation sacrificed to the whims of some little psycho in a high chair, playing fort-da with its knife and fork. I think our mothers were absolutely right to leave us at home (even if, in my case, this has left me with an unslakable and expensive weakness for eating in restaurants, and for eating late, and generally for the company of grownups … ) Happy Mother’s Day to all! Have a question for The Paris Review? E-mail us.
April 29, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Western Reading; Should I Write a Memoir? By Lorin Stein Dear Mr. Stein, This summer my husband and I will be taking a train from Portland, Oregon, to Whitefish, Montana. Can you recommend any novels set in that region? I’ve read Jim Harrison, Michael Dorris’s A Yellow Raft in Blue Water, Stegner’s Angle of Repose and am hoping there are many good novels I’m not yet familiar with set along our route. Best, Nora Brzyski Ms. Brzyski, you’ve landed on a blind spot the size of, well, Idaho. So I’ve asked an expert, Philip Connors. Apart from working as a fire lookout (and many other things), Phil is the editor of New West Reader: Essays on An Ever-Evolving Frontier. He writes: Happily, the natural beauty along that train trip is matched by the beauty of more books set on or near your journey than I can name. If I were at home, staring at my bookshelves, I’d probably give you a slightly different list, but since I’m on a grand tour of my own, currently in Santa Fe, this will have to be off the top of my head. A list of the great Oregon novels would include David James Duncan’s The Brothers K and Ken Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion. The indispensable book on eastern Oregon is a memoir with the sweep and grandeur of a great novel—William Kittredge’s Hole in the Sky, a story of paradise found and paradise lost on his family’s Warner Valley ranch. Washington is Sherman Alexie country: check out his novels Reservation Blues and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Crossing over into Idaho, you absolutely must read Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping, which plays out in the town of Fingerbone, a fictional analogue to Robinson’s hometown of Sandpoint; it’s a masterpiece of twentieth-century American fiction. Finally, perhaps the best book set in western Montana is Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It—two novellas and one story, the title novella being among the most beautiful and haunting tragedies written by anyone, anywhere, in any time. Finally, if you find your attention for long prose works flagging, make sure to have handy the collected poems of Richard Hugo, Making Certain It Goes On, which contains some of the finest poems of place—from western Washington to western Montana—that I have ever read. Read More
April 22, 2011 Ask The Paris Review Nathan Zuckerman; Soon-to-be Shiksa By Lorin Stein My girlfriend insisted that I read some Philip Roth and gave me a copy of Portnoy’s Complaint. I can’t decide if I should keel over laughing because of its impeccable comedic timing or froth at the mouth because of its meticulous rendering of nearly every stereotype I’ve ever seen of neurotic sixties Jews. But perhaps more importantly: do I need to read something different by Roth, or do I need to tell this wonderful woman that our relationship is simply not going to work? —A neurotic twenty-first-century schlemiel Your wonderful girlfriend gave you Portnoy’s Complaint, you almost plotzed laughing … so you want to end it? Something tells me I’ve missed a step—but that Philip Roth would understand. So, perhaps, would Nathan Zuckerman, the novelist pilloried for his handling of Jewish stereotypes in his comic masterpiece Carnovsky—and the hero of some of Roth’s best books. Start with The Ghost Writer, in which Zuckerman goes to visit an elder statesman of Jewish letters named Lonoff and finds himself powerfully attracted to Lonoff’s amanuensis, who bears a striking resemblance to … well, I won’t spoil it. You might also consider analysis, if you haven’t already. I think of myself as a semi-Jew: I celebrate holy holidays when I want to, I’m victim to eating bacon regularly, and I wear dresses so short that all my babushka can do is mutter words under her breath at me in Yiddish. I want to get more in touch with my roots. Not in the let’s-all-go-to-synagogue kind of way, but in a contemporary, fun, reading-of-the-Jewish-writer kind of way. Can you recommend anything for this soon-to-be shiksa? —Anna Kogan Now just a second. Thessaly, are you making the goyisch interns impersonate Jews for Pesach? Have you got them downloading The Jazz Singer on Torrent? Reading Howard Jacobsen on their iPhones? In the age of Google, anyone can spell schlemiel. Go read Lee Siegel for your sins, and don’t let this happen again! Have a question for The Paris Review? E-mail us.