{"id":110133,"date":"2017-04-21T12:51:46","date_gmt":"2017-04-21T16:51:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=110133"},"modified":"2017-04-22T21:31:01","modified_gmt":"2017-04-23T01:31:01","slug":"staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Meta, Menudo, Mandates"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Camille Claudel.<\/p><\/div>\n

Jim Harrison, who died last year at seventy-eight<\/a><\/span>, was a gourmand with a trencherman\u2019s appetite\u2014food comes up in his Writers at Work interview<\/a> several times. Though he evokes an atmosphere of overindulgence, the man was sensible and had rules for his dinner guests, the first being very practical considering: \u201cNo one is allowed to use cocaine before the meal when I cook \u2026 Cocaine creates a sort of bubblegum nimbus that slaughters the palate and sensuous capacities, in addition to shrinking the wee-wee and tearing holes in the social fabric.\u201d Jane and Michael Stern once described\u00a0Harrison\u2019s food writing as\u00a0a \u201ccombo plate of Hunter S. Thompson, Ernest Hemingway, Julian Schnabel, and Sam Peckinpah.\u201d The years didn\u2019t change him, evidenced by the\u00a0new, posthumous\u00a0A Really Big Lunch<\/i><\/span><\/a>, a collection of essays from the 2000s in which Harrison goes on about \u201cleft-leaning, spit-dribbling, eco-freak readers\u201d who wouldn\u2019t want to eat freshly killed meats and\u00a0suggests that Ronald Reagan \u201ceat my menudo in order to regain the foreign affairs advantage.\u201d He compares a red wine from Chateau Grillet to the \u201cseductive quality of the minute hairs on the back of a woman\u2019s thigh in high summer\u201d and reminds us that of all the animals, man alone cooks. The collection is chockablock with these zingers as well as plenty of half-baked, hilarious theories you can ponder while planning your first summer barbecue. \u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Craig Morgan Teicher is fast becoming one of my favorite contemporary poets.\u00a0In\u00a0his new collection,\u00a0The Trembling Answers<\/em><\/a>,\u00a0I love that he recognizes small moments of wonder\u00a0in the quotidian without trying to have\u00a0those moments transcend the workaday world. So, for instance,\u00a0he thinks on \u201chigh school nights \u00a0\/\/ spent grieving high school nights\u2014they stick \/ in the heart like sharp bones, \/ clog the way like \/ artery-fat.\u201d\u00a0There is also an overriding sense in his poems that the life he once imagined for himself is not exactly the one he now leads. Who doesn\u2019t gaze into a mirror with their younger self and see dissatisfaction looking back while, in turn, trying to elicit an understanding that the future they behold, though spare and sometimes troubled, is on balance pretty terrific.\u00a0Teicher\u2019s poems transpire in a \u201cplain mood,\u201d during \u201ceventless afternoons,\u201d and end \u201con a low \/ note, or so\u00a0tonight\u00a0would have it,\u201d nights when \u201cI put the kids to bed. I did the dishes.\u201d\u00a0These humdrum moments\u00a0contain both contentment and regret\u2014the latter, \u201cthe hooks that won\u2019t come out.\u201d\u00a0This is a book about facing, daily, \u201cthis one life that is all I am.\u201d \u2014Nicole Rudick\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

Just yesterday, I plucked an advanced copy of Ange Mlinko\u2019s latest collection of poems, Distant Mandate<\/i><\/a>,\u00a0<\/i>from the shelf, and I\u2019ve had my nose in it ever since. Though it\u2019s a slim compendium (just shy of ninety pages), its\u00a0conciseness belies the grandeur of the various worlds it holds inside.\u00a0Mlinko moves, effortlessly, from the southern landscape of Texas, where a\u00a0city \u201csmokes like a\u00a0witch\u2019s\u00a0sabbath,\u201d to the Vatican, where \u201cwe could eat grapes half the morning like Goethe \/ hunkered against an obelisk, \/ waiting on the proper angle for the season \/ to see the Sistine sun-kissed\u201d; from the American frontier where \u201ca riderless ass gallops up to your wagon\u201d to the legions of Greek myths that enthrall her. All the while, Mlinko pays homage to her literary predecessors: Shakespeare, Ovid, and Virgil, among others. Hers is a collection of small histories, one that begs to be read with care. The poems I\u2019ve enjoyed most so far, though, are the ones where\u00a0Mlinko writes matter-of-factly of her own days. My favorite lines from \u201cDentro de la tormenta\u201d: \u201cThe revelry of others shows up as \/ Bags under my eyes \u2026 In our room above the caf\u00e9 \/ the bass drops were abortifacient.