{"id":70033,"date":"2014-04-18T18:53:38","date_gmt":"2014-04-18T22:53:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=70033"},"modified":"2014-04-21T15:04:25","modified_gmt":"2014-04-21T19:04:25","slug":"what-were-loving-good-friday-riffs-your-new-white-hair","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/04\/18\/what-were-loving-good-friday-riffs-your-new-white-hair\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Good Friday Riffs, Your New White Hair"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Samuel<\/a>

Samuel Johnson\u2019s portrait by James Barry.<\/p><\/div>\n

It took me twenty-five years to read Jane Eyre<\/i><\/a>. The first twenty-four and three quarters were tough going\u2014I almost never made it past the death of the annoying Christian schoolmate. Rochester drove me up the wall; so did passive-aggressive Jane. Then a couple of months ago a friend gave me a beat-up old pocketbook edition. This time it took. When I realized a couple of pages were missing, I read them on my phone. When the paperback got lost in the coatroom at Caf\u00e9 Loup, I started taking my iPad to bed (a reluctant first). When the same friend presented me with a Folio edition giveaway, weighing sixteen pounds (with regrettable illustrations), I took it everywhere, in case I had half an hour alone. I was warned that things go downhill after you-know-who appears in the night and tears Jane\u2019s you-know-what. Not for me. The weirder the subplot, the more Jane tightened her grip. What had changed? Maybe certain writers\u2014Norman Rush, Defoe, Dickens, Melville, Hawthorne\u2014or maybe just reading in general had taught me that dialogue can come in weird shapes, not just tit-for-tat, and that soliloquies can happen on the page. Maybe I\u2019ve just gotten to know more women, like Jane, who live at war with themselves, and maybe the freakiness of wanting and hating to be bossed around makes more sense to me now. The whole time, I kept thinking, So many girls read this when they\u2019re kids\u2014and get it. How could it take so long to catch up? \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

Reading a\u00a0L\u00e1szl\u00f3 Krasznahorkai novel is a major commitment, and the kind I\u2019m willing to make, but I haven\u2019t had the time lately to devote myself to it. I\u2019ve made do with\u00a0the\u00a0London Review of Books<\/em>\u2019 recent\u00a0story \u201cThere Goes Valzer<\/a>.\u201d A man named R\u00f3bert Valzer who likes walking (\u201cnot that I have anything do to with the famous Robert Walser\u201d) takes an aimless stroll on the Day of the Dead in his La Sportiva boots, through cemeteries and out to the edge of town. Because of its brevity and\u00a0relatively short sentences, the story offers an opportunity to better appreciate Krasznahorkai\u2019s sly humor, often camouflaged by his melancholic themes. Not that there isn\u2019t disillusionment here, but it\u2019s tempered by a ready absurdity:\u00a0\u201cI hate Michaelmas daisies and, I must confess, I am not too keen on people either, in fact you might say I hate people too, or, better still, that I hate people as much as I hate Michaelmas daisies and that is simply because every time I see Michaelmas daisies they remind me of people rather than of Michaelmas daisies, and every time I see people I always think of Michaelmas daisies not of people.\u201d (Yes, that is<\/em> a short sentence\u2014for Krasznahorkai.) \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

This unending winter\u2014and the moods that have come with it\u2014has reminded many Americans, brutally, of the effect the environment has on our psyches. It\u2019s a theme I haven’t encountered in a work of American fiction in recent memory, though I wonder, with our rapidly changing earth, if we\u2019ll begin to see it reflected more in our country’s creative output. The seasons and their regularities, their whims have figured prominently in Japanese art for many centuries, though, and Takashi Hiraide’s The Guest Cat<\/em>, recently translated by Eric Selland, is a new cornerstone in this tradition. A short novel about little more than the comings and goings of a neighborhood cat around the grounds and home of a childless couple, the swells and lags in the emotional narrative of the book are propelled by a rising temperature, a blooming flower, a drooping tree. It\u2019s reassuring to feel that perhaps a close tie between one’s mental state and the weather may be, in fact, quite natural. \u2014Clare Fentress<\/strong><\/p>\n

