{"id":60357,"date":"2013-09-20T12:21:22","date_gmt":"2013-09-20T16:21:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=60357"},"modified":"2013-09-20T20:14:57","modified_gmt":"2013-09-21T00:14:57","slug":"what-were-loving-ya-sci-fi-street-art-and-zweig","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2013\/09\/20\/what-were-loving-ya-sci-fi-street-art-and-zweig\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: YA, Sci-Fi, Street Art, and Zweig"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

Galvanized by the interview with Ursula Le Guin in our current issue<\/a>, and recalling my love for her first three Earthsea books, I\u2019ve embarked upon the second set in the series, which she began nearly two decades after the original trio. The long stories in Tales from Earthsea<\/i><\/a>\u00a0have been keeping me company late at night, the perfect companion for my recent bouts of insomnia. Though they function as back stories for characters and events in the earlier books, they\u2019re also highly enjoyable as standalone narratives. What the best fantasy does\u2014and what Le Guin does in spades\u2014is give the impression that even when the book stops, the world inside its pages continues to exist beyond the bounds of the author\u2019s invention. Upon her return to writing about Earthsea, Le Guin herself found that to be true: \u201cWhat I thought was going to happen isn\u2019t what\u2019s happening, people aren\u2019t who\u2014or what\u2014I thought they were, and I lose my way on islands thought I knew by heart.” \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

After Sadie wrote about The Disaster Artist<\/em><\/a> last week, I couldn\u2019t help but pick up the book myself. I had seen The Room<\/em> years ago\u2014and the film\u2019s as inexplicable as you’ve heard—but I was captivated by the unlikely bromance between a struggling actor and an enigmatic filmmaker at the core of the story. Yes, there are plenty of hilarious making-of stories, but it’s a sincere portrait of the rewards and peril of having an artistic vision you\u2019re 100 percent committed to expressing. For the uninitiated: check out the book trailer here<\/a>. \u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong><\/p>\n

Blek le Rat\u2019s solo exhibition \u201cIgnorance Is Bliss<\/a>\u201d lured me to the Jonathan LeVine Gallery this week, and his stenciled canvases have since been burned into my retinas. In these large, often monochromatic images, strewn with thick swashes of black, the viewer sees such forms as the oracle Sibyl from Greek antiquity, via appropriation of Michelangelo\u2019s Libyan Sibyl<\/i>. Grace permeates the canvas; Blek subverts this with a skull tattoo on Sibyl\u2019s arm. In a six-foot canvas we see several children playing tug-of-war with one of his iconic rats. On a nearby pedestal is Blek\u2019s first work in sculpture, a small bronze statue of David holding a Kalashnikov while a rat gazes up from below. Seeing the culmination of thirty years of the Parisian-born street artist\u2019s work, we experience both its sociopolitical resolve and the familiarity of his tightly controlled spray-paint forms; he innovated stencils and rats, and others took cues from him, or, indeed, lifted his entire style. For those who know street art through Banksy, here\u2019s what the famously elusive artist allegedly said of Blek: \u201cEvery time I think I\u2019ve painted something slightly original, I find out that Blek le Rat has done it as well, only twenty years earlier.\u201d And should you notice a stenciled Andy Warhol or a gas mask surrounded by rats on a wall in Brooklyn, that too, was Blek. \u2014Adam Winters<\/strong><\/p>\n

Long before I went to work at Jezebel, I was a devoted fan of Lizzie Skurnick\u2019s late, lamented \u201cFine Lines\u201d column, in which she paid tribute to unjustly forgotten YA classics. So, like many people, I was thrilled when I heard about Lizzie Skurnick Books<\/a>, an imprint devoted to just these titles. The series kicks off with a bang: the great Lois Duncan\u2019s 1958 Debutante Hill<\/em>. The book, Duncan\u2019s first, is a classic coming-of-age page-turner with a protagonist you root for. But like all her fiction, it deals with real issues of class, social consciousness, and growing up with seriousness and sensitivity, and is as fresh and engaging today as it was upon its publication. But then, that is what Skurnick has always understood about these books: at their best, they are<\/em> literature in the true sense of the word, and by no means only for young readers. (Although it\u2019s exciting to think of a new generation discovering them.) \u2014Sadie Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

Since the current issue of The Paris Review<\/i> features an excerpt from Jonathan Franzen\u2019s upcoming translation of Karl Kraus, I figured it would be thematically appropriate to tout Stefan Zweig\u2019s autobiography, The World of Yesterday<\/i><\/a>. (A shame, incidentally, about that title translation. In English, it sounds a little too much like a depressing expo installation; the book\u2019s elegiac tone is more successfully rendered in the German original, Die Welt von Gestern<\/i>.) As Kraus\u2019s contemporary, Zweig\u2019s memoir is useful reading for anyone interested in the social milieu of fin de si\u00e8cle Vienna, and the precipitous decline of the Hapsburg Empire. Zweig\u2019s dewy-eyed recollection of the prewar years in Vienna, not to mention his gushing description of boy wonder Hugo von Hofmannsthal, also provide a nice counterbalance to the eternally acerbic Kraus.\u00a0\u2014Fritz Huber<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

Galvanized by the interview with Ursula Le Guin in our current issue, and recalling my love for her first three Earthsea books, I\u2019ve embarked upon the second set in the series, which she began nearly two decades after the original trio. 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