{"id":164029,"date":"2023-04-19T10:41:08","date_gmt":"2023-04-19T14:41:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=164029"},"modified":"2023-04-20T16:01:49","modified_gmt":"2023-04-20T20:01:49","slug":"reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/","title":{"rendered":"Going Roth Mode"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Newark Public Library, Main Branch. Photo by Jim Henderson, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019m not even necessarily the biggest Roth guy. When I got asked to cover \u201cPhilip Roth Unbound,\u201d a festival to celebrate and \u201cagitate\u201d his legacy, I hadn\u2019t read but a handful of his books. But, looking over the press release, I was drawn to how intense the schedule was set up to be: three full days of panels, live readings, and comedy shows, all in his hometown of Newark. Roth compared novel-writing to the tedium of baseball, and there was something athletic about how these events were stacked up, one after another, jam-packed with renowned writers and themes encompassing the breadth of Roth\u2019s vision. I\u2019d view this like a marathon, one that I\u2019d need to read the rest of his books to prepare for. I\u2019d read maybe six. He wrote thirty-one. We were a month out. Plenty of time, I decided. <\/p>\n

Having read Roth’s debut, as well as Portnoy\u2019s Complaint <\/em>and the Zuckerman novels through Counterlife<\/em>, I figured I\u2019d pick up where I left off. I was most drawn to the stretch of novels he wrote in the nineties, when, at fifty, after the death of his father and the failure of his marriage, he self-exiled and \u201cbecame a monk of fiction,\u201d as David Remnick put it in a 2018 profile. \u201cLiving alone in the woods,\u201d he wrote, Roth stayed \u201ctrained on the sentence, the page, the \u2018problem of the novel at hand.\u2019\u201d This decade produced the novels that would sweep a huge number of major literary awards\u2014a National Book Critics Circle award, a PEN\/Faulkner, a Pulitzer, his second National Book Award. Wanting to absorb the fruits of his exile, I exiled myself and, starting with Patrimony<\/em>\u2014about his father dying, published in 1991, the year I was born\u2014got to reading methodically forward.<\/p>\n

I felt awed, in places, by these books\u2019 ambition; impatient, in others, with their unbridled maximalism. Their willingness to meander, to dwell in dialogue, read like luxuries novelists aren\u2019t afforded today. There\u2019s a consistent emphasis on race and class in these books, on the challenges of coexisting in America, that surprised me. Reckoning with one\u2019s roots yet remaining free to defy and define oneself outside of them. This comes through most explicitly in The Human Stain<\/em>, where his critiques of an unexamined sanctimoniousness undergirding American propriety, Lewinsky-era Puritanism, and lazy campus moralizing read as disconcertingly contemporary. \u201cCanceled older professor with a propensity toward sexual deviance\u201d emerges as an archetype.<\/p>\n

Come festival day, I\u2019ve read maybe six more Roth books, not counting audio. I\u2019m currently deep into American Pastoral<\/em> (1997), Roth\u2019s portrait of the Swede, his most morally upright protagonist, whose morality nonetheless fails him. Walking to CVS to get a new notebook, morning of, the audiobook of The Plot Against America<\/em> in my ears, I wish I had more time. That I could stay exiled, \u201ctrained on the page\u201d forever. But the sun is out; the world is thawing, spring is coming. I dress up nice and hit it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day One: Friday, March 17, 2023<\/strong><\/p>\n

3:33 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

Touch down, after three trains from deep south Brooklyn, at Newark\u2019s Penn Station. It\u2019s a real scene out front. Hostile. The river right there. And the McCarter Highway underpass, where the Swede meets his estranged, <\/strong>homicidal teenage daughter Merry in American Pastoral<\/em>, after she bombs a post office, murders a man, and disappears for some years, a block over. The bando she\u2019s been squatting in, a few blocks up.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m rocking these slender dress shoes I decided on since I\u2019m official press. Walking past the street dwellers out front the station, I want to tell them, This is not how I normally dress.<\/p>\n

