{"id":69318,"date":"2014-04-04T17:15:46","date_gmt":"2014-04-04T21:15:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=69318"},"modified":"2014-04-04T17:23:42","modified_gmt":"2014-04-04T21:23:42","slug":"what-were-loving-dead-poets-dead-magazines-the-dead-zoo-gang","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/04\/04\/what-were-loving-dead-poets-dead-magazines-the-dead-zoo-gang\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Dead Poets, Dead Magazines, the Dead Zoo Gang"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Truffaud<\/a>

A still from Jean-Pierre L\u00e9aud\u2019s 1958 audition for The 400 Blows<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

In December of 1891, Walt Whitman contracted pneumonia. He was by then a celebrity poet and his deteriorating health had for a long time been media manna. The New York Times<\/i> sent a reporter to Camden in 1888, and updates on Whitman\u2019s health were published continually over the next few years\u2014see 1890\u2019s \u201cWalt Whitman Has a Bad Cold<\/a>.\u201d By 1891, the end was within sight, and the paper published daily dispatches with headlines like \u201cWalt Whitman Slowly Dying<\/a>,\u201d \u201cWalt Whitman Still Lingering<\/a>,\u201d and \u201cWalt Whitman About the Same<\/a>.\u201d Readers were made privy to such personal details as Whitman\u2019s caloric intake (two oysters one day; a mutton chop another), his mindset (\u201che is perfectly rational\u201d), and his doctor\u2019s solemn belief that Whitman would last but a handful of hours more. He died on March 26, 1892. \u2014Zack Newick<\/b><\/p>\n

The best part of The 400 Blows<\/i> is when\u00a0Jean-Pierre L\u00e9aud ad libs<\/a>\u00a0an intake interview at reform school. Over the weekend a friend sent me\u00a0the film test<\/a>\u00a0that got him the part. You can just feel Truffaut’s excitement at having found the child actor who would become his alter ego. The kid is pure heartbreaking charm. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/b><\/p>\n

Every couple of years, I revisit this\u00a0documentary on the late broadcaster Victor Packer<\/a>\u2014hands down, one of the best things I have ever heard on the radio. Packer was, to put it mildly, a man of tremendous energy and varied interests. The portrait that emerges, by the Yiddish Radio Project, is that of an eccentric\u2014but also of another era. It’s twelve minutes very well spent. (Packer, incidentally, is voiced by Christopher Lloyd.) \u2014Sadie Stein<\/b><\/p>\n

In \u201cThe Dead Zoo Gang<\/a>,\u201d a novella-length article published on\u00a0The Atavist<\/i>, Charles Homans tells the story of a group of international thieves known for robbing unlikely targets: taxidermists, antiques dealers, and natural history museums. They steal rhino horns to sell to buyers in Asia, and it\u2019s been the work of law enforcement agents across the world to catch them\u2014a difficult task, mainly because the thieves all seem to hail from an impenetrable subset of an already insular and poorly documented community, the Irish Travellers. Homans\u2019s slow-building depiction of this community fascinates me. The Travellers are Roma-like nomads that exist on the outskirts of Irish society; they move from town to town in their trailers, congregating just once a year for, among other things, wedding celebrations so raucous they spawned a reality series, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding<\/i>. They speak a patois of Irish Gaelic and English and are organized in wildly complicated extended-family groups. And, most important, some of them\u2014patriarchs whose net worth is estimated to be between 275 and 690 million dollars\u2014appear to run scams and criminal activities (to say nothing of the odd legitimate business) on every continent except Antarctica. This a deep rabbit hole, but you won\u2019t regret following it to its conclusion.\u00a0\u2014Tucker Morgan<\/b>\u00a0<\/p>\n

Aspen<\/em>, \u201cthe first three-dimensional magazine,\u201d <\/em>was published irregularly by Phyllis Johnson between 1965 and 1971. Lucky for us, UbuWeb has digitized the entire archive, with work by Marcel Duchamp, John Cage, the Velvet Underground\u2014even films by Robert Rauschenberg and L\u00e1szl\u00f3 Moholy-Nagy. Browse the full collection here<\/a>. \u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong><\/p>\n

