{"id":116460,"date":"2017-10-06T13:00:40","date_gmt":"2017-10-06T17:00:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=116460"},"modified":"2017-10-06T16:31:30","modified_gmt":"2017-10-06T20:31:30","slug":"staff-picks-caterpillars-cells-charlottesville","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/10\/06\/staff-picks-caterpillars-cells-charlottesville\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Caterpillars, Cells, and Charlottesville"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

From Fabiola Ferrero\u2019s photo-essay on Venezuela, linked in Todd Pruzan\u2019s Tinyletter.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

All week, Sadie looks forward to the stern diktats and severe pronunciamentos in Sam Sifton\u2019s cooking newsletter (\u201cI loathe accounts of slaves peeling shrimp\u201d). Me, I like to take it a little easier with Todd Pruzan\u2019s\u00a0Superb + Solid,<\/a> a TinyLetter devoted to Pruzan\u2019s long-held interests in graphic design, politics, music, and whatever catches his eye and ear. In the current issue, Pruzan reprints a photo-essay on Venezuela; he also reprints a psyops flyer dropped over Europe during World War II; and he reviews the score of an ambient iPhone game. I don\u2019t even know what that is, but I have been following Pruzan\u2019s interests since he helped start McSweeney\u2019s, and even before that, and they are contagious. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>The first deception in Henry Green\u2019s\u00a0Concluding<\/em><\/a>\u00a0is the simplicity of the cover. There is nothing so minimal to be found within the novel, which is lush enough to get lost in. Green\u2019s novel, written in 1948 and republished by New Directions this month, has tempting fairy-tale elements. The fog lifts on a glorious summer day on an estate in rural England. The \u201cGreat Place\u201d has been converted to a girls institute for \u201cService\u201d (Green\u2019s use of capitalization creates\u00a0an ever-rising totem of bureaucratic satire). The institute is run by two power-hungry matrons whose sworn enemy is an old, retired scientist, Rock, who is a parishioner on the school\u2019s grounds. The novel takes place over one long day, the day of the annual dance. In the summer haze, there is plenty of shadow and light. At the start of the novel, two girls are missing from the school\u00a0and, though this is sinister, their fate fades in and out of focus in a way that makes the reader fill complicit. There are plenty of distractions. Rock has three white animals: a goose named Ted, a cat named Alice, and a pig named Daisy. All the girls at the institute seem to have names beginning with the letter m<\/em>,\u00a0and there are approximately three hundred of them. Whether you will find this all fun will depend upon how much you like a high-hedged English maze and whether you can wink back at\u00a0Green\u2019s descriptions of scores of young girls slipping into sexuality. Green is pretty straight-faced: who the true innocents are is a matter of perspective. The book is at its best when it\u2019s ambiguous: \u201cLife and pursuit was fierce, as these girls came back to consciousness from the truce of a summer after luncheon before the business of the dance. For already the shadows were on the creep toward the mansion.\u201d \u2014Julia Berick<\/strong><\/p>\n

I am so grateful that my family is committed to doing a summer book club each year. It\u2019s true that we encounter the same road bumps every year\u2014Dad likes something a little more plot driven, maybe spooky, possibly with Scottish detectives wading through fog; Alex is a maniac whose dream novel is a Kafkaesque nightmare starring a skateboarding cat; Matt prefers a book with ideas he can chew on; and Mom tends to suggest about fifty excellent-looking science books about everything from octopuses to ghosts to brain tumors. As time presses on and we all get older and stretch farther apart\u2014geographically at least\u2014I take comfort in knowing that, however briefly, we can occupy and discuss the same pages. We read\u00a0The Vegetarian<\/a>\u00a0<\/em>this year, which is a great book full of swaying trees and violence,\u00a0questions about women\u2019s bodies and the effects of patriarchy. But the book doesn\u2019t matter. Just pick something up and gab about it with your family. There\u2019s only one way to discover your father\u2019s opinions about sentimentality in art. \u2014Brian Ransom<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Louise Bourgeois, no. 5 of fourteen, from the installation set \u00c0 l\u2019Infini.<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

