{"id":37153,"date":"2012-08-16T11:57:47","date_gmt":"2012-08-16T15:57:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=37153"},"modified":"2012-08-16T13:26:41","modified_gmt":"2012-08-16T17:26:41","slug":"mrs-crist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/","title":{"rendered":"Mrs. Crist"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with me assignments from two very small magazines and a sealed envelope, which I\u2019d been given by Judith Crist, lately my critical-writing professor at Columbia\u2019s School of Journalism.<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGive this to Murray Weiss at the International Trib<\/em>,\u201d she instructed.<\/p>\n

\nWeiss was the editor in chief of that august journal and, she said, formerly a colleague of hers at its long-defunct but still much-admired progenitor, the New York Herald Tribune.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat\u2019s in it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry, just give it to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nA week or so later, in the Trib<\/em> offices on the rue de Berri, I handed it over to Weiss\u2019s no-nonsense assistant. \u201cIt\u2019s from Judith Crist,\u201d I said meaningfully\u2014not the twenty-two-year-old nothing standing before her.<\/p>\n

\nShe walked briskly to the office beyond, and, after a long beat, like in a too-obvious movie, there came a roar of laughter. \u201cSend him in!\u201d<\/p>\n

\nWeiss was behind his desk, holding the letter, still looking much amused. He half rose to shake my hand. \u201cListen,\u201d he said, chuckling, \u201cthis is very nice of Judy. But, no, I\u2019m not going to fire our film critic and hire you.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut I\u2019ll certainly give you a try on a freelance basis.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nWhen Judith Crist died earlier this month, she got a suitably impressive obituary in the Times<\/em>, 1,487 words\u2019 worth. The nation\u2019s first celebrity movie critic and one of its most respected, a fixture both on The Today Show<\/em> and in the Trib<\/em> (and later the nascent New York<\/em> magazine), she was credited with having early championed the likes of Steven Spielberg and Woody Allen, as well as with using her multiple perches to identify schlock by its rightful name. The Sound of Music<\/em>, she famously wrote, \u201cis for the five-to-seven set and their mommies who think the kids aren\u2019t up to the stinging sophistication and biting wit of Mary Poppins<\/em>,\u201d and the long-awaited Cleopatra<\/em> was \u201ca monumental mouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nThis was Mrs. Crist as I first encountered her, at the age of twelve or thirteen, in print. When I first saw her in person, she was even scarier. It was at a Columbia J-School conference for aspiring reporters, to which a band of us from New Rochelle High\u2019s Huguenot Herald<\/em> had been dragooned by our faculty advisor. Mrs. Crist was the featured speaker. Her subject was standards, or maybe it was professionalism; whatever it was, its import was that if any of us imagined success would come easy in the tough-as-nails world of professional journalism, we should damn well figure out something else to do with our miserable selves. We staggered from that hall feeling like Jonathan Edwards\u2019s parishioners dangled over the pit of hell by a wrathful God.<\/p>\n

\nI never told Mrs. Crist about seeing her that day, not even decades later, when I finally began calling her Judy. If we were friends by then, even quite good friends, it remained a curious kind of friendship; not so much because it was across generations, or even that it started with so decisive a power imbalance, but because given the size of her personality it was so much on her terms. As one of her favored former students, I was the recipient of her largesse, and she expected nothing in return. Indeed, she took an interest in my well-being, personal and professional, that was nearly maternal\u2014if one happened to have for a mother a brassy, sardonic, chain-smoking, no-nonsense broad who palled around with movie royalty.<\/p>\n

\n

\"\"<\/a>

Baby Sadie Stein with Mrs. Crist, Woodstock<\/p><\/div>In my twenties, she and her husband Bill\u2014a PR executive as calm and soft-spoken as she was ebullient, her support system in a strong, ahead-of-its-time marriage\u2014occasionally invited me for weekends at their place in Woodstock. The house was a geodesic dome\u2014no staircases, just ramps, like the Guggenheim\u2014and the weekends always involved friends of decades\u2019 standing, great food, and three or four movies. But it eventually hit me that a large part of the point, from Judy\u2019s perspective, was the chance to look over whatever woman I was seeing, and in a couple of cases I got the message that she was less than pleased. But she was delighted by the one I finally married\u2014and, in fact, our daughter\u2019s first outing, at three weeks, was to Woodstock. \u201cI can\u2019t remember what babies drink,\u201d she remarked, not joking, as she opened a refrigerator full of milk.<\/p>\n

\nWhat might have been taken as odd about this is that her own son, Steven, was the light of her life. A working jazz pianist as a teen who\u2019d gone off to Harvard, fell in love with the track, and would end up as publisher of the Racing Form<\/em>, Steven was one of the most strikingly original people I knew, and that weekend, as a new father, I asked Judy how they\u2019d managed to raise a kid so self-assured and utterly indifferent to convention. Seemingly baffled by the question, she said something about his having learned self-sufficiency early by figuring out how to be alone with himself. \u201cAs everyone should.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nI got to know Steven at the Crists\u2019 big annual winter party in their Riverside Drive apartment, where he\u2019d sit at the piano, playing standards, a drink close at hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips, as celebrities drifted from room to room amidst the normal people. There was Al Pacino, over there Jodie Foster, there in the hallway Robert Altman, leaning in close to Milo\u0161 Forman.<\/p>\n