4 P.M.<\/small> <\/em><\/p>\n

The lobby of the Newark Public Library, the main branch, downtown, where Roth biked a mile and a half as a boy to borrow books, and where he donated a substantial sum after his death, is high-ceilinged. Marble staircases leading up either side. I\u2019m greeted by the event director\u2014she knows I\u2019m coming. She leads me into the Centennial Room, where the first event is: \u201cReading Myself and Others.\u201d About Roth\u2019s reading influences. It\u2019s fuller than expected. Ninety percent elderly folks. All white, besides the cameraman.\u00a0It\u2019s announced there\u2019ll be a reception, after, in the \u201cJames Brown African American Room.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sit in a row reserved for press. There\u2019s another reporter, a Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent, a woman about my age. Leather-bound notebook on her lap, pen at the ready. And on her other side, a long-haired male reporter for a local newspaper, reporting by ballpoint into a top-spiraled pocket notebook.<\/p>\n

The thirty-one books Roth wrote over his fifty-one year career vary vastly in style and tone. This is what\u2019s stressed during the event: this man had an insane writing ethic, yes. But he also read<\/em>. Welcomed new influences. Won the National Book Award at twenty-seven, but didn\u2019t read Crime and Punishment<\/em> until thirty-five. Anna Karenina<\/em> till thirty-seven. This man never stopped learning, never got too comfortable.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s refreshing to hear of this unabashed ambition, by this writer \u201cwriting to write among the greats,\u201d being praised so unabashedly. There\u2019s a lotta talk about \u201cgenius.\u201d About \u201cthe mysterious origins of genius.\u201d To Claudia Roth Pierpont, one of Roth\u2019s biographers, genius is \u201clistening.\u201d \u201cThere are those who do and those who don\u2019t. Roth listened with his whole face.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

Someone at one point asks how he read. Like where, specifically. And at what time of day.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s something funny and sweet about this degree of curiosity and reverence. It\u2019s contagious.<\/p>\n

At one point, quoting Joshua Cohen, one of the speakers says Roth \u201cwould\u2019ve written his work for no one. Roth wrote for the same reason that people masturbate.\u201d This elicits raucous laughter from the audience. Roth made a certain type of perversion, for a certain type of person, okay to say aloud. I actually feel kinda off-put by this. But life back then, perhaps, wasn\u2019t so pornographic at every turn, like it is now. Roth set a new standard of rules and for that he became, to a certain group, a type of god.<\/p>\n

In Goodbye, Columbus<\/em>, Roth\u2019s first book, the narrator works at a library. This is that same library, possibly the same room, I realize. Roth liked places like this: he valued the democratic aspect of reading, the civic availability of a library.<\/p>\n

7:07 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

There\u2019s a chest-high counter of hors d\u2019oeuvres in the center of the<\/strong> African American room, a sunlit open area with street-facing windows. Rows of stacks extending back. An open bar.<\/p>\n

I start trying to be a reporter. I\u2019ve got too many layers on. My backpack isn\u2019t helping. I go stand by the table the Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent is at, and nestle up to a well-dressed older man, professorial, with a glint in his eye. He\u2019s a professor from Germany. Out here for a talk he gave the other day. This thing has been going for some days already, apparently. He\u2019s an Auerbach scholar and he tells me that his case, in the book he\u2019s working on, is that Goodbye, Columbus<\/em> was influenced by Auerbach. The guy came out here, went to Roth\u2019s reading room, his original, personal library, preserved across the hall, and found the Auerbach book, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature<\/em>, that Roth read around that time; went so far as to find the passages Roth underlined to support his argument.<\/p>\n

\u201cUnreal,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

His case is that Goodbye, Columbus <\/em>is a debate between the ethics of the Old Testament and of Homer. Roth\u2019s narrator has a decision he\u2019s weighing. Either take the Homeric route, go with Brenda, a nice girl, his summer fling, and live the life she leads him on. Running around the track every morning. Living a nice suburban life. \u201cSettling on the nymph island,\u201d I say, which makes his eyes light up.<\/p>\n

He looks me over and goes, \u201cYou want to sit? Put your backpack down. Get a wine.\u201d<\/p>\n

