{"id":108898,"date":"2017-03-17T17:50:42","date_gmt":"2017-03-17T21:50:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=108898"},"modified":"2017-03-19T12:10:15","modified_gmt":"2017-03-19T16:10:15","slug":"staff-picks-codes-contracts-coffee-stains","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/03\/17\/staff-picks-codes-contracts-coffee-stains\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Codes, Contracts, Coffee Stains"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/a>

From Terms and Conditions.<\/i><\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

In his new book, the pop-conceptual curiosity\u00a0Terms and Conditions<\/a><\/em>,\u00a0R. Sikoryak reproduces the styles of more than a hundred other cartoonists\u2014including Marjane Satrapi, Steve Ditko, Raina Telgemeier, Edward Gorey, and Peyo\u2014one per page, to adapt the text of iTunes\u2019 Terms and Conditions, \u201cthe contract everyone agrees to but no one reads.\u201d I can\u2019t say I read it in this form either, but it does make the text occasionally more intriguing, if not readable,\u00a0highlighting certain phrases in the document that would otherwise remain\u00a0a haze of letters. Given its own caption box, the line \u201cTo agree to these terms, click \u2018agree.\u2019 If you do not agree to these terms, do not click \u2018agree,\u2019 and do not use these services\u201d reads like a middle finger to the (potential) user. A turtlenecked Steve Jobs populates each comic in the style of the page (as Popeye, Homer Simpson, Ziggy, Wolverine);\u00a0Sikoryak, too, disappears into these other idioms, and though the parody is impressive, each style remains a simulacrum, lacking the soul of the original. But maybe this is partly the point. Even if it were Ernie Bushmiller at the pen, is it still Sluggo if he tells Nancy, \u201cYou may not rent, lease, lend, sell, transfer, redistribute, or sublicense the Licensed Application\u201d? Sikoryak hasn\u2019t attempted to match the action in the panels to the language, so the legalese can\u2019t leech significance from the art. The text becomes a\u00a0lorem ipsum<\/em>\u2014placeholder copy that is seen but never read.\u00a0\u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

