{"id":102508,"date":"2016-09-09T17:32:12","date_gmt":"2016-09-09T21:32:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=102508"},"modified":"2016-09-09T18:20:56","modified_gmt":"2016-09-09T22:20:56","slug":"unique-sound-cricket","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/","title":{"rendered":"The Unique Sound of the Cricket"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/a>

\u00c9douard Manet, Portrait of St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9<\/i>, 1876.<\/p><\/div>\n

St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 died 118 years ago today. He wrote the letter below\u00a0to his friend Eug\u00e8ne Lef\u00e9bure, in May 1867,\u00a0at age twenty-five, when he was working as a teacher in the provinces. It was, apparently, stressful, and Mallarm\u00e9 came to feel<\/em>\u00a0that he\u2019d entered \u201cthe Void\u201d\u2014a liberating (albeit terrifying) abyss of constant, torturous renewal. His<\/em>\u00a0Selected Letters<\/a>\u00a0are edited and translated from the French by<\/em>\u00a0Rosemary Lloyd.<\/em><\/p>\n

This is what I heard my neighbor say this morning, as she pointed to the window on the opposite side of the street from her: \u201cGracious me! Madame Ramaniet ate asparagus yesterday.\u201d \u201cHow can you tell?\u201d \u201cFrom the pot she\u2019s put outside her window.\u201d Isn\u2019t that the provinces in a nutshell? Its curiosity, its preoccupations, and that ability to see clues in the most meaningless things\u2014and such things, great gods! Fancy having to confess that mankind, by living one on top of the other, has reached such a pass!!\u2014I\u2019m not asking for the wild state, because we\u2019d be obliged to make our own shoes and bread, while society permits us to entrust those tasks to slaves to whom we pay salaries, but I find intoxication in exceptional solitude \u2026 I\u2019ll always reject all company so that I can carry my symbol wherever I go and, in a room full of beautiful furniture just as in the countryside, I can feel myself to be a diamond which reflects everything, but which has no existence in itself, something to which you are always forced to return when you welcome men, even if only to put yourself on the defensive \u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n

I think that to be truly a man, to be nature capable of thought, one must think with one\u2019s entire body, which creates a full, harmonious thought, like those violin strings vibrating directly with their hollow wooden box. As thoughts are produced by the brain alone (which I so abused last summer and part of this winter), they now appear to me like airs played on the high part of the E-string without being strengthened by the box,\u2014which pass through and disappear without creating <\/em>themselves, without leaving a trace of themselves. Indeed, I no longer remember any of those sudden ideas <\/em>I had last year. On Easter day, when I was suffering from an extreme headache, as a result of working with my brain alone (stimulated by coffee, for it can\u2019t begin on its own and as for my nerves, they were probably too weary to receive any impression from outside), I tried not to think with my head any more, and, with a despairing effort, I stiffened all my nerves (as a pectus) to produce a vibration, or an impression\u2014and, in that way I sketched out a poem long dreamed of. Since then, I\u2019ve said to myself, in the hours of the essential synthesis, \u201cI\u2019m going to work with the heart\u201d \u2026 Truly I am broken down into my constituent parts, and when I think that that is necessary to have a very unified view of the Universe! Otherwise one feels no other unity than that of one\u2019s life. In a museum in London there is \u201cthe price of a man\u201d: a long box, with numerous pigeonholes in which can be found starch, phosphorous, flour, bottles of water, alcohol\u2014and great pieces of artificial gelatin. I\u2019m such a man.<\/p>\n