I put my pack down. Get a wine.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo the other option,\u201d he says, \u201cis to follow the Old Testament. Renounce that life. Take the inner path<\/em>. The higher<\/em> calling. Follow God\u2019s call to kill his son\u2014renounce worldly comforts, challenge himself to commit to a life of writing. A path he knows he must take, but that no one else understands.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKierkegaard,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cKierkegaard,\u201d he says, eyes ablaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is what I\u2019m talking<\/em> about,\u201d I almost yell. \u201cThis is what the culture is lacking<\/em>. Everyone with no inner calling<\/em>. Only reacting to the sensory. The image idolatry of their phones. The endless scroll of Twitter. The pornography<\/em> of Instagram\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

We\u2019re full-on bros at this point, I\u2019m all Asian-glowed and red-faced like, This is TOO relevant.\u00a0Coming out of a months-long stint of sober hermitage, the booze has me charged and ranting. Locals working catering are coming by with trays of chicken satays, single-portion meatballs, Dixie cups of mac and cheese \u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cSo let me ask you this,\u201d I say. \u201cIs self-exile a prerequisite for the writing life?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWithout question,\u201d he says, not hesitating a second, almost indignant. Before adding: \u201cI don\u2019t speak to anyone before 1 P.M.<\/small> every day.\u201d<\/p>\n

But so you\u2019re unmarried and childless? I want to ask. Roth, I know, not only self-isolated late in his career, but never had kids. Only the professor beats me to it. \u201cWell \u2026 I have the best of both worlds. I have my office, have complete stillness and silence. And then, when I\u2019m finished, I have my family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe best of both worlds,\u201d I say, almost in tears at this point.<\/p>\n

Day Two: Saturday, March 18, 2023\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

10 A.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

The first panel today is a big one: \u201cLetting in the Repellent,\u201d it\u2019s called, after the phrase Roth apparently used to describe his artistic intentions behind the writing of Sabbath\u2019s Theater<\/em>, his 1995 Pulitzer Prize\u2013winning misanthropic epic about a canceled and shamed puppet master grieving the death of his mistress. His most repellent novel, replete with graveyard masturbation, ephebophilic phone sex, and other depraved sex acts. The panel\u2019s Ottessa Moshfegh, Gary Shteyngart, and Susan Choi.<\/p>\n

For Moshfegh, to \u201clet the repellent in\u201d is to have \u201ca hostility and aggressiveness not to the reader, but to the human race.\u201d To, through fiction, \u201cdepict the depraved,\u201d \u201cconfess wrong things.\u201d This, to her, is a spiritual act: a gesture towards something profound. She \u201cadmires Roth\u2019s retreat from society at age fifty.\u201d When he finally said, I\u2019m not gonna be a part of this anymore.<\/p>\n

Shteyngart is in rare form, eliciting laughs at an intimidating rate. A story of meeting Roth in his early twenties, at a reading at the Russian Samovar, only to have their encounter interrupted by \u201csome young girl\u201d who caught Roth\u2019s eye, concluding that\u2014So he\u2019s just the same as he is in his books!<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>Moshfegh says that Roth is a comedian. She\u2019s not insulted by his misogyny, she feels embarrassed for him. That he has to assert his frailty in that way.<\/p>\n

12:22 P.M.<\/small> <\/em><\/p>\n

After the panel, I\u2019m blasting a cig in the sun, in a big semicircular area with creative benches where some seats are arbitrarily, or maybe thoughtfully, elevated higher than others. It\u2019s sunny, but there\u2019s a frigid wind coming. I feel slightly affronted that both other major magazine correspondents have been given hotel rooms, food budgets. I zip up my parka, resigned to my outdoorness. I text my editor, asking if they\u2019ll reimburse a hotel room: \u201cIt\u2019s kinda wild gunning it all the way back and forth.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve gotta walk, I decide. I\u2019ve gotta find the intersection Merry was staying at. To see, firsthand, why the Swede, American Pastoral<\/em>\u2019s protagonist, Roth\u2019s idealized patriarch, failed at being a father: his daughter flees home to become a political terrorist, despite his best efforts.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got the cross streets jotted. Green and Columbia. Just off New Jersey Railroad Ave.<\/p>\n

A few blocks down and over. Right there.<\/p>\n

I start booking it down Broad. Try rolling a cig but the wind lifts my pinched tufts straight outta my numb, fingerless-gloved hands and onto the five-lane street. The Nike outlet store on Broad and Cedar has a huge line out front, is popping, despite the windchill. It\u2019s gotta be a release of some new shoe.<\/p>\n