After reading Fleur Jaeggy\u2019s \u201cAgnes<\/a>\u201d in our current issue, I got ahold of her collection\u00a0I am the Brother of XX<\/a><\/em>, out in July.\u00a0<\/em>Gini Alhadeff, who translates it from the Italian, does a wonderful job binding these twenty-one fictions about family life into a cohesive psychology: each offers a dark, uncompromising perspective on the covenants of mother-, brother-, and sisterhoods. In the title story, a young brother claims his sister\u2019s concern for his academic well-being is the work of obsessive espionage; in \u201cThe Heir,\u201d an old woman adopts a homeless girl and redrafts her will so that her daughter will receive her entire estate, only to be burned alive by this new heiress: \u201cShe wanted the destruction of that woman who was good to her. To destroy for the blasted glory of it. She doesn\u2019t want money. But to destroy. Should she have to answer to a ridiculous why?\u201d And that\u2019s only the first time we see a daughter burn down her parents\u2019 house in\u00a0XX<\/em>. This book is twisted and hypnotizing and, somehow, downright lovely. Reading it is not unlike diving naked and headlong into a bramble of black rosebushes, so intrigued you are by their beauty: it\u2019s a swift, prickly undertaking, and you emerge the other end bloodied all over. \u2014Daniel Johnson\u00a0<\/strong>
\n<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u201cThe whole situation seemed to me essentially one of those where you just clench the hands and roll the eyes mutely up to heaven and then start a new life and try to forget. I said as much, while marmalading a slice of toast.\u201d It was at this moment, exactly thirty-six pages into The Code of the Woosters<\/em><\/a>, that I started to wonder, Does Bertie Wooster actually get \u2026 smarter? We all know that couples tend to grow alike over time. In school, we learned about the \u201cSanchification\u201d of Don Quixote, and it\u2019s a known fact that dog owners begin to resemble their dogs, but in all the years I\u2019ve been rereading the Jeeves books, I\u2019d never noticed how, in the later installments, Bertie starts to soak up some of Jeeves\u2019s brainpower, to be more and more in on the jokes\u2014you could even say, to have found his intellectual calling, as the most appreciative audience Jeeves has. I suspect I owe this realization to Tom Sandoval, the childlike bartender on Vanderpump Rules<\/em>, who over five seasons of fashion experiments and frowny-faced attempts at consecutive thought, has begun to displace Hugh Laurie as my own living image of young Bertie and who, when he\u2019s \u201ca bit lit at routs and revels,\u201d has begun to deliver himself of home truths, notably on the marriage of Tom Schwartz, that might win the plaudits of the Drones Club. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Though I\u2019ve drooled plenty over Guy Davenport\u2019s essays\u2014see my scratched-up, coffee-stained, dog-eared pages of \u201cOn Reading,\u201d \u201cFinding,\u201d and \u201cThe Geography of the Imagination\u201d\u2014I\u2019ve always, with little exception found his fiction essentially impenetrable. It\u2019s a limb of his writing I\u2019ll\u00a0pick\u00a0up in flights of intellectual whimsy (a stupid way to tunnel into Davenport), only to drop them, defeated, feeling woefully unstudied enough to clamber through the narratives. But Brian Blanchfield\u2019s essay on Davenport\u00a0in the newest\u00a0Oxford American<\/em><\/a>\u00a0bores through his short stories with a sharpness that, for the first time, makes them feel accessible. Did you know that Davenport was completely obsessed with\u00a0nouns<\/em>? The guy can\u2019t get enough out of hammering nouns into the page, apparently. \u201cDavenport\u2019s was a \u2018fiction of nouns,\u2019 \u201d Blanchfield asserts; it is substantively obsessed with \u201cobjecthood \u2026 while most contemporary writing is all verb, event as verb not noun, collecting no moss of existence.\u201d It\u2019s by considering \u201cThe Aeroplanes of Brescia\u201d (\u201cone of Davenport\u2019s more\u00a0nounish\u00a0<\/em>stories\u201d) and \u201cGunnar and Nikolai\u201d or \u201c1830\u201d as solid, hulking walls of objects and detail that they actually make more sense to me. Nouns sprinkled with participles, collaged into narratives that resorb and reimagine history. Blanchfield again: \u201cThis is the method of the majority of Davenport\u2019s stories: they zero in on a detail\u2014in his case not from myth but from history\u2014to lift out and amplify and elaborate inventively an incident from the recorded annals.\u201d \u2014Caitlin Love<\/strong><\/p>\n

This morning, only hours before I heard that Derek Walcott had died, I was reading Julian Lucas\u2019s insightful review of Morning, Paramin<\/em><\/a>, a collection that pairs fifty-one poems from Walcott with paintings by Peter Doig. \u201cEach pair is a meditation on privacy and possession, transience and belonging, youth, mortality, inheritance\u2014and how all of these disclose themselves in landscape,\u201d Lucas writes in The\u00a0New York Review of Books<\/em><\/a>. He can\u2019t have known, of course, how far his appraisal\u00a0of this single volume would come to ramify, but even so, rereading the review now\u2014so soon and yet so much later\u2014it serves as an elegant summation of Walcott\u2019s career: \u201cAcross his work Walcott has sought a rectification of vision, a way of contending with those who, inverting the crime of Lot\u2019s wife, sin by refusing to look \u2026 Silence, indolence, and awe are not characteristic of the art of our time. But they are values in which Derek Walcott, who so powerfully embodies them in these poems for Peter Doig, has never lost faith.\u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In this week\u2019s staff picks: Fleur Jaeggy, R. Sikoryak, Brian Blanchfield, and more.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[19253,134,131,364,71,27751,7278,27886,27889,269,27890,747,8160,3259,24205,7221,165,27885,9619,883,27884,27887,27888],"class_list":["post-108898","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-brian-blanchfield","tag-cartoons","tag-comics","tag-essays","tag-fiction","tag-fleur-jaeggy","tag-guy-davenport","tag-i-am-the-brother-of-xx","tag-julian-lucas","tag-magazines","tag-morning-paramin","tag-novels","tag-oxford-american","tag-p-g-wodehouse","tag-peter-doig","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-r-sikoryak","tag-recommended-reading","tag-staff-picks","tag-terms-and-conditions","tag-the-code-of-the-woosters","tag-vanderpump-rules"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Fleur Jaeggy, R. 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