September 26, 2017 Arts & Culture John H. Johnson and the Black Magazine By Dick Gregory Let me tell you a story about Jet magazine. In the late 1970s, I went to the African country Uganda, which was falling apart under Idi Amin. His rule was over, and he had left a mess. I wanted to see about helping sick and hungry folks over there. I got on a plane, and then onto a bus. Things were crazy, with people fighting for control of the country. A group of men made everybody get off the bus I was on. And the saddest thing was: suddenly I was looking at a nine-year-old African child with a gun, who walked up to me and said, “Get up on the sidewalk.” A man on a bicycle jumped off and said, “Dick Gregory! Dick Gregory!” He looked at that little punk packing the gun and said, “Get outta here. You know who this man is?” Read More
September 26, 2017 Arts & Culture Travel Snapshots from an Odyssey By Daniel Mendelsohn Daniel Mendelsohn’s memoir, An Odyssey: A Father, a Son, and an Epic, begins when his eighty-one-year-old father, Jay Mendelsohn, enrolls in Daniel’s undergraduate seminar on the Odyssey. From those risky beginnings, the two embark on an intellectual journey that becomes an emotional one, and then a literal one, when they take a cruise designed to retrace Odysseus’s steps through the Mediterranean. Below, Mendelsohn shares photos from that cruise. He described them to us over the phone, from Canada, as he shuffled from one book-tour event to another. —Ed. June 19, 2011: the day we embarked on the cruise. This photo is from the day we arrived in Athens to embark on the cruise. One of the things that amused me the most about my dad was his indefatigable attachment to both his camera and his iPad, without which he never traveled. It’s funny because the opening of the Odyssey emphasizes two things about Odysseus: that he traveled far and wide, and his intellectual capacity. Odysseus wanted to know the minds of men. In a certain sense, he’s the first anthropologist in Western literature. He goes places partly because he has to, but while he’s there, he’s very interested in “the natives,” so to speak. I found my father’s indefatigable recording of everything endearing. I’m very lazy in that way when I travel—I just sort of let things wash over me—but he was constantly taking notes and taking pictures. I thought it was really funny, when we got there, that he was taking pictures and making notes about the ship. I said, Really, Dad? And he replied, Everything is part of this experience. Which was a very Odysseus-like attitude, actually. So I took a picture of him taking a picture of the boat. We hadn’t even boarded yet. Read More
September 25, 2017 Procrastination Confessional Joining the PTA As Writerly Self-Sabotage By Minna Zallman Proctor In his masterful book Out of Sheer Rage, Geoff Dyer writes at great length about not being able to write a book about D. H. Lawrence and, in the process, writes a book about D. H. Lawrence and about himself. There’s a bit of a novel thrown in there, too. It’s the holy grail of procrastination. All of this not-writing piles up, and miraculously a book emerges. Even more miraculously, Dyer gets to not-write on a beach on a Greek island. I do my not-writing in a coffee shop in Park Slope for the hour and a half between dropping the kids off at school and starting my actual job. I do my not-writing at five in the morning, before everyone gets up and starts eating cereal, and looking for socks in my office, which is the living room and the dining room, too. Sometimes, in a desperate pinch, I do my not-writing on Saturday morning, hunching guiltily in the corner pretending that I’m not not-helping clean the apartment. Though I also have the gall on those occasions to bark furiously at anyone who has the temerity to approach my desk about borrowing scissors. Read More
September 25, 2017 At Work Survival Story: An Interview with David France By Garth Greenwell David France, center, in June 1983. “Amid the largest influx of gays in city history, I migrated to New York to become part of what epidemiologists call an ‘amplification system’ for disease.” Last month, the British Library hosted a conversation between the journalist and filmmaker David France and writer Garth Greenwell on the occasion of the publication, last November, of France’s book How to Survive a Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS. In 2013, France wrote, directed, and produced the Oscar-nominated documentary film How to Survive a Plague, about the early years of the AIDS epidemic and the activist organizations ACT UP and Treatment Action Group. The book expands that narrative, interweaving the stories of individuals to trace the scientific history of AIDS and the birth of AIDS and LGBT activism, and to show the profound and underrecognized effect of the gay community’s struggle on American society and culture. “Their resistance and cunning,” Carl Bernstein wrote, “will remain as seminal to medical history and humanity as the efforts of Pasteur and Salk.” The exchange below is an edited version of France and Greenwell’s discussion, with thanks to the British Library. —Nicole Rudick GREENWELL It seems to me that we’re in a moment, and have been in a moment for a few years, of a revisitation of the height of the AIDS crisis in America. The extraordinary amount of recent cultural production around that crisis would include memoirs by Sean Strub, Dale Peck, Alysia Abbott, Bernard Cooper, Cleve Jones, whose memoir of AIDS activism was made into a miniseries, your own documentary, which we’ll talk about, and also Jim Hubbard’s documentary United in Anger, a film production of Larry Kramer’s The Normal Heart, new biographies of the artist David Wojnarowicz, the activist and singer Michael Callen, and the poet Essex Hemphill, a resurgence of interest in the extraordinary African American composer Julius Eastman, major novels by Tim Murphy, Larry Kramer, Rabih Alameddine—all in the last few years. This follows a period in which interest in AIDS seemed to have waned, and you’ve said that in 2008 and 2009, when you were carrying around a proposal for this book, no one was interested. What do you think is behind the sudden interest in this period? FRANCE There was a belief that the story of AIDS had been told, that it had been captured in the canon of the time—another long list—and that we had gathered and collected and transmitted those stories for the generations. The argument I was making in 2008 and 2009 was that all of that work had been produced inside the plague, and the reporting was very early, the thinking was very early. The arguments and conclusions represented the thinking in the middle, when no one knew what was going to happen. It was all very powerful, like Paul Monette’s work—devastating, so much of it. But by 1996, when the new drug class came to market and made it possible to survive an HIV infection—meaning we’d reached the end of the plague as we knew it, the untreatable, almost-certain-death period—we were all sent into some sort of dizzying future we hadn’t imagined and couldn’t celebrate it. There was no way to have a party, because of what had happened. So to look at that period—no one had done it. Read More
September 22, 2017 This Week’s Reading Staff Picks: Pranks, Prints, and Penises By The Paris Review Belkis Ayón, La cena (The Supper), 1991. Last Saturday, my roommate took us to El Museo del Barrio to see “NKAME,” a haunting retrospective of the late Cuban printmaker Belkis Ayón. It is a show of paradoxes, crackling with stillness and intricate in its simplicity. Ayón’s work merges elements of Christian narrative with that of the founding mythology of the Afro-Cuban fraternal society Abakuá to establish an independent and forceful iconography of her own. Her prints are populated by androgynous, ghostly figures, featureless save for the almond-shaped eyes that peer out from their canvases in a resolute, subtly confrontational stare. One piece reimagines Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, but many of the scenes are more deliberately abstract, and those are the ones that are the most viscerally evocative. The show includes one of her color prints, but the rest are the result of her midcareer decision to work only in grayscale. Ayón’s true virtuosity is in her command of this palette, and the nuance of patterns she weaves into her prints is captivating. These patterns imbue the stillness of her scenes with a buzzing energy just below the surface, underscoring the archetypal uncanniness of her hybrid mythology. It was my roommate’s third time seeing the exhibition, and it is certainly one to pull you back again and again. Spend time with each print; the experience of each is a slow, mysterious revelation of masterful detail. —Lauren Kane Read More