Roth\u2019s frequent sweeping distinctions, throughout his work, between Newark\u2019s districts\u2014the primarily Jewish area he grew up in, Weequahic, three miles south of here, versus the primarily poor and black region of downtown Newark, versus the primarily poor and Italian region of East Orange, to the north\u2014seem not totally anachronistic,\u00a0 hit with the contrasts I\u2019m getting hit with, walking down Broad.<\/p>\n

I turn left down Market, just shy of the 7-Eleven. Back toward the McCarter Highway. It\u2019s for sure a little rugged out here, I wouldn\u2019t want my teenage daughter involved in revolutionary politics, bunkered in a bando on this block. So high off myself, I\u2019m in direct contact with the streets<\/em>, that I walk a block the wrong way. Was supposed to turn after<\/em> the Prudential Center. I pull up my phone, to check. Only to have my attention diverted again, by a text, saying, \u201cOf course! We\u2019ll reimburse you! Just keep your receipts!\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh shit, I say. It\u2019s 12:48. Next event is at one. \u201cI\u2019ll go see the intersection in question later,\u201d I tell myself. I don\u2019t.<\/p>\n

1 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

The actor who reads \u201cDefender of the Faith,\u201d Roth\u2019s first big story, published by The<\/em> New Yorker<\/em> in March 1959, the month he turned twenty-seven, is handsome, jacked, and a really good reader. It\u2019s about a Jewish soldier going through basic training while trying to stick to the religious and dietary practices of his people. Got huge clapback, upon its release, from the Jewish community. For clowning the Jewish community.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m envious of having such a clear community, with such clear practices to clown.<\/p>\n

2:22 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

In the Whole Foods seating area down Broad a ways, railing sugar-free dark chocolate to stay awake. A man is bodying Patrimony<\/em> sitting cross-legged out front CoolVines across the veranda. White facial hair, well-manicured mop top. Cardigan\u2019s top button unbuttoned. Straight up slyly smiling to himself as he reads, performatively but unabashedly; and, given how unabashedly, heartwarmingly. I wonder how many times he\u2019s read it.<\/p>\n

Two teenage boys are posted at an outlet-side table, multiple laptops open, watching March Madness. Could sit here longer but gonna try to go get some sun. Gonna ask em, on my way out, if any upsets.<\/p>\n

3 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

Some dissent, finally: \u201cWhat Gives You the Right?\u201d The panel includes Hanna Rosin, author of The End of Men<\/em>.\u00a0Discussing the ethics of a white man writing about a white-passing black man getting canceled for being a racist towards blacks (The Human Stain<\/em>).<\/p>\n

The discussion of The Human Stain<\/em> runs its course after maybe ten minutes. The rest of the talk, and the Q and A, becomes about \u201csensitivity readers\u201d and \u201ccancel culture.\u201d About \u201can author who got a big advance and then got slandered and shamed for writing about Mexicans but ended up not being Mexican?\u201d I check out completely.<\/p>\n

I think back to the German professor. <\/em>This whole conversation about who is allowed to write is happening because no one has a god\u2014a higher thing to follow.\u00a0Without this, there is only envy and reactionary resentment.<\/p>\n

I feel deeply sad all of a sudden.<\/p>\n

In the Q and A, a Latino man comes up, and slightly belligerently goes, This whole talk, I\u2019ve heard nothing about Newark. About East Orange. About the people who actually live here! He\u2019s slightly hysterical, and because of this, incoherent. I kinda get what he\u2019s saying. But his delivery is off. Too coarse for this setting. The moderator goes, okay! Sorta laughing. Moving on here! I wouldn\u2019t know how to respond either. He\u2019s shooed to the side.<\/p>\n

4:44 P.M.<\/small> <\/em><\/p>\n

After the talk, I consider going up to and interviewing one of the panelists, a Northwestern professor. About my age, black. She mentioned\u00a0having written a book about appropriation, only now she feels tired of speaking about appropriation.<\/p>\n