\nThese gatherings continued after Bill died, now dubbed on the invitation \u201cSurvival\u201d parties. The food actually got better, the ten-foot hero of old replaced by a catered spread. But as Judy moved into her late seventies and eighties, they were also a measure of her diminished professional status, as the number of luminaries dwindled to a precious few.<\/p>\n

\nAt the last one, a year ago, I believe the only notable on hand (and then, only by stretching the definition arguably beyond the breaking point) was the venerable character actress Sylvia Miles, in garish makeup and fright wig hair that called to mind Fellini\u2019s Satyricon<\/em>. Passing by, I overheard her throatily berating another guest for her appalling ignorance of the fact that \u201cI was nominated for the Oscar! Twice!!!\u201d At one point I thought I recognized Max von Sydow, tall, stooped, an expression of depthless melancholy on his long Scandinavian face, but it turned out to be just a longtime neighbor in the building.<\/p>\n

\nIndeed, with most present well past retirement age and many navigating the apartment in super slow motion, there might well have seemed a Sunset Boulevard<\/em> quality to the scene, but for the woman at its center. Approaching ninety and clearly unwell, Judy was a spectral figure, down to under a hundred pounds. Yet she was still teaching\u2014her classes were presumably made up of kids who had only the remotest notion of who she was\u2014and was otherwise unalterably herself. As my wife and I approached to say good night, Mrs. Crist was surrounded by friends, telling how she came by her lifelong allegiance to baseball\u2019s Giants. One long ago afternoon, she was saying, when she was eleven or twelve, she was at the Polo Grounds with a friend, and caught the eye of New York ace Carl Hubbell, who winked and called out \u201cHiya, Sweetie.\u201d \u201cWell, my dear,\u201d she said, gesturing with her cigarette like her old pal Bette Davis, \u201cthat is what devotion is made of!\u201d<\/p>\n

Harry Stein is a veteran journalist and novelist. He is Sadie Stein\u2019s father. <\/em><\/p>\n

[tweetbutton]<\/p>\n

[facebook_ilike]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with me assignments from two very small magazines and a sealed envelope, which I\u2019d been given by Judith Crist, lately my critical-writing professor at Columbia\u2019s School […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":396,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[27],"tags":[8452,79,8450,8453,8449,8447,8448,8451,6031,2462],"class_list":["post-37153","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-in-memoriam","tag-cleopatra","tag-film","tag-film-criticism","tag-jonathan-edwards","tag-journalism-school","tag-judith-crist","tag-mrs-crist","tag-steven-spielberg","tag-the-sound-of-music","tag-woody-allen"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMrs. Crist by Harry Stein<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with\" \/>\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\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Mrs. Crist by Harry Stein\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\" \/>\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=\"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"397\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"223\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Harry Stein\" \/>\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=\"Harry Stein\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"7 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Harry Stein\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/39ee9ae6810ccfcceb40b8734b87748a\"},\"headline\":\"Mrs. Crist\",\"datePublished\":\"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\"},\"wordCount\":1310,\"commentCount\":7,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"Cleopatra\",\"film\",\"film criticism\",\"Jonathan Edwards\",\"journalism school\",\"Judith Crist\",\"Mrs. Crist\",\"Steven Spielberg\",\"The sound of music\",\"Woody Allen\"],\"articleSection\":[\"In Memoriam\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\",\"name\":\"Mrs. Crist by Harry Stein\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00\",\"description\":\"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Mrs. Crist\"}]},{\"@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\/39ee9ae6810ccfcceb40b8734b87748a\",\"name\":\"Harry Stein\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/48bc349810a0f2534222c866eeadc99b593e70d89baee1b1b65170fb63487072?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/48bc349810a0f2534222c866eeadc99b593e70d89baee1b1b65170fb63487072?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Harry Stein\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/hstein\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Mrs. Crist by Harry Stein","description":"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with","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\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Mrs. Crist by Harry Stein","og_description":"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with","og_url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/","og_site_name":"The Paris Review","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","article_published_time":"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00","article_modified_time":"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00","og_image":[{"width":397,"height":223,"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Harry Stein","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@parisreview","twitter_site":"@parisreview","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Harry Stein","Est. reading time":"7 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/"},"author":{"name":"Harry Stein","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/39ee9ae6810ccfcceb40b8734b87748a"},"headline":"Mrs. Crist","datePublished":"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00","dateModified":"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/"},"wordCount":1310,"commentCount":7,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg","keywords":["Cleopatra","film","film criticism","Jonathan Edwards","journalism school","Judith Crist","Mrs. Crist","Steven Spielberg","The sound of music","Woody Allen"],"articleSection":["In Memoriam"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/","name":"Mrs. Crist by Harry Stein","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg","datePublished":"2012-08-16T15:57:47+00:00","dateModified":"2012-08-16T17:26:41+00:00","description":"August 16, 2012 \u2013 In early July, 1971, just out of journalism school, I took off for Paris. My intention was to spend a year or so freelancing. To this end, I carried with","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/judit1-thumb-500x280-50911.jpg"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/08\/16\/mrs-crist\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Mrs. Crist"}]},{"@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\/39ee9ae6810ccfcceb40b8734b87748a","name":"Harry Stein","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/48bc349810a0f2534222c866eeadc99b593e70d89baee1b1b65170fb63487072?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/48bc349810a0f2534222c866eeadc99b593e70d89baee1b1b65170fb63487072?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Harry Stein"},"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/hstein\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37153","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\/396"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=37153"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37153\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":37223,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37153\/revisions\/37223"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=37153"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=37153"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=37153"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}