{"id":158167,"date":"2022-04-01T14:30:49","date_gmt":"2022-04-01T18:30:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=158167"},"modified":"2022-04-01T14:33:17","modified_gmt":"2022-04-01T18:33:17","slug":"what-our-spring-issue-writers-are-looking-at","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/04\/01\/what-our-spring-issue-writers-are-looking-at\/","title":{"rendered":"What Our Spring Issue Writers Are Looking At"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_158176\" style=\"width: 1010px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/bday.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-158176\" class=\"wp-image-158176 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/bday.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"750\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/bday.jpeg 1000w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/bday-300x225.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/bday-768x576.jpeg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-158176\" class=\"wp-caption-text\"><a href=\"\/\/commons.wikimedia.org\/wiki\/File:Torte_01_(RaBoe).jpg\">Image<\/a> \u00a9<a href=\"https:\/\/de.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Benutzer:Raboe001\"> Ra Boe \/ Wikipedia<\/a>, licensed under <b><a class=\"external text\" href=\"https:\/\/creativecommons.org\/licenses\/by-sa\/3.0\/deed.en\" rel=\"nofollow\">CC-BY-SA-3.0<\/a><\/b>\u00a0.<\/p><\/div>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Gary Goldschneider compiled the character traits of over fourteen thousand people to create <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1531\/9780525426882\">The Secret Language of Birthdays<\/a>.<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> This bible was Goldschneider\u2019s crowning achievement, though he had others. A self-described \u201cpersonologist,\u201d he was also a pianist <\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">notorious for marathon performances: he played all of Beethoven\u2019s thirty-two sonatas, in chronological order, in one sitting (twelve hours), and all of Mozart\u2019s sonatas in one sitting (six hours, three water breaks). <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The Secret Language of Birthdays<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> follows the same gloriously logical yet irrational ordering principle of this kind of marathon performance. The 832-page volume devotes two-page spreads to every single day of the year. Goldschneider\u2019s pronouncements rely heavily on the twelve zodiac signs\u2014indeed, the book\u2019s introduction provides the layman with a thorough understanding of the fundamentals of sun-sign astrology\u2014and so the year begins on the first day in Aries, and the vernal equinox. Each day gets an enchanting definite article; August 24 is not just any old Day of Astute Examination but <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">the <\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">day, the only one that could possibly be thus.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Each spread presents an equitable overview of the personality traits of people born on that day. Take mine (thanks for asking!): I\u2019m December 16, the Day of Soaring Imagination. The description of those born on the day begins with the positive\u2014\u201camong the most imaginative people\u201d\u2014but doesn\u2019t fail to offer the flip side: \u201cDecember 16 people are not the easiest to live with \u2026 some born on this day must be in their own world to work effectively.\u201d The back-and-forth continues, in a Dagwood-sized compliment sandwich. Ultimately, \u201cthe highs of laughter and the depths of deep silence are all colors found on the December 16 palette.\u201d Goldschneider also presents celebrities born on your day, as well as a tarot card and a mantra (\u201cThe storms of life eventually blow over\u201d). An interactive web version of the book is explorable <\/span><a href=\"https:\/\/sln.me\/app\/\"><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">here<\/span><\/a><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">. During the pandemic, the birthday book became one of my trusted methods of marking time. Hours felt oversignified, weeks became muddled, but the book&#8217;s Days\u2014whose defining characteristics existed vertically through the years, like a tree trunk\u2019s rings\u2014gave the calendar a symbolic consistency that had nothing to do with anything going on yet was always oddly relevant. My friend unexpectedly went into labor on February 4, the Day of the Curveballer, and it blew straight through February 5, the Day of Quiet Eloquence; she birthed her son on February 6, the Day of Popularity. (\u201cA popular kid?\u201d she lamented.) The book has both the joy of revelation and the comfort of continuity. In high school, my Latin teacher sometimes began our class by opening an almanac and recounting what had happened on that day in history. The moral of the story, always: <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Nihil novum sub sole<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">. Nothing new under the sun.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><b>\u2014Adrienne Raphel, author of \u201c<\/b><a href=\"https:\/\/theparisreview.org\/poetry\/7863\/felix-by-proxy-adrienne-raphel\"><b>Felix by Proxy<\/b><\/a><b>\u201d<\/b><\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Lately, I\u2019ve been spending too much time online. I\u2019m submersed in an infosphere that\u2019s somehow both incredibly hyperbolic, constantly at ignition point, and yet filled with art and writing about art that\u2019s so thin and anodyne that I often think the words <em>unremarkable<\/em>, <em>content collapse<\/em>, and <em>press release<\/em>, on repeat. But each morning I read a piece from\u00a0<\/span><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1531\/9781635900378\"><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Vile Days<\/span><\/i><\/a><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">, Gary Indiana\u2019s collected columns from the three years\u20141985 to 1988\u2014during which he served as <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The Village Voice<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u2019s art critic, and this is my reprieve.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Indiana always reads real; he never bullshits. \u201cWe should distrust \u2018great,\u2019\u201d he writes. \u201cAccording to whom? According to what?\u201d Though his criticism is often harsh, it\u2019s never petty, and is motivated by deeply held beliefs on the<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> role of art in the world. <\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Describing the paintings of Nancy Chunn, he writes: \u201cThese works are not didactic; they don\u2019t lay out a program but simply ask us to be conscious that art and life are inextricably connected\u2014that we all live in the same world, which is not a happy place in most places.