I want to know what she thinks of Benjamin Taylor\u2019s take, in his book on his friendship with Roth, on the central conundrum of The<\/em> Human Stain<\/em>. Quoting the novel,<\/strong> Taylor says that with Coleman Silk, its protagonist, Roth imagined \u201ca black man who is not black, a Jew who is not Jewish, someone who\u2019s slipped all the punches to become himself alone. Self-invention, the supreme American act: \u2018He is repowered and free to be whatever he wants, free to pursue the hugest aim, the confidence right in his bones to be his particular I.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Only, she\u2019s getting hounded by an audience member continuing the \u201csensitivity reader\u201d Q and A hysteria. She seems to be backing away, plotting her escape back into the green room.<\/p>\n

I totally get some of the posthumous clapback toward the universal adulation of Roth. The twenty-page footnote in Sabbath\u2019s Theater<\/em>, transcribing the phone-sex convo between the sixty-something Sabbath and the nineteen-year-old \u2026 I mean.<\/p>\n

But then I\u2019m forced to consider\u2014Well, why are you so aroused? Why are you unable to stop reading?<\/p>\n

Either way, I feel Roth\u2019s ghost lurking over me, feel a little more libidinal, as I walk with the Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent through Military Park, to this burger spot she mentioned wanting to get a burger at.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s like soul-food artisanal, in a long and narrow train car\u2013shaped building, smack in the middle of the park. Only open from three thirty to five thirty, and only some days. We\u2019re the only nonblack customers. They\u2019ve got an obscure Isaiah Rashad song playing. We sit at a table nearest the kitchen.<\/p>\n

I start rambling to her. Maybe it\u2019s all the Roth I\u2019ve been reading. A desire for a slightly inappropriate intimacy. Here we are, two journalists, having a meal\u2014an oxtail burger, some fancy artisanal dipping sauces, sweet potato tater tots\u2014and becoming friends. Sitting across from her, I hear my tone shifting. I\u2019m disclosing things I shouldn\u2019t. I start trying to impress her. My self-exile ending. Everything new and like spring has sprung. It\u2019s about to.<\/p>\n

7 P.M.<\/small> <\/em><\/p>\n

Friendship, it turns out, is also the topic of the next panel\u2014\u201cFacts, Fictions, and Literary Friendships\u201d\u2014headed by four of Roth\u2019s close friends.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not just discipline and solitude that allowed him to write, it was moving through the world in an engaged way. Eliciting stories from others. Being solicitous of others. Friendship as a developed skill.<\/p>\n

Lisa Halliday, who, in her book Asymmetry<\/em>, wrote about her affair with Roth as a young assistant at his literary agency when he was in his later years, speaks about him with a glow, with so much love. How funny he was, all the way to the end. How much he motivated her to write, and their unique editorial relationship once the romantic phase of their relationship ended.<\/p>\n

Another of the panelists was one of Roth\u2019s historical advisors. When Roth wanted to learn something more about a particular topic that this friend was particularly versed in, he\u2019d call him, and ask him to just talk. He\u2019d record the conversation, then listen back to it. For all the critiques of Roth, unreadability is never one of them, and this unique research method, of listening, or orality, seems connected to it.<\/p>\n

How his friends speak about him is a mode unto itself. It\u2019s a viable literary mode, this type of thoughtful oral reflection. \u201cIt must\u2019ve been around this time when \u2026\u201d \u201cOne day, we went here, did this \u2026\u201d It\u2019s not easy to properly eulogize someone, and this seems like a beautiful, satisfying way to try to: have multiple friends, who knew the deceased from varying angles and at different times\u2014different versions of him\u2014each say their piece.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Something profound comes out right at the end. One of his oldest male friends says something about how Roth viewed women, that he objectified them, of course he did, we all objectify each other, Lisa retorts how she saw it, citing a point Susan Choi made earlier that day, that Roth\u2019s preoccupation with lust and bodies stemmed from a bigger preoccupation with death and decay. They go back and forth a sec, till a third friend redirects things. Reminding me that, no matter how heartwarming friendship is, death is still death. In grief, someone always wants the last word.<\/p>\n

