{"id":56797,"date":"2013-07-26T13:32:08","date_gmt":"2013-07-26T17:32:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=56797"},"modified":"2013-08-30T15:03:51","modified_gmt":"2013-08-30T19:03:51","slug":"what-were-loving-oology-impostors-sweden","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2013\/07\/26\/what-were-loving-oology-impostors-sweden\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Oology, Impostors, Sweden"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Lord<\/a>

Lord Walter Rothschild, founder of England\u2019s Natural History Museum at Tring, home of the world\u2019s largest bird-egg collection.<\/p><\/div>\n

Julian Rubinstein\u2019s \u201cOperation Easter<\/a>,\u201d in last week\u2019s New Yorker<\/em>, has been my breakfast reading and dinner conversation most of this week. Concerned with the obsession for collecting birds\u2019 eggs\u2014a mania that dates back almost to the mid-nineteenth century\u2014the article relates lurid tales of collectors falling off cliffs in pursuit of nests, hiding amassed collections in secret compartments in their beds, and donning guises to steal eggs from a museum (the party in question pinched ten thousand eggs in some three years). When investigators from the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds apprehend a suspect in his apartment, the man tells them, \u201cThank God you\u2019ve come \u2026 I can\u2019t stop.\u201d With investigators jumping into cars, busting down doors, and engaging in two-day island-wide manhunts, this article reads more than a little like a thriller. I\u2019d love to see Gary Oldman in a starring role when it hits the big screen. \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

I can’t help seconding Sadie’s recommendation<\/a> of In Love<\/em><\/a>, a novella by Alfred Hayes that has just been reissued by New York Review Classics. The story of a casual love affair that becomes serious as soon it starts to fall apart, In Love<\/em> harks back to a classic French tradition—what you might call the Novel of Disillusionment—perfected over a century by Constant, Flaubert, Turgenev, and Proust, among others. At the same time, in its use of one-sided dialogue, its film noir sensibility, and its evocation of New York life, this 1953 masterpiece also seems utterly modern—a culmination and a book utterly at home in its moment. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

This month I had a particularly blue moment. I returned to an old favorite, Toni Morrison\u2019s The Bluest Eye <\/em><\/a>, and then immediately afterward read Maggie Nelson\u2019s Bluets<\/em><\/a>, a book that had been recommended to me several times by fellow students and professors alike. It would be difficult for me to state, with confidence, what exactly Bluets<\/em> is about. The book-length essay is written in vignettes, each numbered and varying in length. Nelson begins with a captivating proposition: \u201cSuppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color.\u201d Something that began as \u201c[a]n appreciation, an affinity\u201d became something \u201cmore serious\u201d and then \u201cit became somehow personal.\u201d I drifted easily into Nelson\u2019s world of blue, in which she seamlessly strings together personal narratives, quotes, and facts, each poignant sketch its own bluish jewel. \u2014Jo Stewart<\/strong> <\/p>\n

A German who spent almost thirty years in the United States under false documentation\u2013and managed to convince others he was a Rockefeller, while he was at it. A young man who conned half of New York into believing that he was Sidney Poitier\u2019s abandoned son. And, of course, Ferdinand Demara, \u201cthe Great Impostor,\u201d whose most spectacular feat of impersonation was masquerading as a trauma surgeon on a naval destroyer during the Korean War, being called upon to operate on fatally wounded men, speed-reading a medical textbook, and saving the lives of all those under his knife. I stumbled upon the stories of these and other pretenders on this engrossing Time<\/em> list<\/a> of \u201cTop 10 Impostors\u201d while reading about Darius McCollum, the autism-spectrum transit junkie whose love for trains, subways, and buses has put him behind bars for eighteen of his forty-eight years. McCollum hit the news yet again this week, first<\/a> for an incarceration sentencing for a 2010 offense of impersonating a Trailways coach driver and taking a load of passengers from Manhattan to JFK Airport, and again<\/a> the next day for the the news that he may have the chance to enter a rehabilitation program instead of serving more time. \u2014Clare Fentress<\/strong><\/p>\n

