{"id":132405,"date":"2019-01-04T13:18:43","date_gmt":"2019-01-04T18:18:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=132405"},"modified":"2019-01-04T13:50:36","modified_gmt":"2019-01-04T18:50:36","slug":"staff-picks-frick-fierce-femmes-and-fan-fiction","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/01\/04\/staff-picks-frick-fierce-femmes-and-fan-fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Frick, Fierce Femmes, and Fan Fiction"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_132444\" style=\"width: 1034px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-132444\" class=\"wp-image-132444 size-large\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15-1024x625.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1024\" height=\"625\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15-1024x625.jpeg 1024w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15-300x183.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15-768x469.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/doom-screenshot-02-ps4-us-11jun15.jpeg 1770w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-132444\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from the video game <i>Doom<\/i>, 2016.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>The striking thing about\u00a0<em>Doom\u00a0<\/em>(2016),\u00a0a game in which the player enters a portal to hell and rips demons in half with an increasingly ridiculous arsenal, is the level of subtlety and care evident in its design.\u00a0<em>Doom<\/em> is the dictionary definition of\u00a0<em>over-the-top<\/em>,\u00a0<em>metal<\/em>, and\u00a0<em>gruesome<\/em>, but I\u2019ve played few other games that even come close to matching its buttery smooth difficulty curve and firm sense of place. Resurrected by a sinister corporation that\u2019s solved the energy crisis by harvesting the power of hell, the main character wanders corridors of abandoned space outposts, finding everywhere scenes of capitalism taken to its logical extreme: pentagrams scrawled on the walls, holograms cheerily pledging company dogmatism, ambiguous hunks of meat hanging from the ceiling. Level by level, the game slowly stirs in more chaos, ensuring that the player is always equipped to deal with enemy encounters\u2014but only insofar as the player\u00a0<em>survives<\/em>. Comfort is elusive, perpetually just out of reach. Never did I lose the rush of fear I\u2019d feel when I saw a hell knight charging me from across the map, nor did I escape the jumpy, amphetamine-like rush of landing in a new arena filled with horrible creatures.\u00a0<em>Doom<\/em> is loud, but necessarily so; it\u2019s refreshing to find a work so thoroughly committed to raising the hair on one\u2019s neck.\u00a0<strong>\u2014Brian Ransom\u00a0<\/strong><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>One year later and I\u2019m still thinking about Kai Cheng Thom\u2019s <a href=\"https:\/\/metonymypress.com\/product\/fierce-femmes-notorious-liars-dangerous-trans-girls-confabulous-memoir\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars<\/em><\/a>. I was especially taken with the poems scattered throughout, the following lines in particular: \u201cso silly to think\u2009\/\u2009that i could ever leave you\u2009\/\u2009behind, little razor smile,\u2009\/\u2009so stupid to believe\u2009\/\u2009that i would grow up\u2009\/\u2009and away\u2009\/\u2009from needing you.\u201d Here, Thom perfectly articulates the feeling of overextending oneself. And throughout the story, we feel the narrator\u2019s shame that she is a person capable only of inflicting harm, that she is not \u201cgrown\u201d enough yet and is \u201cstupid\u201d for ever thinking she was. I want her to find a way out (and I do think the story offers some answers), but I value the book\u2019s unremitting representation of anxiety. <em>Fierce Femmes<\/em> is thrilling, fabulous, inventive, but as <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/ten-trans-books-i-love\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jordy Rosenberg once described it<\/a>, \u201cnot everything is available for unreality.\u201d Anxiety and shame are a straining and terrifying part of her experience, but they are also markers of being alive.\u00a0<strong>\u2014Spencer Quong<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_132443\" style=\"width: 1034px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/press3.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-132443\" class=\"size-large wp-image-132443\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/press3-1024x644.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1024\" height=\"644\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/press3-1024x644.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/press3-300x189.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/press3-768x483.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-132443\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lucia Berlin. Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1956. Photo: Paul Suttman (\u00a92018 Literary Estate of Lucia Berlin LP).<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I worked open the stiff binding on a hardcover copy of <a href=\"https:\/\/us.macmillan.com\/books\/9780374279486\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Evening in Paradise<\/em><\/a> fully prepped by the handful of appetite-whetting reviews I had read. Lucia Berlin\u2019s honest, unpretentious characters offer a refreshing alternative to the metropolitan cachet I\u2019ve come to expect in the figure of the \u201cmodern woman.