9:45 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

The Roth-inspired comedy show is the first time that festival attendees are made to leave the one-block radius surrounding the Performing Arts Center. And at night. Saturday night. It\u2019s a scene outside of Foot Locker halfway down Broad, folks getting mildly rambunctious on the street. Cops idling on every block, lights on, ready for any action in case. This time I hang a right at the Prudential Center, on Market, and walk a block over to Hobby\u2019s Delicatessen. There\u2019s a cop car out front there, too.<\/p>\n

The idea is, as David Remnick put it in his first New Yorker<\/em> profile (2000), that Roth was \u201cfunny in the way a great Catskills comedian might be were that comedian also possessed of an immense linguistic gift.\u201d The event is called \u201cStand-up and Challah!,\u201d a Roth-inspired comedy show in a deli, since Roth was funny like a comedian, and also loved delis.<\/p>\n

There are New Jersey Devils jerseys all up on the walls. An OPERATION SALAMI DROP sign above soda cooler, situated centrally on the floor\u2014without a wall behind it. Long foldout-type tables, in rows, piled high with huge plates of cookies, coffee carafes, coffee cups and saucers. Middle-aged-to-elderly folks slamming cookies and coffee at 9 P.M.<\/small><\/p>\n

One older lady sees us sitting there, comes over with a tray of all kinds of sweets, won\u2019t take no for an answer. I slam a couple, to be polite, feeling my face inflammation spiking by the bite.<\/p>\n

The Roth connection is a bit of a stretch: the orality of stand-up, immediate and reactive, is in such a different lane from literature. But there\u2019s a locality aspect the comedians lean into. The obligatory Portnoy\u2019s Complaint<\/em> kidney masturbation joke. The longhaired male journalist bails after the opening set. I stick it out with the Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent, out of fidelity to the full-immersion Roth-a-palooza completionism, and since the walk over, which requires a walk back, seemed kinda sketch. Phil Hanley, the headliner, is the highlight, despite \u201cnever having read any Roth, or any books for that matter, since I\u2019m severely dyslexic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019ve heard good things.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nonetheless, he provides the most Rothian insight. Around the end of his set, he starts really killing when he starts going into the dynamics of his relationship. Shifting from one-liners to longer-form bits about his girlfriend, their sex life. The whole tenor of the room changes.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee,\u201d I say to the Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent, on the walk back to the Performing Arts Center. \u201cStories just hit different when they go into intimacy. Like I was saying earlier.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"

Newark Nike outlet store. Photo by Jim Henderson, , CC BY-SA 4.<\/a>0, via Wikimedia Commons<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n

Day Three: Sunday, March 19, 2023
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

3 A.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

Too inspired to KO, I toss and turn till midnight, then get up and start reading. I\u2019ve got forty to go in Pastoral<\/em>. I\u2019ve gotta see how it ends. Around 3 A.M.<\/small>, I walk to the 7-Eleven down Broad for more cigs. The cops are still out. I almost walk outta there with a sixteen-ounce coffee cup full of cleaning fluid\u2014the guys hanging around the coffee area who try to sell me weed, don\u2019t alert me to this. Neither does the cashier, till I ask for clarification as to its contents, mid-transaction. I settle for a large mint tea and a New Jersey priced pack of cigs (eleven dollars). The homeless dude out front, who tries to panhandle me, yells out \u201cstay safe\u201d as I parka up and make my way back to the hotel. I\u2019m still rocking my slender literary dress shoes.<\/p>\n

12:30 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

There\u2019s a North Face puffer-jacketed kid some strides ahead of me as I approach the library, where I go after the morning panel. I\u2019ve yet to hit the audio tour of Roth\u2019s reading room, I realize. The kid bounds up the steps, enters. Comes back out right as I\u2019m pulling up. Leading me to think it\u2019s closed. Only it\u2019s not. Just to the public. To those not part of the Roth festival.<\/p>\n

They\u2019ve got the actual standing desk he wrote on. Letters he wrote to his parents when Portnoy\u2019s<\/em> dropped. Signed copies of books he sent to others, and that other writers sent him. A picture of a young strapping Roth from the camp he camp-counseled at as a youth. It\u2019s like a type of posthumous surveillance, everything is recorded.<\/p>\n

