{"id":109209,"date":"2017-03-24T16:58:59","date_gmt":"2017-03-24T20:58:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=109209"},"modified":"2017-04-19T14:30:10","modified_gmt":"2017-04-19T18:30:10","slug":"staff-picks-crusaders-complaints-competition","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/03\/24\/staff-picks-crusaders-complaints-competition\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Crusaders, Complaints, Competition"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/a>

From Bob, Son of Battle: The Last Gray Dog of Kenmuir<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jos\u00e9 Maria de E\u00e7a de Queir\u00f3s, where have you been all my life? Dead, obviously\u2014the man died in 1900 at the age of fifty-five\u2014but his novels are acknowledged as classics in his native Portugal, and by well-educated people the world over. As readers of the Daily <\/em>may remember, I tore through my first E\u00e7a book a few months ago. And now Margaret Jull Costa has translated The Illustrious House of Ramires<\/a><\/em>, his last novel, about a provincial aristocrat\u2014a dreamer and amateur historian\u2014who tries to write a novella based on the exploits of his Crusader ancestors. Comedy and mayhem ensue. As in The Crime of Father Amaro<\/em>, E\u00e7a\u2019s tone shifts from light to dark, from tender irony to horror, then back again, in a single page, almost in a sentence, as Ramires\u2014like a fin de si\u00e8cle, Portuguese Quixote\u2014tries to re-create the chivalry of his forbears.\u00a0The plot is full of surprises, but even when our hero is just sitting at his desk, dreaming up deeds of valor, E\u00e7a takes us inside the fantasy, until we start to wonder whether Ramires has crossed the fine line between idiocy and genius. It\u2019s rare to find such a thrilling portrait of the writer at work. \u2014Lorin Stein <\/strong><\/p>\n

The other day, I picked up\u00a0Letters to His Neighbor<\/a><\/em>, a collection of Marcel Proust\u2019s notes to Marie Williams, the women who lived above him at 102 Boulevard Haussmann. Translated from the French by Lydia Davis, the letters begin in 1908 and span some eight years of sincere pleasantries (\u201cI think of you all the time\u201d) and gentle complaints (\u201clike all those who are ill I have learned to spend my life surrounded by ugliness\u201d). In true Proustian fashion, the prose is winding, musing on everything from the properties of imagination (\u201cwhen one is endowed with [it], as you are, one possesses all the landscapes one has loved \u2026 \u201d) to the Great War, which claimed Williams\u2019s brother in 1915. Above all, Proust writes about the noise coming from the Williams\u2019 floor, which disturbs him greatly; he\u2019s always asking \u201cthat there not be so much [of it]\u00a0tomorrow.\u201d\u00a0You\u2019d think that would limit their correspondence, but Proust is a charmer: he showers Mrs. Williams with small gifts, like flowers and books and pieces of music; it\u2019s no wonder the exchange lasted nearly a decade. \u2014Caitlin Youngquist\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been reading Alfred Ollivant\u2019s\u00a0Bob, Son of Battle: The Last Gray Dog of Kenmuir<\/a><\/em>\u00a0to my son at bedtime. We finished the novel this week, and I choked up big time at the end. Even my son, who suffers from acute logorrhea, was silent for whole minutes at the close of the last chapter. A best seller when it was published in 1898, the\u00a0novel was recently reissued by New York Review Books. It concerns a pair of shepherds and their sheepdogs in the far north of England who are bitter enemies. One dog, Owd Bob, is the pride of the land, a skilled and perceptive herder and a steadfast friend; his rival, the pugnacious Red Wull, is Bob\u2019s opposite in every way, except in raw talent and in his loyalty to his master, the churlish Adam McAdam. The story\u2019s drama takes form around the annual competition for the Shepherds\u2019 Trophy, for which Bob and Red Wull are rivals, and around the threat of a rogue sheepdog, nicknamed the Black Killer, who commits the greatest sin, sheep murder; punishment is death. Ollivant\u00a0wrote the book in a dialect of the North Country, using the terminology of shepherds. Lydia Davis, who read the story as a child and loved it, didn\u2019t want Ollivant\u2019s book to be forgotten and so translated it into a more standard English, smoothing out words and expressions\u2014such as\u00a0gimmer<\/em>,\u00a0aiblins<\/em>,\u00a0nowt<\/em>, and\u00a0mun<\/em>\u2014that might puzzle the contemporary young reader. \u201cSome people said\u2014and some people still say,\u201d she writes in a charming afterword, \u201cthat it is the greatest dog story of all time.\u201d I leave the ranking to others, but I can attest that this\u00a0taut and\u00a0complex story of good and evil made a gabby kid quiet and a hard woman cry. \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

