{"id":154240,"date":"2021-08-27T12:17:39","date_gmt":"2021-08-27T16:17:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=154240"},"modified":"2021-08-27T12:17:39","modified_gmt":"2021-08-27T16:17:39","slug":"the-reviews-review-a-germ-of-rage","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2021\/08\/27\/the-reviews-review-a-germ-of-rage\/","title":{"rendered":"The Review<\/em>\u2019s Review: A Germ of Rage"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Louise Bourgeois, The Destruction of the Father<\/em>, 1974, latex, plaster, wood, fabric, and red
light. Collection Glenstone Museum, Potomac, Maryland. \u00a9 The Easton Foundation\/Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Ron Amstutz.<\/p><\/div>\n

The exhibition rooms on the second floor of the Jewish Museum are densely shadowed and cavernous, the scant light artificial and angular. In one, the mouth of a veined brown marble fireplace hangs open, eating air. It\u2019s an apt setting for the exhibition \u201cLouise Bourgeois, Freud\u2019s Daughter<\/a>,\u201d which traces the artist\u2019s fraught relationship to psychoanalysis, including her reactions to her own thirty-three years of treatment. Journal entries, dream fragments recorded on scraps of paper, fabric works, the iconic Passage Dangereux<\/em> (1997), Destruction of the Father<\/em> (1974), and Ventouse (Cupping Jar)<\/em> (1990) constitute only a portion of the show. A cluster of Bourgeois\u2019s writings speak to her relationship to sadism, fear, self-destruction. But I wasn\u2019t surprised to find myself orbiting the texts swollen with guilt, anger: \u201cA germ of rage cohabits like the germ of TB, it lives in you.\u201d I could have spent an entire heliophobic day trying to make out Bourgeois\u2019s handwritten notes, which slip between pictorial and linguistic representations just as fluidly as they shift from English to French. I\u2019ll be back before September 12, when the show closes. \u2014Jay Graham\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Many narratives of millennial \u201clove,\u201d if that\u2019s the right word for it, depict a quest for a functional partner of similar class status with a good skincare regimen and perhaps a willingness to engage in light s\/m just to make sure things aren\u2019t completely bland, which they are. Blandness is not a vice that afflicts the characters in Matthew Gasda\u2019s play Quartet<\/em><\/a>, which is showing at Ty\u2019s Loft, in Greenpoint, the next two Saturdays. (I saw it this past month at another loft, in TriBeCa.) Leave questions of likability and probity at the door: these people betray each other and themselves, and their betrayals are collaborative affairs fueled by alcohol, other intoxicants, and secrets past and present. The play is funny and caustic, it\u2019s all in the lines, and the actors go for it like it was the seventies, though I don\u2019t know if I would trust Mike Nichols with it. \u2014Christian Lorentzen<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Bertrand Russell. Photo: Anefo. CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Self-help wasn\u2019t yet a cultural fixture when Bertrand Russell published The Conquest of Happiness<\/em><\/a>, in 1930. And in a way, it feels strange to classify the book in that genre, given that it\u2019s written by a philosopher of mathematical logic who is best known for his Principia Mathematica<\/em>, a book of formal proofs that Daniel Dennett has called \u201cone of the most unreadable great books ever written.\u201d But despite his technical genius, Russell believed that philosophy should, first and foremost, teach one how to live, and The Conquest of Happiness<\/em> contains pragmatic advice that remains eminently useful. Burnout, he notes, stems not from overwork but from anxiety and indecision. Boredom is usually caused by excessive vanity and can be cured by taking interest in something outside of oneself. Since first reading the book earlier this year, I have thought often of his aphorisms on envy (\u201cThe sin against the Spirit consists of knowing a thing to be good and hating it because it is good\u201d) and his observations on how an expansive perspective can alleviate trivial annoyances (the anger over a broken bootlace can be remedied, he argues, by reflecting \u201cthat in the history of the cosmos the event in question has no very great importance\u201d). Intelligence does not always entail wisdom. To find both in a single mind is a rare gift. \u2014Meghan O\u2019Gieblyn<\/strong><\/p>\n

What are you doing this weekend? If you don\u2019t have any plans, may I suggest you spend literally all of your waking hours binge-listening to two new jazz box sets, both of historical interest but for very different reasons? The first is Lee Morgan\u2019s The Complete Live at the Lighthouse<\/em><\/a>, which comprises twelve live sets of explosive but accessible jazz from 1970 by one of the stalwarts of the classic Blue Note sound. I\u2019d always avoided Morgan\u2019s albums, thinking them too light for my tastes; I now stand corrected. This music is relentless and edgy, a surprising mix of Morgan\u2019s trademark sixties funk and something darker and more desperate. The band, which had been working together for a year or two, is at its peak, and this is a great opportunity to see what the multi-instrumentalist Bennie Maupin can really do if given free rein. The other box is Anthony Braxton\u2019s Quartet (Standards) 2020<\/em><\/a>, a record of a tour just before the pandemic in which the veteran avant-gardist took a group of edgy UK musicians on a jaunt around Europe, playing nothing but jazz standards but doing them his way, meaning with equal reverence and irreverence. This group tackles the Great American Songbook, John Coltrane and Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis, and even a bit of Paul Simon. This is an accessible pathway into Braxton\u2019s expansive universe, and a parade of his sometimes stuttering, sometimes careening solos. There\u2019s more than twenty hours of music between the two boxes, so your weekend should be covered. \u2014Craig Morgan Teicher<\/strong><\/p>\n

When she was young, Natalia Ginzburg would repeat phrases to herself that she found particularly pleasing. \u201cI dress in brown\u201d was one such phrase, taken from Annie Vivanti\u2019s The Devourers<\/em>. Another was one of her own invention: \u201cIsabella is leaving.\u201d I found myself similarly drawn to a phrase in Yu Miri\u2019s Tokyo Ueno Station<\/em><\/a> (translated from the Japanese by Morgan Giles): \u201cWhen I lived with my family, we took no photos together.\u201d \u2014Robin Jones<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Yu Miri. Photo courtesy of Tilted Axis Press and Riverhead Books.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Read Christian Lorentzen\u2019s interview with Mike Edison<\/a> and Meghan O\u2019Gieblyn\u2019s \u201cDoes Technology Have a Soul?<\/a>\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, the \u2018Review\u2019 conquers happiness with Bertrand Russell, lingers on a sentence from Yu Miri\u2019s \u2018Tokyo Ueno Station,\u2019 and ventures into the cavernous exhibition rooms of \u201cLouise Bourgeois, Freud\u2019s Daughter.\u201d <\/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":[67827],"class_list":["post-154240","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-featured"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Review\u2019s Review: A Germ of Rage by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"August 27, 2021 \u2013 This week, the \u2018Review\u2019 conquers happiness with Bertrand Russell, lingers on a sentence from Yu Miri\u2019s \u2018Tokyo Ueno Station,\u2019 and ventures into the cavernous exhibition rooms of \u201cLouise 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