But it\u2019s also endlessly inspiring. Conveying Roth\u2019s athletic degree of spiritual commitment to his task. There\u2019s the Eames chair he read in. The table he edited at. The type of pen he edited his own books with.<\/p>\n

I take pictures of the standing desk, the dimensions and layout of the reading room, and text them to my cousin, a carpenter. \u201cBro let\u2019s build this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEasy enough,\u201d my cousin texts back.<\/p>\n

2:30 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

When the lights come up at the Performing Arts Center\u2019s Victoria Theater, Lizzie & Tisch Stage seating area\u2014ninety minutes in\u2014it takes me a sec to realize that the dramatic reading of The Plot Against America <\/em>hasn\u2019t ended. That it\u2019s just the intermission. The first of two intermissions.<\/p>\n

They\u2019ve got actors, a whole bunch of them, reading the entire Plot Against America<\/em>. Or, a slightly attenuated version. But all of the slightly attenuated version.<\/p>\n

A live audiobook, in a theater. A theatrical audiobook.<\/p>\n

At first I\u2019m thrilled. There\u2019s something so reverent about this. All of us gathered, on a Sunday, committing to attention and stillness. To the active imagination. A six-hour marathon literary feat we\u2019re communally committed to.<\/p>\n

Definitely shoulda eaten more at the Whole Foods, just had a juice to offset all the crap I ate from 7-Eleven at 3 A.M.<\/small>, that I neglected to include that I ate in my earlier retelling of that romp, out of embarrassment.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, endless Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic. Spiritual. Everything about posture and breathing. Heightened focus. Attention<\/em>. I\u2019m spiritually fighting the ADHD of our age. This is what rebellion, <\/em>true, lived, unspoken rebellion,<\/em> against the decadence of Our Time looks like. Just us three committed journalists, sitting still, riding it out. Writing in our notebooks, with physical pens, listening to readers read off of physical paper.<\/p>\n

Silently gesturing towards something profound.<\/p>\n

Just listening. Listening with your whole face. <\/em><\/p>\n

4:45 P.M.<\/small><\/em><\/p>\n

This is insane, I think to myself as the lights come on for the second intermission. This is revolutionary. Nothing like this is supposed to happen in 2023. Nothing like this ever will.<\/p>\n

A quarter, maybe a third of attendees bail during intermission. When we start again, it\u2019s the guy from Monk<\/em> reading. He\u2019s doing a long phone dialogue scene. It\u2019s all a slog suddenly. I get super sad, not knowing exactly why. Maybe it\u2019s just that I need to eat, but \u2026 I can\u2019t sit here any longer.<\/p>\n

The whole weekend I\u2019d been feeling like, Right. There\u2019s another level or rigor out there. Another level of work<\/em>. Had been viewing contemporary literary forms as lacking some higher standard of ambition and rigor. A higher standard of aesthetic value.<\/p>\n

Minutes into the guy from Monk<\/em> switching over to the redhead from Sex and the City<\/em>\u2019s reading, that all evaporates.<\/p>\n

I realize that if art looks different now, it\u2019s because things are different now. It moves faster because the world moves faster. The genie\u2019s out. There\u2019s no going back. Phones aren\u2019t going anywhere. Restless, I survey the theater. There can\u2019t be but a handful of folks under forty. Under fifty. An old man a couple of rows ahead has head back. He\u2019s passed out. I hear muffled coughs, detect shuffling up on the balcony.<\/p>\n

I turn to the Harper\u2019s<\/em> correspondent. Mutter, I\u2019ve gotta get something to eat. She ignores me, but I nonetheless feel like I\u2019ve betrayed her. I grab my pack and, rudely, slide past the longhaired male journalist and head for the exit.<\/p>\n

5:55 P.M.<\/small> <\/em><\/p>\n

Back at the Whole Foods food court. I rail a clamshell of wings, a spicy tuna roll. Ravenous in a way that feels emotional. Existential.<\/p>\n