\n

From the depths of its sandy burrow, the cricket,
Watching them pass by, redoubles its song.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Hitherto the cricket used to astonish me, it seemed slight as an introduction to a magnificent line \u2026 I knew only the English cricket, a sweet-singing caricaturist. It was not until yesterday that I heard in the young wheat that sacred voice of the innocent earth, already more unified than that of the bird, that son of the trees in the solar night, which has something of the stars and the moon, and a little of death. But above all how much more unified it is than the voice of a woman, who walked and sang before me, and through whose voice one could see a thousand words in which it vibrated\u2014a voice pregnant with the Void! All the happiness the earth possesses in not being broken down into matter and spirit was contained in the unique sound of the cricket.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 died 118 years ago today. He wrote the letter below\u00a0to his friend Eug\u00e8ne Lef\u00e9bure, in May 1867,\u00a0at age twenty-five, when he was working as a teacher in the provinces. It was, apparently, stressful, and Mallarm\u00e9 came to feel\u00a0that he\u2019d entered \u201cthe Void\u201d\u2014a liberating (albeit terrifying) abyss of constant, torturous renewal. His\u00a0Selected Letters\u00a0are edited […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1056,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1900],"tags":[10031,24443,5733,22721,15942,182,12985,10601,24441,24442],"class_list":["post-102508","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-correspondence","tag-anniversaries","tag-asparagus","tag-correspondence-2","tag-crickets","tag-french-literature","tag-letters","tag-nineteenth-century","tag-stephane-mallarme","tag-the-void","tag-violins"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nIn Which St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 Confronts the Void<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A batty letter from a twenty-five-year-old Mallarm\u00e9 finds him pondering the big questions of existence\u2014plus crickets and asparagus pee.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Unique Sound of the Cricket by St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"September 9, 2016 \u2013 St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 died 118 years ago today. He wrote the letter below\u00a0to his friend Eug\u00e8ne Lef\u00e9bure, in May 1867,\u00a0at age twenty-five, when he was working\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-1.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1200\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"675\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"4 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/fcb9ad0f684eeed4d7f8b6ce09078123\"},\"headline\":\"The Unique Sound of the Cricket\",\"datePublished\":\"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\"},\"wordCount\":748,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"anniversaries\",\"asparagus\",\"correspondence\",\"crickets\",\"French literature\",\"letters\",\"nineteenth century\",\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\",\"the Void\",\"violins\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Correspondence\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\",\"name\":\"In Which St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 Confronts the Void\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00\",\"description\":\"A batty letter from a twenty-five-year-old Mallarm\u00e9 finds him pondering the big questions of existence\u2014plus crickets and asparagus pee.\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"The Unique Sound of the Cricket\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"description\":\"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"width\":696,\"height\":696,\"caption\":\"The Paris Review\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\",\"https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview\",\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/fcb9ad0f684eeed4d7f8b6ce09078123\",\"name\":\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/11927ff8c46673a59e28a15c42ecef22461790fe211dfd2e872830d4a1091c1a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/11927ff8c46673a59e28a15c42ecef22461790fe211dfd2e872830d4a1091c1a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/smallarme\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"In Which St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 Confronts the Void","description":"A batty letter from a twenty-five-year-old Mallarm\u00e9 finds him pondering the big questions of existence\u2014plus crickets and asparagus pee.","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"The Unique Sound of the Cricket by St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","og_description":"September 9, 2016 \u2013 St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 died 118 years ago today. He wrote the letter below\u00a0to his friend Eug\u00e8ne Lef\u00e9bure, in May 1867,\u00a0at age twenty-five, when he was working","og_url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/","og_site_name":"The Paris Review","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","article_published_time":"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00","article_modified_time":"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1200,"height":675,"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-1.png","type":"image\/png"}],"author":"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@parisreview","twitter_site":"@parisreview","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","Est. reading time":"4 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/"},"author":{"name":"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/fcb9ad0f684eeed4d7f8b6ce09078123"},"headline":"The Unique Sound of the Cricket","datePublished":"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00","dateModified":"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/"},"wordCount":748,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg","keywords":["anniversaries","asparagus","correspondence","crickets","French literature","letters","nineteenth century","St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","the Void","violins"],"articleSection":["Correspondence"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/","name":"In Which St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9 Confronts the Void","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg","datePublished":"2016-09-09T21:32:12+00:00","dateModified":"2016-09-09T22:20:56+00:00","description":"A batty letter from a twenty-five-year-old Mallarm\u00e9 finds him pondering the big questions of existence\u2014plus crickets and asparagus pee.","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/portrait_of_stephane_mallarme_manet.jpg"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/09\/unique-sound-cricket\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"The Unique Sound of the Cricket"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","name":"The Paris Review","description":"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization","name":"The Paris Review","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","width":696,"height":696,"caption":"The Paris Review"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/fcb9ad0f684eeed4d7f8b6ce09078123","name":"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/11927ff8c46673a59e28a15c42ecef22461790fe211dfd2e872830d4a1091c1a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/11927ff8c46673a59e28a15c42ecef22461790fe211dfd2e872830d4a1091c1a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"St\u00e9phane Mallarm\u00e9"},"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/smallarme\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/102508","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1056"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=102508"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/102508\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":102516,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/102508\/revisions\/102516"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=102508"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=102508"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=102508"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}