{"id":156960,"date":"2022-02-04T14:00:38","date_gmt":"2022-02-04T19:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=156960"},"modified":"2022-03-21T11:47:47","modified_gmt":"2022-03-21T15:47:47","slug":"the-reviews-review-out-of-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/02\/04\/the-reviews-review-out-of-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Out of Time"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

TGV 9576 \/\/ Munich – Strasbourg. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

For years, John Edgar Wideman has been dropping simple words from his sentences. Here\u2019s the opening line from \u201cNat Turner Confesses,\u201d featured in his collection American Histories<\/i><\/a>: \u201cNat Turner no stranger to me.\u201d Why not \u201cNat Turner is no stranger to me\u201d? Various answers to that question. Wideman\u2019s prose has long had a breathless, out-of-time quality to it, which becomes more pronounced as he gets older. Wideman, a Pittsburgh-raised writer as versatile and openly ambitious as his late friend, the underappreciated Chicago author Leon Forrest, is now eighty years old. He has published four books with Scribner in the last six years: Writing to Save a Life<\/i><\/a>\u00a0and three short story collections featuring old and new work\u2014American Histories<\/i>, You Made Me Love You<\/i><\/a>, and Look for Me and I\u2019ll Be Gone<\/i><\/a>. <\/p>\n

This urgent productivity reflects a central aesthetic question: How much do I need to turn the specimen of history over and over again until it is understood, that is, seen by many different pairs of eyes from many different places and times? It\u2019s also a confession of mortality. (I don\u2019t think I\u2019m psychoanalyzing; Wideman writes extensively about aging and legacy in his recent work.) For almost half of his life, since the publication of his memoir Brothers and Keepers<\/i><\/a> <\/i>in 1984, Wideman has wrestled with what his own life meant as his younger brother, Robert, and his son, Jacob, languished in prison for unrelated murder convictions. Robert Wideman\u2019s sentence was commuted in 2019. After a brief release on home arrest in 2016-2017, Jacob was re-imprisoned for reportedly<\/a> violating his parole. The particularly grueling, now-infamous sagas of John Wideman\u2019s life are recurring subjects in his work. He is one of the great authors fixated on alternate lives\u2014the lives that could have been, that probably were, on some other timeline\u2014and in reading through his latest collections, I\u2019m reminded of how silly it would be to try to categorize him as a writer of fiction or nonfiction.<\/p>\n

From his story \u201cShape the World Is In\u201d: \u201cIf a world is not known, how would anyone recognize its shape, even if they happened to catch a glimpse \u2026 I\u2019m smart enough to know better, but ask my unanswerable question anyway. What surrounds me. How does it shape my beginning and end. The question worries me. I can\u2019t help asking it.\u201d \u2014Aaron Robertson<\/b><\/p>\n

I struggled to pull an outfit together one morning this week, and that same night I returned to Michelle Memran\u2019s documentary The Rest I Make Up<\/i><\/a>, a portrait of her friendship with the late Cuban-American dramatist Mar\u00eda Irene Forn\u00e9s, whose intractable wit and haphazard style bring me back to life on my most sartorially challenged days. \u201cI have so much style you think it\u2019s mistakes,\u201d Forn\u00e9s says early in the film, dressed in monochrome red velvet, wool, and tartan with incomparable ease. A leading playwright in the off-off-Broadway circuits of the sixties and seventies, her singular teaching and writing technique revolved around improvisation as method. The film is its own exercise in improvisation: untrained as a filmmaker, Memran began collecting footage of Forn\u00e9s on a Hi8 camcorder years before the project took shape, just as they were becoming friends and just before Forn\u00e9s began to deal with the onset of memory loss. Over the course of more than a decade, as her memory deteriorates, the camera starts to bear the evidence of her life\u2014what happened five years ago, five months ago, last week, yesterday, this morning. Memran does not move the camera like a professional, and these intimate, low-resolution shots, cut with archival footage and more formally staged interviews with Forn\u00e9s\u2019s vast network of students, mentors, ex-lovers, and collaborators, are what make the film such a pleasure to watch. The portrait of Forn\u00e9s that emerges is a deep collaboration between Forn\u00e9s and Memran, made possible by the life they share as friends. \u201cThe artist is a person who is made of two: one who goes in and another who goes out,\u201d Forn\u00e9s tells Memran later in the film. \u201cThe one who goes in enters through observation and, in some mysterious way, then transforms it to produce a thought, a poem.\u201d If the pair of them are twins, the camera is their third. Especially as her memory loss becomes more acute, Forn\u00e9s is transfixed by the camera and by Memran as she holds it: \u201cYou want me to tell the world how much I love you, what a good camera lady you are, how you hold that black shapeless thing in front of your face and become gorgeous.\u201d In front of the lens she is on, activated, in vogue, a one-minute movie star of her own making. It\u2019s a moving study in biography and its collaborative failures, asking how it might be possible to write a life when memory is elusive. \u2014Oriana Ullman<\/b><\/p>\n