Our Spring Revel is next week, so I had to get my suit tailored\u2014a new experience for me. (Another new experience: owning a suit.) As I handed it over to the kind Korean lady who will, God willing, make me look presentable, some lines from Mark Leyner\u2019s Et Tu, Babe<\/i><\/a> sprang to mind, and I had to hold back laughter. \u201cIn 1987,\u201d Leyner writes, \u201cI enrolled in a twelve-step program for people who pistol-whip their tailors. First I had to admit that pistol-whipping my tailor was, in fact, a problem. Today I take life one day at a time. Each day that passes without my having pistol-whipped my tailor is a victory \u2026 a solid step toward recovery.\u201d I very suddenly couldn\u2019t not <\/i>imagine pistol-whipping this lovely Korean woman. I felt like a monster.\u00a0My strain must\u2019ve been visible; she asked if I was okay. I wasn\u2019t. I\u2019m still not. \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/b><\/p>\n

One can only hope that the Police Blotter journalists over at the Brooklyn Paper<\/i><\/a> <\/i>moonlight as noir novelists. Their writing about the \u201cStiletto stabber,\u201d a \u201chigh-heeled femme fatale and her gang of male goons\u201d who stomped all over a man\u2019s face on March 21, is as hardboiled as anything in Elmore Leonard or Dashiell Hammett. The jocularity of \u201cthe dental damage the deadly dame did\u201d undoes any po-faced pretensions. Elsewhere, \u201crapscallions,\u201d \u201cbandits,\u201d\u00a0\u201ccrafty crooks,\u201d \u201cgaloots,\u201d \u201clouts,\u201d and \u201clowlifes\u201d \u201cskedaddle,\u201d \u201cbrandish,\u201d and \u201cscram.\u201d While the language belies the dreadfulness of the deeds\u2014this is real life, after all\u2014article titles like \u201cSands of Crime\u201d and \u201cLoosey Vuitton\u201d suggest that a dash of gallows humor is the best antidote to such a dire beat.\u00a0\u2014Rachel Abramowitz<\/b><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never liked the descriptor experimental<\/i> in front of novel<\/i> or writing<\/i>, but in the case of Sergio Chejfec\u2019s novel My Two Worlds<\/i><\/a>, recommended and lent to me by Justin, it feels correct\u2014Chejfec writes as if he\u2019s testing the weight-bearing limits of normal prose. His narrator, a man a few days shy of his fiftieth birthday, walks through an unfamiliar city in Brazil, looking for a park and having trouble finding it. As he wanders the city in expansive and trailing sentences, his digressions and asides become the story, and the whole notion of storytelling, of using sentences to tell a story, comes under subtle scrutiny. \u2014Anna Heyward<\/b><\/p>\n

Every time I see that film still of Jennifer Connelly shielding her face in Russell Crowe-as-Noah\u2019s chest, as he glares powerfully out at the apocalypse, I want to scream. It feels so indicative of Hollywood fare these days: there are movies about men that are supposed to appeal to men and women; there are movies about women that are designed only to appeal to women. So it is with fiction, too\u2014the notion that there\u2019s \u201cfiction\u201d and “women\u2019s fiction.\u201d Whose fault is it?\u00a0Marketers! Here,\u00a0a primer<\/a>\u00a0on \u201cpinkification.\u201d \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

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

In December of 1891, Walt Whitman contracted pneumonia. He was by then a celebrity poet and his deteriorating health had for a long time been media manna. The New York Times sent a reporter to Camden in 1888, and updates on Whitman\u2019s health were published continually over the next few years\u2014see 1890\u2019s \u201cWalt Whitman Has […]<\/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":[13454,13452,5402,13453,10544,13457,13456,13450,13455,13451,264],"class_list":["post-69318","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-aspen","tag-charles-homans","tag-francois-truffaut","tag-irish-travellers","tag-mark-leyner","tag-pinkification","tag-sergio-chefjec","tag-the-400-blows","tag-the-brooklyn-paper","tag-victor-packer","tag-walt-whitman"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2019re Loving: Dead Poets, Dead Magazines, Dead Zoo Gang<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This week\u2019s staff picks include a documentary on broadcaster Victor Packer, defunct magazine Aspen, and Mark Leyner\u2019s novel \u201cEt Tu, Babe.\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\/2014\/04\/04\/what-were-loving-dead-poets-dead-magazines-the-dead-zoo-gang\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"What We\u2019re Loving: Dead Poets, Dead Magazines, the Dead Zoo Gang by The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"April 4, 2014 \u2013 In December of 1891, Walt Whitman contracted pneumonia. 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