When the women who narrate the thirteen stories in Rebecca Curtis\u2019s 2007 debut collection,\u00a0Twenty Grand and Other Tales of Love and Money<\/a><\/em>, make decisions, they do so mostly out of desperation: in the title story, a mother is so broke that she must give a toll-taker a precious family heirloom that she didn\u2019t know was worth twenty thousand dollars. And yet the younger characters don\u2019t make many decisions at all; they while away their adolescences in the lake region of New Hampshire, working shitty jobs and pining for strange summer love. It\u2019s these who seem the most confused, bereft of much ambition, most susceptible to being swindled. They get duped by fraudulent water-park owners and see their piggy banks gouged by roommates who are studying to be investment bankers. Curtis distends this lakeside temporal space into a vacuous, puddyish landscape for her girls, who move through it as if it\u2019s something elastic and bottomless, something to waste\u2014a coinage in its own right. No matter their ages, there\u2019s never enough of either: when time and money are tight, they cannibalize each other; when there\u2019s steady income of both, they conspire to fluidly disappear. The ways the women in\u00a0Twenty Grand<\/em>\u00a0fail to love are ineluctably determined by both these currencies, and are often spectacular, like summer fireworks over a lagoon; this is what makes their stories so American.\u00a0\u2014Daniel Johnson<\/strong><\/p>\n

Thomas Bernhard\u2019s Extinction<\/a><\/em> is narrated by Franz-Josef Murau, who lives in Rome; early in the novel, his parents and brother are killed in a car accident. Murau\u2019s reaction? \u201cThe sole term I could apply to them was blockheads<\/em>. Their death, which can only have been caused by a road accident, I told myself, in no way alters the facts. There was no danger of yielding to sentimentality.\u201d Bernhard writes Murau\u2019s thought in his famously, brilliantly recursive manner; at one point he says, \u201cTo think is to fail.\u201d This sort of irony and contradiction recur again and again, ouroboros<\/em>-like, as Bernhard shows how unlikely it is that Franz-Josef\u2019s account of his own life is either factual or truthful. The book dwells upon the space between these notions; and since Murau can\u2019t be bothered to engage with other characters, there\u2019s no possible measure of his veracity, giving the novel much its pleasure. The breadth and fluidity of Bernhard\u2019s prose is also, even in English translation, much like the recent spate of wind in New York City\u2014willful and idiosyncratic and, at times, arresting. \u2014Noah Dow<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In this week\u2019s staff picks: Proust, sheepdogs, Lydia Davis, 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":[27994,27993,17,22220,27990,27992,576,575,2960,747,53,12669,9619,883,27991,7515,27995],"class_list":["post-109209","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-alfred-ollivant","tag-bob-son-of-battle","tag-books","tag-extinction","tag-jose-maria-de-eca-de-queiros","tag-letters-to-his-neighbor","tag-lydia-davis","tag-marcel-proust","tag-margaret-jull-costa","tag-novels","tag-reading","tag-rebecca-curtis","tag-recommended-reading","tag-staff-picks","tag-the-illustrious-house-of-ramires","tag-thomas-bernhard","tag-twenty-grand-and-other-tales-of-love-and-money"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Proust, Sheepdogs, Lydia Davis, and 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