Boswell\u2019s The Life of Samuel Johnson<\/i><\/a> is a bit like Nigel Slater\u2019s Kitchen Diaries<\/em>: there\u2019s an entry for almost every season, holiday, or time of the year. Reading Boswell\u2019s Life<\/em>, it\u2019s hard not to think of it at times as a practical joke; Boswell\u2019s silliness is the great enigma of this book. Just to see what he would say, Boswell would ask Johnson questions like \u201cWhat would you do if you were locked in a tower with a newborn baby<\/a>?\u201d The entry for Good Friday, 1778, contains so much: a discussion of literary aestheticism and didacticism, of the usefulness that literature can have to society, of the etiquette of making small talk. And it\u2019s full of the usual yuks from the Boswell-Johnson buddy act:<\/p>\n

Johnson: \u201cSir, it would<\/em> have been better that I had been of a profession. I ought to have been a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Boswell: \u201cI do not think, Sir, it would have been better, for we should not have had the English dictionary.\u201d<\/p>\n

Johnson: \u201cBut you would have had reports.\u201d \u2014Anna Heyward
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

I remember the first time I watched The Shining<\/em>. My hands covered my eyes through half of the film: I saw a flash of room 237, a rotting corpse embracing Jack Nicholson, a flood of blood. \u201cHere\u2019s Johnny!\u201d echoed through my basement. While I didn\u2019t fully comprehend Kubrick\u2019s handiwork at the time, I recognized there was more to the film than its horror\/ghost story surface would have you believe. The Native American burial ground (genocide?); the furniture appearing and disappearing (ghosts, madness?); the photo of the July 4th Ball that closes the film (American imperialism?). What a relief it was to watch Rodney Ascher\u2019s documentary Room 237<\/em> and realize I was not alone! It\u2019s easy to dismiss many of the ideas here as over-analysis or conspiracy theories\u2014watching the film forward and backward at the same time is my favorite. One theory contends that Kubrick directed the Apollo 11 moon landing. But there\u2019s something beautiful in a documentary about people going crazy over a film about people going crazy. I think the documentary\u2019s assistant editor, Gordon Stainforth, sufficiently got across my thoughts on the film: \u201cThe sum of what we learn refuses to add up neatly.\u201d \u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the wake of this week\u2019s ferry accident in South Korea\u2014an accident that\u2019s offering no end of\u00a0tragedy<\/a>\u2014I came across a harrowing article on the\u00a0foundering of the\u00a0Estonia<\/em><\/a>\u00a0in September 1994. Proceed with caution\u2014it\u2019s almost mathematical in its recounting of the chaos and disorientation of maritime disaster: \u201cSurvival that night was a very tight race, and savagely simple. People who started early and moved fast had some chance of winning. People who started late or hesitated for any reason had no chance at all. Action paid. Contemplation did not.\u201d \u2014Stephen Hiltner<\/strong><\/p>\n

I recently had a dream where all my friends had gone gray. They weren\u2019t any different besides that, though everybody was behaving a bit differently, or trying to figure out if they were supposed to behave differently. I think I dreamed this because I read Eileen Myles\u2019s poem \u201cPeanut Butter<\/a>\u201d a year ago, where she writes, \u201cI\u2019m immoderately in love with you, knocked out by your new white hair.\u201d I saved that line in a notebook I just filled, so I saw it again and read the poem again. I still like it, but I\u2019m inaugurating my new one with \u201cDuring my life I was a woman with hazel eyes,\u201d because it\u2019s weird, and I\u2019ll want it again next winter. \u2014Zack Newick<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

It took me twenty-five years to read Jane Eyre. The first twenty-four and three quarters were tough going\u2014I almost never made it past the death of the annoying Christian schoolmate. Rochester drove me up the wall; so did passive-aggressive Jane. Then a couple of months ago a friend gave me a beat-up old pocketbook edition. […]<\/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":[13606,4217,5365,2998,9800,13607,4542,13608,4111],"class_list":["post-70033","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-boswell","tag-charlotte-bronte","tag-eileen-myles","tag-jane-eyre","tag-laszlo-krasznahorkai","tag-room-237","tag-samuel-johnson","tag-the-estonia","tag-the-shining"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2018re Loving: Good Friday Riffs, Your New White Hair<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This week\u2019s staff picks, including \u201cJane Eyre,\u201d L\u00e1szl\u00f3 Krasznahorkai, and Eileen Myles\u2019s poem \u201cPeanut Butter.\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\/18\/what-were-loving-good-friday-riffs-your-new-white-hair\/\" \/>\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: Good Friday Riffs, Your New White Hair by The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"April 18, 2014 \u2013 It took me twenty-five years to read Jane Eyre. 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