March 16, 2017 Bulletin Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah Selected for Inaugural One Book, One New York Program By The Paris Review https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/obony-winner_1-minute.mp4 We’re delighted to announce that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s novel Americanah is the winner of the first-ever One Book, One New York program. This February, the mayor’s office invited New Yorkers to pick a book they’d like the city to read together: the other finalists were Paul Beatty’s The Sellout, Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me, Junot Díaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Online and at kiosks in the subway, readers throughout the city cast some fifty thousand votes. In the months to come, Americanah will feature in a series of free events throughout the city. As part of these proceedings, on May 11, The Paris Review will open our doors for a salon in Adichie’s honor at our loft. Watch this space; we’ll share more details about the event as soon as they’re available. In the meantime, we congratulate Adichie, and look forward to seeing Americanah on the subway and buses and park benches, on rooftops and fire escapes, in libraries and bars and coffee shops and the DMV—and everywhere else New Yorkers read. Read more about One Book, One New York here.
March 15, 2017 Our Correspondents Five Public Cases on Intelligence By Anthony Madrid Occasionally, our correspondent Anthony Madrid composes a set of quasi-koans; these are his latest. (Read his previous “public cases” here and here.) Public Case 1: Anxieties Our teacher said: “Anxieties about one’s intelligence are never anxieties about one’s intelligence. What’s actually at issue is whether we inspire envy in others (very acceptable), or whether we are ourselves obliged to feel envy (unacceptable). Those are the actual stakes. No one frets about whether her brain is adequate to the tasks of her life.” Comment. An old trick. Teacher boldly admits he is mean and vain; therefore he may call you mean and vain. But how much does he really want to enlighten his students, if his method for combating vanity is to humiliate it? He says, in effect: “You are conning yourself. You pretend to worry about how smart you are, so you may seem—to yourself—to be honest and humble. You know for a fact people think you’re smart, but that’s not good enough; you want ’em to suffer … ” Upshot: everyone walks away having exempted themselves from the criticism, and firmly identifying with the authority figure. In short, meaner and vainer than ever. Read More
March 15, 2017 On Translation The Swedish Gangster’s Wife’s Bag By Saskia Vogel On translating Karolina Ramqvist’s novel The White City. Vintage Louis Vuitton ad. It started with an editorial query about a bag. In Karolina Ramqvist’s novel The White City, a woman, Karin, has been left without resources after living a luxe life with her gangster husband, John, who is dead. Karin’s Swedish, middle-class family never approved of her decision to become a criminal’s housewife, so she can’t go to them for help. The “gangster family” that was supposed to have her back has turned on her. She has no one but her nursing infant, and she’s reluctant about motherhood. In the middle of a frozen Stockholm winter, Karin is being left out in the cold, figuratively and literally: the authorities are about to seize her grand suburban home. The reader meets her there, where signs of filth and decay abound. There’s no heating, no Internet. Desperate for cash, she’s selling off her luxury handbags. The doorbell rings; a prospective buyer who has seen Karin’s ad has come to have a look: Read More
March 15, 2017 On the Shelf The Pizza Is Poisoned, and Other News By Dan Piepenbring A late sixties ad for Campbell’s Pizza. I’ve buried some things in my day—contraband candy, late family pets, the truth. But game recognize game, and I have to salute Mario Fabbrini, a Michigan-based frozen-pizza entrepreneur who once buried thirty thousand family-sized mushroom-topped pies on a farm in Ossineke. A motorcade of pickup trucks dumped the pizzas into a mass grave; Fabbrini marked it with a flower garland, featuring “red gladioli for sauce, white carnations for cheese.” Cara Giaimo has the full story of the Great Michigan Pizza Funeral: “In January of 1973, employees at United Canning in Ohio were checking their inventory when they noticed some of their tins of mushrooms had swelled up … When he got the news about the mushrooms, Fabbrini stopped his shipments and submitted his mushroom pizzas to a crude contamination test: slices were fed to a couple of FDA lab mice, who promptly died. So Fabbrini recalled his ’shroom-topped pies, rounding them up from local restaurants and grocery stores. In order to get rid of them, he decided to throw a funeral—partly for the grand optics, but, one suspects, partly as a display of accountability, too.” Literature loves a hoax—the Daily itself may have perpetrated one as recently as yesterday, though you didn’t hear it from me. Clifford Irving, who’s responsible for one of the great written ruses of the past fifty years, isn’t given the credit he deserves as a creative liar. Paul Elie tells his story: “Irving, while living in Ibiza in 1971, concocted a bogus autobiography of Howard Hughes, the reclusive billionaire tycoon. Irving, a Manhattan-born author of three novels that had sold poorly, saw it as a low-risk, high-adrenaline stunt, a kick at the pricks of New York literary society. It was the kind of thing a writer could try and hope to get away with in the days before the Internet laid all—or most—fraudsters bare. That ‘stunt’ turned Irving into the Leif Erikson of literary hoaxsters. (The forged Hitler Diaries would not appear until the 1980s.) Irving got advances upward of $750,000 from McGraw-Hill; fooled the publisher, handwriting experts, and Life magazine’s editors; and stirred the publicity-loathing Hughes to comment—all of which seems to surprise him even now. ‘I was a writer, not a hoaxer. As a writer, you are constantly pushing the envelope, testing what people will believe, and once you get going you say, They believed that; maybe they’ll believe this … ’ ” Read More
March 14, 2017 Look The Life of Paper By Dan Piepenbring Austin Thomas has an exhibition of new drawings and print work at Morgan Lehman Gallery through March 25. Her work marries layered collage techniques to printmaking processes, making prominent use of found paper: book covers, ledger pages, loose-leaf notebooks. Austin Thomas, Gray Blue Black X, 2016, monoprint with Akua intaglio ink on proofing paper, 37″ x 18″. Read More
March 14, 2017 From the Archive Groggy from Stolen Phenobarbs By Christian Kiefer James Leo Herlihy. In recent years, I’ve taken to buying the oldest issues of The Paris Review, despite the fact that the entire run is now available digitally right here on the website. There’s a certain joy in paging through the actual paper, the names within both familiar and unfamiliar, the styles waxing and waning with the years, sometimes bringing to them a level of obscurity that feels utterly lost. But other times, there might come a name I don’t recognize, and with it a story or poem that draws me toward something essential, something I didn’t know I needed. For me, James Leo Herlihy was just such a surprise. I still don’t really know how to say his last name without sounding like an idiot, and this alone may have provided reason enough for me to read the first piece of his I encountered in a crumbling physical copy of The Paris Review’s ninth issue, Summer 1955, and titled, perhaps fittingly (or not), “A Summer for the Dead.” Read More