{"id":133239,"date":"2019-02-01T13:54:37","date_gmt":"2019-02-01T18:54:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=133239"},"modified":"2019-02-01T16:29:07","modified_gmt":"2019-02-01T21:29:07","slug":"staff-picks-steepletop-sandra-bullock-and-celeste","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/02\/01\/staff-picks-steepletop-sandra-bullock-and-celeste\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Steepletop, Sandra Bullock, and Celeste<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Prabda Yoon.<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019ve wanted to read the work of the Thai writer and filmmaker Prabda Yoon for a while now, and with The Sad Part Was<\/em><\/a>\u2014his 2002 collection, translated into English by Mui Poopoksakul and released by Tilted Axis Press in 2017\u2014I\u2019ve finally delved in. The stories are marvelous: witty and at times irreverent looks at life in contemporary Bangkok that are unafraid to ask the big questions concerning the human capacity for good and evil. They\u2019re formally innovative, too. The first story, \u201cPen in Parentheses,\u201d uses the parenthetical to an almost Woolf-like effect, while \u201cMiss Space\u201d ends with a note that its final sentence isn\u2019t a conclusion but rather \u201ca waiting period that doesn\u2019t yet have a thought to succeed it.\u201d By the end, I wanted more\u2014and luckily, it looks like Tilted Axis has recently published\u00a0another collection of Yoon\u2019s stories<\/a>.\u00a0\u2014Rhian Sasseen\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Brave the crowds and visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art before February 24 to see \u201cJewelry: The Body Transformed<\/a>.\u201d (Or, if you can\u2019t,\u00a0see a few images from it here.<\/a>) While I may have spent part of the time projecting myself into a Sandra Bullock heist fantasy, the curation and the beauty of the objects quickly drew my full attention. The first room is my favorite\u2014tall glass cases are interspersed throughout the space in a grid formation. The first row of each case holds adornments for the feet and lower legs; the second, those for the waist; the third, items for the neck and shoulders; and so on. Critically, each piece is displayed at the height at which it might appear on the body. The jewelry, at the proper angle, comes together to gesture toward an invisible human properly decked out. The effect is at first subtle\u2014at least, I didn\u2019t notice until I overheard a woman pointing it out to a friend. If you\u2019re able to visit the museum during off-peak hours, the effect might be more striking, but I did find a certain magic in the way the Sunday crowd shifted, how it gave way to a clear view for only a second or two. Human bodies pass through and around where the bejeweled bodies should be, but somehow, more than disrupting, the viewers lend the absences more reality and liveliness. The movement allows the curation to continually surprise, somehow, even if you\u2019re told of its intent.\u00a0\u2014Spencer Quong<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Still from Celeste<\/em>. Image courtesy of Matt Makes Games Inc.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

I suppose this shouldn\u2019t come as a surprise, but playing\u00a0Celeste<\/em><\/a>, a video game about climbing a mountain, is roughly akin to climbing a mountain. The experience is both breathtaking and backbreaking; each foothold feels impossibly far, then closer, closer still, until you\u2019ve finally reached it\u2014but by that point, you\u2019re already looking toward the next impossible goal. Celeste<\/em> falls into a category known, for lack of a better term, as\u00a0\u201cmasocore\u201d: games with a persnickety adherence to rules that punish the player and force them, through trial and error, to adapt.\u00a0But there\u2019s nothing masochistic about playing Celeste<\/em>. Despite the difficulty, I found it incredibly soothing. I would gnaw on a chapter just before bed each night, completing dozens of pixel-perfect jumps and dying hundreds of times before reaching the end of the level\u2014but reaching the end no less. Beyond the brilliant, precise mechanics of scaling the mountain, though, is the story, the tale of a young woman named Madeline confronting her anxiety. She\u2019s not sure why she\u2019s drawn to Celeste Mountain, but she feels she must reach its summit. Along the way, Madeline tries\u2014and fails\u2014to rid herself of her mental health concerns, which are personified as a purple goth doppelg\u00e4nger who tells her at every turn that she isn\u2019t good enough, strong enough, anything enough to keep going. Madeline learns to work not against but with her anxiety\u2014a tough lesson but one that helps her complete her ascent.\u00a0Climbing a mountain is difficult. Playing\u00a0Celeste<\/em> is difficult. But so is living, just living, especially with a mental illness. The world swims with dangers, real and imagined. The synths bleed, crest like waves. You die and die again. But ultimately, somehow, you live.\u00a0\u2014Brian Ransom<\/strong><\/p>\n