Louise Bourgeois has always seemed to me to be a total boss. If you haven\u2019t seen Robert Mapplethorpe\u2019s portrait of her posing with her phallic sculpture\u00a0Fillette<\/em>, look it up. (The work is not\u00a0phallic<\/em>\u00a0so much as it is\u00a0a phallus<\/em>, but let\u2019s not quibble.) I was eager to see \u201cLouise Bourgeois: An Unfolding Portrait<\/a>,\u201d MoMA\u2019s new exhibition of her printed oeuvre\u2014around three hundred books, prints, sculptures, and more. The show is tremendous, but I realized that I don\u2019t know her work as well as I thought I did. I didn\u2019t know her wonderful music pieces, for instance\u2014red bodily blobs painted individually onto music paper\u2014or her Cells, one of which is on view: a thrillingly appealing enclosure comprising a sky-blue wooden folding screen encircling a modest stool; a chance to be alone with oneself in the middle of everything. Another piece is the opposite: a large cage not gilded but presided over by one of Bourgeois\u2019s breathtaking spiders (while a smaller one skitters up the wall nearby). My favorite work was\u00a0Ode \u00e0 la Bi\u00e8vre<\/em>, a fabric book with lithographs, an homage to the river from\u00a0Bourgeois\u2019s childhood. It reminded me of Ashbery\u2019s \u201cInto the Dusk-Charged Air.\u201d On one page,\u00a0Bourgeois\u00a0wrote, \u201cWith the soil from that river we planted geraniums, masses of peonies, \/ and beds of asparagus. There were hawthorns, \/ pink and white, and purple tamarisk, \/ and trees of cherries \u2026 And honeysuckle \/ that smelled so sweet in the rain.\u201d \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019d been ogling Gunnhild\u00a0\u00d8yehaug\u2019s collection of stories,\u00a0Knots<\/a><\/em>, long before I got around to reading it. Wrapped in a jacket of candy-colored pinks and purples, the book was already tempting, but it was all the marvelous things\u00a0Lydia Davis<\/a>\u00a0and\u00a0James Wood<\/a>\u00a0had to say of its author that finally drove me to open it. So this week,\u00a0Knots<\/em>\u00a0was my traveling companion; and it was as good as its admirers let on. Translated from the Norwegian by Kari Dickson,\u00a0the book\u00a0is\u00a0\u00d8yehaug\u2019s first to appear in English. It comprises twenty-six stories, each one a delectable morsel of whimsy and wit, with notes of sadness. She writes of a man \u201cwith an umbilical cord that no one could cut,\u201d who spends his life fastened to his mother; of a father whose right side folds in on itself, \u201clike a flower that closes its petals at night;\u201d of a boy who dreams of rhinos as his parents\u00a0split up. There are others, too, that are far less fanciful yet just as stunning, ones that muse on the more mundane: the meaningless sex we have, the anxieties we wrestle with, the illnesses our lovers get and never shake. Through it all,\u00a0\u00d8yehaug\u2019s storytelling is magnificent, her range\u00a0nonpareil.\u00a0Here\u2019s a taste<\/a>. \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Like all the best interwar British novels,\u00a0in Henry Green\u2019s\u00a0Doting<\/a><\/em>\u00a0everybody wants to sleep with everybody they\u2019re not supposed to sleep with. Arthur Middleton especially wants to schtup a friend\u2019s nineteen-year-old daughter. He discovers this while on a familial double date of sorts with Mrs. Middleton, their son Peter, and the alluring\u00a0Annabel Paynton. Middleton and Paynton flirt\u00a0by\u00a0speaking of the time they first met: she was six, he thirty-one,\u00a0it\u2019s\u00a0super icky. But what\u2019s not icky are the words Green puts in his character\u2019s mouths. Doting is mostly dialogue, the kind that carries action-movie level suspense alongside the hilarity of a novel of manners\u2014as if Oscar Wilde and Quentin Tarantino teamed up to write an Evelyn Waugh remake. \u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/p>\n