Cat Power\u2019s Chan Marshall has always had a special relationship to other people\u2019s songs\u2014she reveals herself in them, troweling up unsuspected depths out of unassuming pop tunes and finding her own voice hidden in other people\u2019s words and chords.\u00a0Covers<\/i> is her third full-length album devoted to other songwriters\u2019 music, following 2018\u2019s remarkable collection of stripped down originals, Wanderer<\/i>. It\u2019s as if Marshall turns to covers to recharge after the huge expenditure of emotional energy her relentlessly intense and searching songs must demand. Covers<\/i> finds her in a typically searching and melancholy mood; these songs\u2014Dead Man\u2019s Bones\u2019s \u201cPa Pa Power,\u201d Iggy Pop\u2019s \u201cEndless Sea,\u201d and a soul-stopping version of the Pogues\u2019 \u201cA Pair of Brown Eyes\u201d\u2014are reaching out from far away, distant signals reminding me I\u2019m not alone in my yearning for daily shreds of hope. I don\u2019t know how Cat Power has kept this up for almost three decades, steadfastly extending her shaky hand, but her considerable powers are undiminished. \u2014Craig Morgan Teicher<\/strong><\/p>\n

This Sunday is New York City Ballet\u2019s last performance of their \u201cNew Combinations\u201d trilogy of contemporary(ish) pieces, the last of which is Danse \u00e0 Grande Vitesse<\/em><\/a>, Christopher Wheeldon\u2019s 2006 ballet inspired by France\u2019s TGV train network (train \u00e0 grande vitesse<\/em>). There\u2019s little here evoking passenger-centric travel experiences (I expected, maybe, a meditative \u201cworld going by my window\u201d sequence); it\u2019s more of a SpaceX fantasy of hi-modern, hi-speed kinetics. Ballet might be the ultimate transhumanist art form: pointe shoes are early examples of (brutal) prostheses that, unlike most of body mod, actually achieve something strange and beautiful\u2014a truly superhuman transcendence. Wheeldon\u2019s choreography avoids the boring, barefooted\u2014literally pedestrian\u2014quality plaguing modern dance. Instead, he highlights extreme athleticism and classic male\/female partner work, which, here, rather than illustrating a romance, serves to manifest more abstract power dynamics: the couples\u2019 controlled and looping lifts bring to mind molecular collisions and molar lines of force. Each dancer\u2019s body moves on a razor\u2019s edge. It was like watching twenty-six live coins spinning indefinitely on a mirrored surface. I felt genuinely awed: humans are amazing, and so are trains. And Grimes, I think, should be doing Blade Runner Ballet<\/em>. \u2014Olivia Kan-Sperling<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mortality-aware syntax, friends on camera, covers, and \u2018Blade Runner\u2019 ballet.<\/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":[68386],"tags":[1942,8211,67827,3834,68348,1941,883],"class_list":["post-156960","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-reviews-review","tag-ballet","tag-cat-power","tag-featured","tag-john-edgar-wideman","tag-maria-irene-fornes","tag-new-york-city-ballet","tag-staff-picks"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nOut of Time by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"February 4, 2022 \u2013 Mortality-aware syntax, friends on camera, covers, and \u2018Blade Runner\u2019 ballet.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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