Emily Skaja\u2019s poetry debut,\u00a0Brute<\/em><\/a>, is an unflinching exploration of gender, violence, and recovery. She tells the story of a destructive relationship, and the grief in its dissolution, through a voice that craves logic in survival. But Brute<\/em> quickly becomes a preoccupation with memory: dissecting it, accounting for it, and attempting to assemble the pieces of oneself confused in conflict. In \u201cAubade with Boundaries,\u201d Skaja writes, \u201cI was saying\u00a0I\u2019m sorry<\/em>\u2009\/\u2009but my mouth was obsessed with the word precedent<\/em>.\u201d Later, she observes: \u201cNow I\u2019ve learned to say remember<\/em> like memory is not\u2009\/\u2009the axis on which the world shifts\u2009\/\u2009& interplanetary garbage is not, like, just drifting.\u201d Many of the poems are epistolary\u2014addressed to friends, anonymous initials, and even Skaja herself\u2014and these conversations seem to seek a way of talking out, or through, an unspeakable thing. Within the pain of Skaja\u2019s poetry is an unrelenting force, a brutish will to survive that bursts forth with every stanza, announcing her resilience. Whether you ration a poem each day or devour the collection whole, Brute<\/em> shouts its presence and haunts long after it\u2019s finished.\u00a0\u2014<\/strong>Nikki Shaner-Bradford<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been thinking about Steepletop<\/a>, Edna St. Vincent Millay\u2019s house in Austerlitz, New York\u2014not because I\u2019ve been there but because I haven\u2019t. I had been meaning to go all year but delayed and delayed until last weekend, when I checked the website to discover that the house was locked up for the season. Frustrated by my own idleness, I sat down to console myself by grumbling over a copy of A Few Figs from Thistles<\/a>. <\/em>The one on my shelf is really splendid, an inexpensive early edition with thin, hard, blue-paper-covered boards. It opens with \u201cFirst Fig,\u201d which everyone knows but everyone loves, and so without too much fear of boring with the familiar, I\u2019ll reproduce it whole: \u201cMy candle burns at both ends;\u2009\/\u2009It will not last the night;\u2009\/\u2009But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends\u2014\u2009\/\u2009It gives a lovely light!\u201d There was some noise during the summer that Steepletop was in danger of closing. I hope not. If Steepletop does close, it\u2019ll be the fault of people like me, who forever intend to visit but forever don\u2019t.\u00a0\u2014Robin Jones<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Steepletop in 1971. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 reads the haunting poetry of Emily Skaja, braves the crowds at the Met\u2019s jewelry exhibition, and regrets not visiting Edna St. Vincent Millay\u2019s home.<\/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":[7009,19913,48139,48289,513,16517,7625,48144,71,2164,2542,21992,48290,48293,8527,2350,1234,48142,124,48292,48291,1447,165,48140,7845,261,19910,6292,16252,40192,48143,48141,530,75],"class_list":["post-133239","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-anxiety","tag-austerlitz","tag-brute","tag-celeste","tag-depression","tag-difficulty","tag-edna-st-vincent-millay","tag-emily-skaja","tag-fiction","tag-graywolf-press","tag-jewelry","tag-masochism","tag-masocore","tag-matt-makes-games","tag-mental-health","tag-met","tag-metropolitan-museum-of-art","tag-mui-poopoksakul","tag-new-york","tag-nintendo-switch","tag-platformer","tag-poet","tag-poetry","tag-prabda-yoon","tag-short-stories","tag-short-story","tag-steepletop","tag-thailand","tag-the-met","tag-the-metropolitan-museum-of-art","tag-the-sad-part-was","tag-tilted-axis","tag-translation","tag-writing"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff 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