This week, I\u2019ve been\u00a0listening to\u00a0This American Life.\u00a0<\/em>I was stunned by their most recent original release, from September 24, titled \u201cWhite Haze<\/a>.\u201d Act\u00a01 profiles the Proud Boys, a right-wing men\u2019s group whose leader vehemently denies accusations of white nationalism, though members of his group attended the Charlottesville rally (and have since been kicked out of the group). The piece also tells\u00a0the story of Dante Nero, a black comedian and relationship consultant who gets involved with the group. The second act\u00a0focuses on\u00a0Jason Kessler,\u00a0himself a former member of the Proud Boys and the organizer of the Charlottesville rally, and his conflicts with the vice mayor of Charlottesville, Wes Bellamy, who is black. The episode is deeply harrowing and complex.\u00a0It questions its own purpose\u2014namely, in giving voice to people like Kessler, a practice that Bellamy firmly opposes. But as Robyn Semien, a producer\u00a0at\u00a0This American Life<\/em>, points out, \u201cIgnoring Jason Kessler isn\u2019t going to make him go away.\u201d And as far as efforts to understand Kessler and his counterparts, this is one of the best I\u2019ve encountered. The reporting from Semien and her colleague Zoe Chace is important and stunningly good. They delicately balance judgment-free storytelling with their own need to respond to horrifying and troubling claims. The episode is important listening and, regrettably, a necessary education on America. \u2014Joel Pinckney<\/strong><\/p>\n

There is no delight quite like the kind provided by leafing through a good anthology; it is much the same pleasure as wandering through a museum gallery. Indeed, I think of them as totable exhibitions, exciting in their unique curation. One such thoroughly absorbing anthology is Bloomsbury\u2019s\u00a0Surrealist Poetry<\/em><\/a>, which presents\u00a0a hundred and fifty poems representing\u00a0Andr\u00e9\u00a0Breton\u2019s surrealism, translated from their original French and Spanish\u00a0by Willard Bohn. The translations are given with the English facing the original text, an exciting construction that makes this volume as much a recreationally academic endeavor as it is\u00a0an immersive experience of surrealist verse. I found myself particularly enjoying the section devoted to\u00a0Aim\u00e9\u00a0C\u00e9saire, who\u00a0Breton himself described\u00a0as \u201cle plus grand monument lyrique de ce temps\u201d\u2013\u201cthe greatest lyrical monument of our time.\u201d I am always enchanted by\u00a0C\u00e9saire\u2019s sublime\u00a0relationship to his language, which he uses to craft lines that are musical and illusory. You feel that you are always about to wrap your mind around them, but are never quite able to, like trying to run in a dream. From his\u00a0poem \u201cProph\u00e9tie\u201d:<\/p>\n

there where adventure preserves its keen eyes
\nthere where women radiate with language
\nthere where death is lovely in one\u2019s hand like a milk season bird
\nthere where the tunnel picks from its own genuflection abundant
\nplums
\nmore violent than caterpillars<\/p>\n

\u2014Lauren Kane<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  All week, Sadie looks forward to the stern diktats and severe pronunciamentos in Sam Sifton\u2019s cooking newsletter (\u201cI loathe accounts of slaves peeling shrimp\u201d). Me, I like to take it a little easier with Todd Pruzan\u2019s\u00a0Superb + Solid, a TinyLetter devoted to Pruzan\u2019s long-held interests in graphic design, politics, music, and whatever catches his […]<\/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":[10424,4752,30947,18104,1516,924,30962,28,576,30960,705,30961,30964,22741,7526,30959,30963],"class_list":["post-116460","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-andre-breton","tag-concluding","tag-doting","tag-gunnhild-oyehaug","tag-henry-green","tag-james-wood","tag-knots","tag-louise-bourgeois","tag-lydia-davis","tag-mcsweenys","tag-moma","tag-superb-solid","tag-surrealist-poetry","tag-the-vegetarian","tag-this-american-life","tag-todd-pruzan","tag-white-haze"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: 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