{"id":48460,"date":"2013-03-15T11:15:57","date_gmt":"2013-03-15T15:15:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=48460"},"modified":"2013-03-15T11:17:26","modified_gmt":"2013-03-15T15:17:26","slug":"what-were-loving-porto-pim-montana-cat-pianos","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2013\/03\/15\/what-were-loving-porto-pim-montana-cat-pianos\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Porto Pim, Montana, Cat Pianos"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Cat1.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-48487\" alt=\"Cat1\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Cat1.jpg\" width=\"600\" height=\"341\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Cat1.jpg 600w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Cat1-300x170.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>I am currently in Missoula, attending a conference at the University of Montana. At a welcome reception last night (in which we were treated to, among other things, some delicious bison meatballs), one title kept cropping up in conversation: John Williams\u2019s <a href=\"http:\/\/www.indiebound.org\/book\/9781590171998?aff=theparisreview\" target=\"_blank\"><em>Stoner<\/em><\/a>. Why has this 1965 novel of loneliness and small lives acquired such a cult following? As one professor put it,\u00a0\u201cIt captures academia perfectly.\u201d (And since it\u2019s one of my favorites, I felt at home right away.)\u00a0<strong>\u2014Sadie O. Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Thank you to John Glassie and <a href=\"http:\/\/writersnoonereads.tumblr.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">Writers No One Reads<\/a> for highlighting\u00a0<a href=\"http:\/\/writersnoonereads.tumblr.com\/post\/44720698653\/this-guest-post-by-john-glassie-is-partially\" target=\"_blank\">Athanasius Kircher<\/a>, the seventeeth-century Jesuit priest and polymath who gives a whole new definition to \u201cRenaissance man\u201d: author, inventor, curator, Mount Vesuvius climber. While most of his ideas\u2014covering more than seven million words, in Latin\u2014are dead wrong (universal sperm, the hollowness of mountains), his poetic \u201ctranslations\u201d of Egyptian hieroglyphic inscriptions are masterpieces of expression. On a section of an Egyptian obelisk now in Rome\u2019s Piazza della Minerva, Kircher wrote:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>Supreme spirit and archetype infuses its virtue and gifts in the soul of the sidereal world, that is the solar spirit subject to it, from whence comes the vital motion in the material or elemental world, and abundance of all things and variety of species arises.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>Unfortunately, he only wrote one book of fiction (1656\u2019s <em>Ecstatic Journey<\/em>), and while most of his work is long forgotten, he was an influence on such writers and artists as Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne, and Marcel Duchamp. Not bad for someone who invented an instrument called the cat piano. <strong>\u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong> <!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Archipelago Books\u2019s forthcoming edition of Antonio Tabucchi\u2019s\u00a0<a href=\"http:\/\/www.indiebound.org\/book\/9781935744740?aff=theparisreview\" target=\"_blank\"><em>The Woman of Porto Pim<\/em><\/a>\u00a0is a pocket-size volume into which a mystical and incomplete landscape has been fit. Not incomplete because of any fault of the author (nor of the translator, Tim Parks, whose fiction appeared in our <a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/back-issues\/203\">Winter issue<\/a>); these are tales of exploration, elusive whales, unknown islands. The line between fact and fiction undulates erratically, leaving the reader without much of a compass. The narrator warns as much in the book\u2019s introduction: \u201cI won\u2019t rule out my having altered it with the kind of additions and motives typical of one who believes he can draw out the sense of a life just by telling its story.\u201d\u00a0<strong>\u2014Clare Fentress<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>In the back of the new collection of Crockett Johnson\u2019s <a title=\"Fantagraphics | Barnaby\" href=\"http:\/\/www.fantagraphics.com\/browse-shop\/barnaby-vol.-1.html\" target=\"_blank\"><em>Barnaby<\/em><\/a> (if you aren\u2019t familiar with the strip, Johnson is also the author of the children\u2019s classic <em>Harold and the Purple Crayon<\/em>), I discovered a \u201cmash note\u201d written by Dorothy Parker in lieu of a review of <em>Barnaby<\/em>. I couldn\u2019t give a better recommendation than she does, declaring it \u201cthe most important contribution to American arts and letters in Lord knows how many years.\u201d And then there\u2019s her admonition to buy the book, which I second (it\u2019s advice that applies equally well to all books): \u201cI can only say <em>Barnaby<\/em>, the book, costs $2. If you have $5, save out three for the landlord and spend the remainder to feed you soul.\u201d <strong>\u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Recently, someone asked me who my favorite writers are. I listed a few, and we both went silent, realizing the same thing: there were a lot of Old White Men in there. Such people are looked on with some mistrust, at least in the corner of the world where I went to university. (I recently recommended <em>Ragtime<\/em>\u00a0to a friend of mine who dances, and she sounded enthralled. \u201cYou can borrow it,\u201d I said. \u201cThanks,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I\u2019m not reading any white men this year.\u201d)\u00a0I understand: they\u2019ve had their turn.\u00a0And yet, there will always be a place for Old White Men in my personal canon. (I realize this defense may seem unnecessary, given that their position in the world is still pretty comfortable.) My defense:\u00a0T.&thinsp;S. Eliot reading \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=BCVnuEWXQcg\" target=\"_blank\">The Journey of the Magi<\/a>\u201d; it is simply a gift.\u00a0<strong>\u2014Olivia Walton<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>On the plane to Missoula, I read <a href=\"http:\/\/www.indiebound.org\/book\/9780393307849?aff=theparisreview\" target=\"_blank\">Richard Hugo<\/a>. He captures the barren beauty of the place where he lived and worked for so many years perfectly.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>Tomorrow will open again, the sky wide<br \/> as the mouth of a wild girl, friable<br \/> clouds you lose yourself to.\u00a0 You are lost<br \/> in miles of land without people, without<br \/> one fear of being found, in the dash<br \/> of rabbits, soar of antelope, swirl<br \/> merge and clatter of streams.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p><strong>\u2014S.O.S.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I am currently in Missoula, attending a conference at the University of Montana. At a welcome reception last night (in which we were treated to, among other things, some delicious bison meatballs), one title kept cropping up in conversation: John Williams\u2019s Stoner. Why has this 1965 novel of loneliness and small lives acquired such a [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[10378,9179,10382,131,10381,10380,373,7521,10379,10377,7014],"class_list":["post-48460","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-antonio-tabucchi","tag-athanasius-kircher","tag-barnaby","tag-comics","tag-crockett-johnson","tag-john-glassie","tag-john-williams","tag-richard-hugo","tag-t-s-ejiot","tag-the-woman-of-porto-pim","tag-tim-parks"],"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 We\u2019re Loving: Porto Pim, Montana, Cat Pianos by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"March 15, 2013 \u2013 I am currently in Missoula, attending a conference at the University of Montana. 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