\u201d \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sadie came back from England with a quietly peculiar book: Mr. Tibbits\u2019s Catholic School<\/em><\/a>, by Ysenda Maxtone Graham. The school in question, officially known as Saint Philip Neri, was founded in London in 1934, by a cricket-obsessed Catholic convert, Richard Tibbits, who remained headmaster until his death in 1967. Then his nephew took over for the next twenty-two years\u2014with the widow Mrs. Tibbits as his second-in-command. Both were Anglicans. If England, as a country, is known for its eccentrics, there is something almost inescapably eccentric about English Catholics\u2014starting with their schooling\u2014and Saint\u00a0Philip never tried to be normal. It was always a home to oddball masters and a cosmopolitan student body, most of whom, on the evidence of Graham\u2019s book, regard it with affection and loyalty. She writes about the comings and goings of teachers, the fates of sports teams, stories in the school newspaper, even changes in the refectory menu, with the close attention that another historian might bring to a history of wars and cultural revolutions. It is pure, if ludicrous, indulgence. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Camille Claudel\u2019s loaded gaze is not easily forgotten. Photographed in 1884, the twenty-year-old is resolute\u2014her eyes poignantly impart a sense of the staunch resistance she met as a woman, particularly as a female artist. Already a few years into her relationship with famed sculptor Auguste Rodin at the time the image was taken (who was not only married but over twice her age), Claudel was overshadowed by her mentors and committed to Ville-\u00c9vrard<\/span> asylum by her family. Her unique gifts (particularly evident in pieces such as The Waltz<\/em>,\u00a0Clotho<\/em>, and Woman Crouched<\/em>) were suffocated so successfully during her lifetime that she fell into obscurity\u2014kept only marginally alive through fleeting resurgences over the century since. Perhaps the most famous image of her, this photograph dominates discussions of the new\u00a0Mus\u00e9e Camille Claudel<\/a>. Opened just last month in Nogent-sur-Seine, the museum establishes her significance over seventy years after her death in the asylum, where she spent the last thirty years of her life. As Emma Garman writes in a recent essay for Lapham\u2019s<\/em><\/a>, \u201cIt feels fateful and a little cruel that the museum, long in the making but beset by obstacles and delays, is now launching in the centenary year of Rodin\u2019s death, with all its inevitable hoopla. For Claudel longed, above all, to escape his shadow, to be recognized as an artist with her own distinct and original style.\u201d \u2014Madeline Medeiros Pereira<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Having greatly enjoyed the adroit aphorism of The Last Novel <\/em>and Wittgenstein\u2019s Mistress<\/em>, I picked up a copy of David Markson\u2019s Springer\u2019s Progress<\/em><\/a>, an earlier work, if only to try to chart this elevated stylist\u2019s style. Where Wittgenstein\u2019s Mistress <\/em>operates in a bone-dry, somewhat vacant setting (whether this setting is mental or physical is part of that book\u2019s gambit), Springer\u2019s Progress <\/em>is a bawdy, earthly romp. Lucien Springer, often referred to as Loosh, is a novelist whose work has dried up far faster than his libido. The absence of the one impulse and the presence of the other occupy much of the book. But, interestingly, Markson\u2019s language in this book is freed up in a way that it isn\u2019t in some of his later work. There is a palpable sense of delight in the rollicking movement of Springer\u2019s<\/em> quick phrases, particular words (there is a partly meta conceit where characters ask each other about their elevated diction), and lack of interest in\u00a0formality. A telling section, both for Springer\u2019s character as well as for the style of the book, begins, \u201cThat disheveled vahine<\/em> look when the light\u2019s oblique, Gauguin she once put him in mind of? Dreamy morning\u2019s speculation in it.\u201d The lurches and allusions of Markson\u2019s writing here are compelling to the end. \u2014Noah Dow<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