\u201d Her protagonists aren\u2019t seeking to cast away society\u2019s stricture in favor of messiness but rather seem to have been born running from mess; they are tussled <em>in spite<\/em> of their tireless effort to present as polished women. I could imagine them vividly, with their cigarettes and the failed marriages of their youth, navigating without a map what it means to be a woman, a mother, a wife. I was delighted and surprised by how unafraid Berlin is to slip into bawdy territory and how well she sets that humor against elegant storytelling; Berlin elevates the search for stability from its obscure, forgotten place in midcentury rural American women and transforms it into a quest for selfhood worthy of artful consideration. In doing so, she introduces us to a forgotten Bohemia.\u00a0<strong>\u2014Lauren Kane<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Next time you\u2019re in Pittsburgh, the city of, to quote Helen DeWitt, \u201cthese dozens of little suspension bridges which you have to love,\u201d check out the <a href=\"https:\/\/www.thefrickpittsburgh.org\/carandcarriagemuseum\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Frick Car and Carriage Museum<\/a>. To enter the Frick mansion, where the robber baron and his family lived for almost thirty years before he split with Carnegie and decamped to Fifth Avenue, you must sign up for a tour in advance, or it\u2019ll be booked solid\u2014but next door the Car and Carriage Museum is free of charge and wide open to the visitor who \u201cplays it by ear.\u201d Inside, the early automobiles wear their genetic kinship to carriages and bicycles on their sleeves, the way early film does with theater (stage makeup, painted sets). In the current exhibition, ancestors and scions mingle, and the vibe is like a dealership showroom in the afterlife. A spindly Gothic \u201chorseless carriage\u201d with lanterns for headlights is across from a Jules Verne\u2013esque steam-powered car, the Stanley, created by the identical Stanley twins. A bobsled\u2014which isn\u2019t the tube that I associate with the word but a wide wooden sleigh, sans reindeer\u2014is just a hat\u2019s toss from the three-wheeled Model A Runabout and an electric car, the Stanhope, which purred around, fumeless, in 1903. The future was here, \u201cjust not very evenly distributed\u201d\u2014which begs the question: do attractive, inventive machines need to be so expensive that the only people who can afford them are the kind of people who are responsible for the Homestead Strike? The glory of these machines is in the certainty of their lines: sharp or round, not perpetually in between. Look out across any parking lot in America. Is it impossible to create a car that is affordable and safe that doesn\u2019t look like a bar of soap everyone has already used?\u00a0<strong>\u2014Brent Katz<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Are women capable of writing fiction? From the kinds of questions you sometimes hear at readings, you wouldn\u2019t think so. Enter Sophie Collins\u2019s\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/www.faber.co.uk\/shop\/poetry\/9780571346615-who-is-mary-sue.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Who Is Mary Sue?<\/em><\/a>, which combines lyric essays and poetic fragments to explore the idea of female creativity, the narrative <em>I<\/em>, and the border between truth and fiction. Drawing her title from the concept of the Mary Sue, that tacky authorial stand-in found in the world of fan fiction, Collins questions the identity of the female artist through poems about twinhood and<em>\u00a0Story of O<\/em>, and\u00a0with quotes from Rachel Cusk, Jamaica Kincaid, Joanna Russ, and more. It\u2019s at once thoughtful and thought-provoking\u2014though I read it over the holiday break, I\u2019m still reeling a week later.\u00a0<strong>\u2014Rhian Sasseen<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_132440\" style=\"width: 1034px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-132440\" class=\"size-large wp-image-132440\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1024\" height=\"682\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins-1024x682.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins-300x200.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins-768x512.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/sophie-collins.jpg 2000w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-132440\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sophie Collins. Photo: Sam Riviere.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>To kick off the New Year, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 goes to hell, ponders the horseless carriage, and admires Lucia Berlin\u2019s tussled, honest characters.<\/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":[1906,17,27893,39711,45533,45540,4489,45539,45535,45534,504,18318,635,3225,112,165,261,45536,45538,45537],"class_list":["post-132405","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-book","tag-books","tag-doom","tag-evening-in-paradise","tag-fierce-femmes-and-notorious-liars","tag-ford","tag-frick","tag-frick-car-and-carriage-museum","tag-id-software","tag-kai-cheng-thom","tag-literature","tag-lucia-berlin","tag-memoir","tag-museum","tag-novel","tag-poetry","tag-short-story","tag-sophie-collins","tag-video-game","tag-who-is-mary-sue"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ 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