\u201d Indiana\u2019s column chronicles these connections. He reviews not only the shows on Greene Street and at the Venice Biennale but also the art that hangs in the banks of corporate New York\u2014ChemBank, Chase. There are interviews with Tishan Hsu and Barbara Kruger, punctuated by dispatches on the <small>AIDS<\/small> crisis and, at one point, his rebuttal to being labeled the \u201cringleader of a homosexual cartel.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I don\u2019t recognize most of the works being discussed, and though I\u2019m sometimes compelled to google them, Indiana\u2019s criticism stands alone. He\u2019s a master of the anecdote, the aside: \u201cThis doesn\u2019t have anything to do with art,\u201d he\u2019ll say, before going on to describe a fight on the street or a man jerking off in a parked Rolls-Royce on Second Avenue. All of this is written in the rapid-fire sprezzatura that would come to characterize his later novels, prose that takes on the fervor of a fever dream\u2014or perhaps of something closer to the brain on uncut amphetamines.<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><b>\u2014Paul Dalla Rosa, author of \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/theparisreview.org\/fiction\/7876\/i-feel-it-paul-dalla-rosa\">I Feel It<\/a>\u201d<\/b><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Lately I\u2019ve been thinking about the body; the incredible mystery of it, its peculiarities. Perhaps you\u2019ve considered the incongruities of our bodies, how we all share a limb that\u2019s larger and longer than its counterpart. The ways even our eyes often refuse symmetry: one fuller, alert and curious, while the other appears lazy, cynical, almost sleepy in its modesty.\u00a0In grade school, we used to trace the outlines of our small hands upon construction paper: an exercise in coordination and creativity. We made a mess with glue and glitter while decorating and coloring our drawn hands, then practiced our counting by the loopy points of the fingertips. I took my project home and asked my mother why my right hand was bigger than the left. The obvious answer might have been that my tracing was more controlled with one hand than the other, but my mother only looked me plainly in the face and told me that\u2019s just how God made us. One side of our body is a lil\u2019 bigger, she said. I remember my confusion, though I didn\u2019t question her at the time: Why would the creator make our bodies so imperfect?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">This line of questioning has remained with me as I\u2019ve aged, buried within the murk of the subconscious. It was only when I started writing fiction that my lingering fixation on the body was brought to my attention. Readers were quick to notice the ways my stories emphasized the body. Characters gazed at their images in mirrors and pools of water. They felt the heaviness of their weight while moving through the world, they disassociated from the body while making love, sometimes they sought means of escaping corporeality altogether.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">For years I\u2019ve collected pictures of the art that&#8217;s most inspired me, and those images overwhelmingly capture the absolute beauty and ordinariness of bodies. My favorite compositions are unassuming, quiet celebrations of women merely existing: Nude. Brown. Unfazed by their imperfections or the eyes upon them. I think Archibald Motley, an artist of the Harlem Renaissance, best executes what I aspire to do with the body\u2014on the page, and in personal relationship with my own. His painting <\/span><a href=\"https:\/\/archives.nasher.duke.edu\/motley\/project\/brown-girl-after-the-bath\/index.html\"><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Brown Girl After the Bath<\/span><\/i><\/a><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> is exquisite in its ordinariness<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">: <\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">the soft pudge of his muse\u2019s belly, the slope and sag of her breasts. Diego Rivera\u2019s <\/span><a href=\"https:\/\/www.wikiart.org\/en\/diego-rivera\/dancer-resting-1939\"><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Dancer Resting<\/span><\/i><\/a><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> also manages to grasp the fullness and elegance of the feminine form in our most vulnerable and natural states. I\u2019m struck by her hips, her thighs, the fatigue expressed in her eyes. These are profoundly imaginative moments, an artist recreating the art that has been expressed in a multitude of shapes and hues by the ultimate artist.<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px; text-align: right;\"><b>\u2014Lakiesha Carr, author of \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/fiction\/7872\/tomorrows-lakiesha-carr\">Tomorrows<\/a><\/b><strong>\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_158178\" style=\"width: 562px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/screen-shot-2022-04-01-at-12.09.34-pm.png\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-158178\" class=\"wp-image-158178 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/screen-shot-2022-04-01-at-12.09.34-pm.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"552\" height=\"970\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/screen-shot-2022-04-01-at-12.09.34-pm.png 552w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/screen-shot-2022-04-01-at-12.09.34-pm-171x300.png 171w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-158178\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Diego Rivera, <em>Dancer Resting<\/em>, 1939.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>On secret birthday languages, art criticism by Gary Indiana, and Diego Rivera\u2019s Dancer Resting.<\/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":[68399,68397,8853,3356,17542,68401,68400,556,68398,27068,27063,883],"class_list":["post-158167","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-reviews-review","tag-adrienne-raphel","tag-archibald-motley","tag-current-issue","tag-diego-rivera","tag-gary-indiana","tag-issue-239","tag-lakiesha-carr","tag-nude-painting","tag-paul-dalla-rosa","tag-personality-test","tag-personality-types","tag-staff-picks"],"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\/ -->\n<title>What Our Spring Issue Writers Are Looking At by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"April 1, 2022 \u2013 On secret birthday 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