This week, deep down the constellation of rabbit-holes opened up by a fact-checking endeavor, I found myself thoroughly enjoying an interview with Truman Capote. Though not technically a Paris Review<\/em> interview\u2014it was published in the New York Times<\/em> in 1966, but conducted by our own George Plimpton\u2014the piece contains the Review<\/em>\u2019s signature m\u00e9lange of considerations of literary craft and form and indulgences in the interviewee\u2019s idiosyncrasies. My favorite moment concerns an alleged transformation of Capote\u2019s style, elicited by his lengthy stay in Kansas while working on In Cold Blood<\/em>. Capote reveals, among other things, what appears to be an immense distaste for detachable collars. Read the full interview here<\/a>. \u2014Kate Rouhandeh<\/strong><\/p>\n

One of the key elements of Frederick Law Olmsted’s landscape design was the lack of right angle intersections. Besides safety precautions (with curving streets, you were able to see further ahead), Olmsted’s avoidance created more of, what he termed, private land with a public function. For Olmsted, as geographer Anne Mosher writes in her comprehensive Capital’s Utopia<\/em><\/a>, “there existed in nature aesthetic and re-creative qualities that could counter the psychologically harmful aspects of city life.” This aesthetic was desirable to early planned communities, many funded by corporations (see Riverside, Illinois, and Vandergrift, Pennsylvania), the perfect compromise between private and public, between domesticity and community, and between city and country. \u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong><\/p>\n

This summer, I\u2019ve been planning my trip to Sweden. Its improbability hasn\u2019t prevented me from cooking, reading, and watching all things Swedish. Henning Mankell<\/a>\u2019s Wallander<\/em>, a police drama based in Ystad, is one way I get my Swedish fix. Krister Henriksson plays the weathered inspector Kurt Wallander, who lives by the sea with his dog, listens to classical records, and solves murders. The show is beautifully filmed and written; whether you are a fan of detective shows or just looking for a high-quality television addiction, consider it highly recommended. \u2014Emily Belshaw<\/strong><\/p>\n

Way back in Electric Literature’s Recommended Reading archive, Seth Fried’s “The Adventure of the Space Traveler<\/a>” has one foot in metaphor, and the other in suspicious realism. The narrator, Arnold Barington, gets catapulted into the universe’s expanse after a failed attempt to fix a communications disk at the Triumph I space station. He survives on green crackers and nutritional pink fluid (“with an aftertaste of grapefruit juice”) that are attached to the inside of his spacesuit. He recites Auden and daydreams about a Hollywood actress back on Earth. His loneliness, vast as space itself, seems to have been equally as vast even before he was yanked away (by the universe?) from all human contact. As his daydreams (interesting word choice, considering there’s no “day”) eclipse reality, one has to ask, if one’s reality is composed entirely of dreams, then is it, in fact, reality? Is reality even a valid concept outside of Earth? Is it the only concept outside of Earth? \u2014Nikkitha Bakshani<\/strong><\/p>\n

Last night, I attended Drinks to Die For<\/a>, the joint effort of the Brooklyn Historical Society and Green-Wood Cemetery to turn the historic cemetery into a beer garden. We sat on the steps of a mausoleum. We contemplated epitaphs. We went for a stroll, occasionally happening upon other meanderers holding their own Brooklyn Lagers. No words were exchanged, but our eyes would meet as if to say, \u201cI see you are also drinking beer in a cemetery.\u201d Don\u2019t miss the last such evening of the summer, on August 22. \u2014Valerie Slaughter<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

Julian Rubinstein\u2019s \u201cOperation Easter,\u201d in last week\u2019s New Yorker, has been my breakfast reading and dinner conversation most of this week. Concerned with the obsession for collecting birds\u2019 eggs\u2014a mania that dates back almost to the mid-nineteenth century\u2014the article relates lurid tales of collectors falling off cliffs in pursuit of nests, hiding amassed collections in […]<\/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":[11475,14,1132,11473,4882,2982,2705,11474],"class_list":["post-56797","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-darius-mccollum","tag-george-plimpton","tag-interviews","tag-julian-rubinstein","tag-new-yorker","tag-sweden","tag-truman-capote","tag-wallander"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2019re Loving: Oology, Impostors, Sweden by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"July 26, 2013 \u2013 Julian Rubinstein\u2019s \u201cOperation Easter,\u201d in last week\u2019s New Yorker, has been my breakfast reading and dinner conversation most of this week. 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