The boys are still there, still sitting at the same table. Holding down that outlet.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a book on the table. It wasn\u2019t there before, or I hadn\u2019t noticed it. I lean over to get a sight line on the spine. The Isis Papers<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I take a closer look at their setup. They\u2019ve got two laptops, an iPad, and an Android phone, all plugged into a surge protector with a thick cord. Looks like a SEGA<\/small> Dreamcast. Different-colored outlets. Army surplus backpack. Beats by Dre headphones.\u00a0It only occurs to me then\u2014how it took me so long baffles me\u2014that they\u2019re homeless. They\u2019re not just charging their gadgets. I don\u2019t know where they sleep at night, but in the daytime, this is their home.<\/p>\n

Outside the Whole Foods double doors there\u2019s a huge planter box. This\u2019ll be my standing desk, I think, procuring my notebook from my pocket and writing this on it.<\/p>\n

Or\u2014I start to, before realizing it\u2019s easier to type into my iPhone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sean Thor Conroe is a Japanese American writer. His debut novel is <\/em>Fuccboi.<\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2359,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68551],"tags":[16689,68650,68553,67827,10432,11027,99],"class_list":["post-164029","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-dispatch","tag-american-literature","tag-cancel-culture","tag-dispatches","tag-featured","tag-newark","tag-newark-public-library","tag-philip-roth"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nGoing Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Going Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"785\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Sean Thor Conroe\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Sean Thor Conroe\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"26 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Sean Thor Conroe\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/6ac1263451dfe93878b36186fd46316b\"},\"headline\":\"Going Roth Mode\",\"datePublished\":\"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\"},\"wordCount\":5115,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"American literature\",\"cancel culture\",\"dispatches\",\"Featured\",\"Newark\",\"newark public library\",\"Philip Roth\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Dispatch\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\",\"name\":\"Going Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00\",\"description\":\"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg\",\"width\":1024,\"height\":785,\"caption\":\"Newark Public Library, Main Branch. Photo by Jim Henderson, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Going Roth Mode\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"description\":\"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"width\":696,\"height\":696,\"caption\":\"The Paris Review\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\",\"https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview\",\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/6ac1263451dfe93878b36186fd46316b\",\"name\":\"Sean Thor Conroe\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/ca1eeadc4968c9b642a7ce6bbba956bd03ff73efc88bbfe779439dded415c950?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/ca1eeadc4968c9b642a7ce6bbba956bd03ff73efc88bbfe779439dded415c950?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Sean Thor Conroe\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/stconroe\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Going Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe","description":"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Going Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe","og_description":"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d","og_url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/","og_site_name":"The Paris Review","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","article_published_time":"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00","article_modified_time":"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1024,"height":785,"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Sean Thor Conroe","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@parisreview","twitter_site":"@parisreview","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Sean Thor Conroe","Est. reading time":"26 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/"},"author":{"name":"Sean Thor Conroe","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/6ac1263451dfe93878b36186fd46316b"},"headline":"Going Roth Mode","datePublished":"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00","dateModified":"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/"},"wordCount":5115,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg","keywords":["American literature","cancel culture","dispatches","Featured","Newark","newark public library","Philip Roth"],"articleSection":["Dispatch"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/","name":"Going Roth Mode by Sean Thor Conroe","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg","datePublished":"2023-04-19T14:41:08+00:00","dateModified":"2023-04-20T20:01:49+00:00","description":"April 19, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI\u2019m on no sleep, no food, fueled only by two bags of complimentary popcorn, Zyns, and my fanaticism for literary greatness, and as the second round of readers begins, things get real ascetic.\u201d","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/newark-pl-jeh.jpg","width":1024,"height":785,"caption":"Newark Public Library, Main Branch. Photo by Jim Henderson, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/04\/19\/reading-myself-and-others-roth-festival-dispatch\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Going Roth Mode"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","name":"The Paris Review","description":"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization","name":"The Paris Review","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","width":696,"height":696,"caption":"The Paris Review"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/6ac1263451dfe93878b36186fd46316b","name":"Sean Thor Conroe","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/ca1eeadc4968c9b642a7ce6bbba956bd03ff73efc88bbfe779439dded415c950?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/ca1eeadc4968c9b642a7ce6bbba956bd03ff73efc88bbfe779439dded415c950?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Sean Thor Conroe"},"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/stconroe\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/164029","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2359"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=164029"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/164029\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":164064,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/164029\/revisions\/164064"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=164029"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=164029"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=164029"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}