September 19, 2012 On the Shelf Kids Are All Right, Like E-books By Sadie Stein Onscreen writers “can be cynical hacks, genre stars or dislocated sportswriters. In romantic comedies, the writer is often a witty Lothario or a good-natured wimp. Either way, the profession’s primary function is to provide the character with plenty of free time.” Jane Austen can stimulate brain function. Presumably, so can other authors. “I am posting this for people who have Kindles, are in the U.S., and might want to get this. I am not posting this for people to tell me that they hate Kindles, hate all e-books, or are grumpy because they do not live in a country where they can download this.” Neil Gaiman makes a PA on Facebook. You know who loves e-books? Kids. As for the old-fashioned, paper kind, well, nowadays they’re less “reading material” and more “business cards.”
September 19, 2012 Bulletin Object Lesson: Kings By The Paris Review The story so far: in Object Lessons: The Paris Review Presents the Art of the Short Story, we asked twenty contemporary writers to choose their favorite short stories from our fiction archive, and write an introduction. The result is a crash course in the short story, an introduction to some new authors and a reintroduction to others, and a terrific anthology. Today’s quiz: Can you guess who wrote the following selection? Today I have learned a great lesson; our cook was my teacher. She is twenty-five years old and she’s French. I discovered that she does not know that Louis-Philippe is no longer king of France and we now have a republic. And yet it has been five years since he left the throne. She said the fact that he is no longer king simply does not interest her in the least—those were her words. And I think of myself as an intelligent man! But compared to her I’m an imbecile. Find out! And pre-order a copy today!
September 18, 2012 First Person Letter from Portugal: To a Portuguese Nun By Sadie Stein Around the sixth day of my trip to Portugal, I forced myself to accept the fact that I would not be returning home with vast quantities of convent-made lingerie, replete with handwork and bobbin lace. Not, I assure you, for lack of trying. When something doesn’t exist, as a hundred thousand visitors to Loch Ness will tell you, finding it makes for very tough work. Why the obsession, you ask? Well, I will tell you. First, I happened to reread Rebecca just before we left. Do you remember when Mrs. Danvers shows the narrator Rebecca’s exquisite nightdress, folded and left waiting for her in a silk case? “Here is her nightdress … how soft and light it is, isn’t it? … They were specially made by nuns of St. Claire.” This alone would have been enough to fire my imagination: this one garment, after all, serves as a symbol of Rebecca’s unattainable perfection: delicate, beautiful, worthy not merely of the most exquisite things but of the work it entails. Somehow both ethereally pure and erotically charged. A sex goddess blessed by Brides of Christ. No wonder the nameless narrator is intimidated. Then, flipping through D.V., I ran across the passage wherein Mrs. Vreeland describes her London lingerie atelier: The most beautiful work was done in a Spanish convent in London, and that’s where I spent my time. There was a brief period in my life when I spent all my time in convents. I was never not on my way to see the mother superior for the afternoon. “I want it rolled!” I’d say. “I don’t want it hemmed, I want it r-r-r-rolled!” And a conviction grew in my breast: I would return to New York with a wearable piece of the Old World. Read More
September 18, 2012 On Language Dreaming in Welsh By Pamela Petro Hiraeth. It’s pronounced “here-eyeth” (roll the “r”) and it’s a Welsh word. It has no exact cognate in English. The best we can do is “homesickness,” but that’s like the difference between hardwood and laminate. Homesickness is hiraeth-lite. A quick history lesson is a good idea before a definition: in 1282 Wales became the first colony of the English empire. Because England eventually ruled half the globe, we all know its first colony by the name the colonizers gave it: Wales, which means “Place of the Others,” or “Place of the Romanized Foreigners.” So that’s how the Welsh—the original Britons—became “foreigners” on their own island. Talk about a semantic insult. To Welsh speakers Wales is Cymru (pronounced Kum-ree): home of the Cymry, or fellow countrymen. But not too many schoolkids outside Llandysul know that. Arthur—the once-breathing chieftain, not Merlin’ s once-and-future pal—lived around the time the name “Wales” stuck, in the sixth century. He tried to hold back the English (really the Saxons) and failed. Then in 1282 Llywelyn failed too. He was the last Welsh-born Prince of Wales, aptly named The Last, and he was killed in battle by soldiers of Edward I. After that Wales became a subject state. Since then time’s centrifuge has spun it to the margins of history. Wales is a poor, rural place of mountains and ribboning hills with empty underground pockets where its coal used to be, but which, miraculously, has clung to its birthright language. Twenty years ago Welsh was spoken by eighteen percent of the population, mainly elderly folk in isolated areas. Today twenty-two percent speak it, including a burgeoning segment of young professionals who’ve helped create things like Gweplyfr (Facebook) and Twitr (Twitter). Read More
September 18, 2012 Bulletin An Object Lesson: Beware of Getting Out of Touch By The Paris Review Publisher’s Weekly called it “a kind of mini-M.F.A.” In Object Lessons: The Paris Review Presents the Art of the Short Story, we asked twenty masters of the medium to choose their favorite short stories from our sixty-year archive, and write an introduction. The result is a series of “object lessons” in the art of short fiction, a look back at our incredible history, and, not incidentally, a terrific read. Can you guess who wrote the following selection? “Beware of getting out of touch,” his therapist had warned. “It happens gradually. It creeps over you by degrees. When you’re not interacting with people, you start losing the beat. Then blammo. Suddenly, you’re that guy in the yard.” “I’m who?” asked Buddy. “The guy with the too-short pants,” said the therapist. Find out! And show your commitment to keeping the short story alive by purchasing a copy today!
September 18, 2012 On the Shelf Beat Letters, Literary Ink By Sadie Stein Check out this letter from Jack Kerouac to his editor, in which the Beat presses for publication of On the Road. Librarians with literary tattoos! While we’re at it, writers in underpants. (No exclamation mark.) Books You’ve Never Heard of By Authors You Have. (Spoiler: you may have actually heard of a few of them, but you get the idea.) “An audio version [of Gravity’s Rainbow] does exist, though it came from the time of cassettes, not MP3s. The book was recorded in 1986 by George Guidall … it runs to 34 hours.” [tweetbutton] [facebook_ilike]