Ah\u2014Westerns! Picture this: it\u2019s 1876, \u201ceven before the wounds of the Civil War have healed in Missouri,\u201d and Jesse James and Cole Younger and their gang are near to receiving amnesty for a lifetime of robbing trains. But when the railroad owners buy away the pardon and send a group of Pinkertons after them, Jesse and Cole develop a scheme to rob the biggest bank west of the Mississippi. This is roughly the flow of Philip Kaufman\u2019s 1972\u00a0The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid<\/i><\/span><\/a>, but I find the plot irrelevant to the masterful weirdness that happens in every scene. My favorite scene involves\u00a0a farce of a baseball game<\/span><\/a>, which Cole (played by Cliff Robertson) attends with the banker he\u2019s trying to scheme. Cole hasn\u2019t ever seen baseball before\u2014\u201cIt\u2019s our national sport!\u201d the gentry of Northfield, Minnesota, chorus\u2014to which Cole, true to his home south of the Mason-Dixon, quips, \u201cOur national sport, gentleman, is\u00a0shooting<\/i>\u00a0and always will be.\u201d The game itself is a slapstick tour de force sprinkled with the surreal: a three-legged dog hops around the field, the ball lands in a cow patty, two bumbling Yankees run to catch a fly ball and bump heads instead, and a creep in an afghan stands at the edge of the game\u2014inexplicably. The ball comes to Cole just as the game winds down. Someone grabs it from him and flings it back into play. As if to prove his earlier point, Cole shoots it like a clay pigeon, and the game\u00a0ends with wads of baseball raining on the field. \u2014Caitlin Love<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

What the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 is reading this week.<\/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":[5007,19903,375,10419,2626,28464,15341,17225,7239,571,79,115,2329,1171,5466,9864,20342,1054,2553,28465,24805,16612,165,28467,6971,28462,964,28463,883,1166,28468,2774,1346,28466],"class_list":["post-110133","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-ange-mlinko","tag-auguste-rodin","tag-baseball","tag-camille-claudel","tag-civil-war","tag-cliff-robertson","tag-cocaine","tag-craig-morgan-teicher","tag-david-markson","tag-ernest-hemingway","tag-film","tag-food","tag-food-writing","tag-high-school","tag-hunter-s-thompson","tag-jane-and-michael-stern","tag-jane-stern","tag-jim-harrison","tag-julian-schnabel","tag-musee-camille-claudel","tag-philip-kaufman","tag-pinkertons","tag-poetry","tag-private-school","tag-ronald-reagan","tag-sam-peckinpah","tag-sculpture","tag-springers-progress","tag-staff-picks","tag-texas","tag-the-great-northfield-minnesota-raid","tag-vatican","tag-westerns","tag-ysenda-maxtone-graham"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Jim Harrison, Craig Morgan Teicher, Camille Claudel<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"What the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 is reading this week.\" \/>\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\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Staff Picks: Meta, Menudo, Mandates by The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"April 21, 2017 \u2013 What the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 is reading this week.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/\" \/>\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=\"2017-04-21T16:51:46+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2017-04-23T01:31:01+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/04\/claudel.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"716\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\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=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"8 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/4a14f739935c82f100675b84e220252e\"},\"headline\":\"Staff Picks: Meta, Menudo, Mandates\",\"datePublished\":\"2017-04-21T16:51:46+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2017-04-23T01:31:01+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/\"},\"wordCount\":1572,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/04\/21\/staff-picks-meta-menudo-and-mandates\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/04\/claudel.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"Ange Mlinko\",\"Auguste Rodin\",\"baseball\",\"Camille Claudel\",\"Civil War\",\"Cliff Robertson\",\"cocaine\",\"Craig Morgan Teicher\",\"David Markson\",\"Ernest Hemingway\",\"film\",\"food\",\"food writing\",\"high school\",\"Hunter S. 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