{"id":71396,"date":"2014-05-16T18:38:36","date_gmt":"2014-05-16T22:38:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=71396"},"modified":"2014-05-17T10:25:57","modified_gmt":"2014-05-17T14:25:57","slug":"what-were-loving-antrim-glynn-a-massive-sugar-woman","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/05\/16\/what-were-loving-antrim-glynn-a-massive-sugar-woman\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Antrim, Glynn, a Massive Sugar-Woman"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"brooklyn-street-art-kara-walker-jaime-rojo-creative-time-domino-sugar-05-14-web-131\"<\/a>

Kara Walker, A Subtlety<\/i><\/p><\/div>\n

In the last few years one of my favorite novelists, Donald Antrim, has devoted himself to short stories\u2014not as finger exercises, but with a combined intensity, delicacy, and feeling for tradition that set him apart from any writer of his generation. This morning I finished the galleys of his long-awaited collection, The Emerald Light in the Air<\/em><\/a>, and immediately started reading them again. What is it about Antrim?\u00a0He writes as if prose were his native language: his sentences have the matter-of-fact pathos and absurdity of dreams. Also, they are often very funny:\u00a0\u201cAn Actor Prepares\u201d remains, after fifteen years, one of the funniest short stories I have ever read.\u00a0Nowadays the comedy is quieter and darker, with protagonists who struggle to remain within the ranks of the worried well. It\u2019s all up-to-the-minute (you could write a paper about the evolution of cell phones in Antrim\u2019s work), but\u00a0his themes are the Chekhovian classics\u2014ambivalence toward the life at hand; yearning for the life that might have been\u2014and he evokes unhappy love with a sensuousness and a subtle, plausible magic that recall Cheever at his best. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

Go see Kara Walker\u2019s massive installation, \u201cA Subtlety,\u201d at the doomed Domino Sugar Factory. The space was once a warehouse for unrefined sugar that arrived from the Caribbean. Now, the air is sticky with molasses; it drips from the ceiling, staining the floor and the factory\u2019s newest resident, a thirty-five-foot sugar-woman in sphinx form, naked but for a headscarf and some earrings. She presides over thirteen boys of molasses and resin who labor on the concrete. And she watches, and whatever she\u2019s watching seems not in this room, seems elsewhere, ahead and behind and beside us. \u2014Zack Newick<\/strong><\/p>\n

Since the death of Thomas Glynn earlier this month, I\u2019ve gone down a rabbit hole of sorts: I\u2019ve tried to locate many of the author\u2019s obscure works, including an 1,800-page unpublished manuscript<\/a> on the first 150 years of the Dannemora prison, a much shorter history of New York State, an array of short stories, and the occasional essay (don\u2019t miss this great 1975 profile of Frank Zappa<\/a> from Modern Hi-Fi & Music<\/em>). Glynn self-published A Child\u2019s Christmas in Chicago<\/a><\/em> in 2002, and while the title may come across as more sentimental than most of Glynn\u2019s oeuvre, think twice after reading the novel\u2019s opening line: \u201cHey, it\u2019s Christmas for Christ\u2019s sake.\u201d With a touch of the raconteur Jean Shepherd and the voice of a young Gulley Jimson, the story is a mix of oddball characters, whimsy, and the kind of heartbreak that only the Christmas season can bring. \u2014Justin Alvarez<\/strong><\/p>\n

It can be a real relief to read something that isn\u2019t stylized, or even something badly written, after reading Proust, which I have been doing on and off this week. In his excellent essay on volume three of Knausgaard\u2019s My Struggle<\/em> series<\/a>, Ben Lerner celebrates Knausgaard\u2019s unquotability and his sloppiness. Moreover, Lerner provides the best answer I\u2019ve yet read on what Knausgaard\u2019s writing does to us, and why we\u2019re so obsessed with it, why \u201cwe can read it compulsively while being uncertain if it\u2019s good.\u201d \u2014Anna Heyward
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

I caught a midnight showing of Godzilla <\/em>last night at the newly-renovated-and-reopened movie theater of my childhood. It must say something that I found Godzilla\u2019s plight and his sad, sometimes bewildered facial expressions more moving than those of the actual people in the film. But maybe I was projecting\u2014perhaps because I was revisiting my youth, I had on my mind an old favorite, Ray Bradbury\u2019s story \u201cThe Fog Horn,\u201d about a lonely creature, the last of its kind, summoned from the depths of the ocean by the low call of a foghorn echoing across the sea. Bradbury is not afraid of real sentiment, which can make his stories feel hokey and dated. It\u2019s also a trait I admire deeply in his writing. Godzilla<\/em> wasn\u2019t bad, really, but I found myself wishing it were a bit more hokey, a bit less self-serious. I guess that era, like Godzilla\u2019s, like Bradbury\u2019s, like the creature\u2019s in \u201cThe Fog Horn,\u201d is gone. \u2014Tucker Morgan<\/strong><\/p>\n

Yesterday brought the ridiculous news that Jonathan Safran Foer has arranged to print original writing on bags and cups in Chipotle stores. Malcolm Gladwell, Toni Morrison, Michael Lewis, and George Saunders have all contributed pieces to the series, which Chipotle calls, with unbearable pretension, \u201cCultivating Thought.\u201d Safran Foer has framed this as a kind of public service, though whether consumers want a side of A-list pap with their burritos remains to be seen. The critics, I\u2019m sure, are sharpening their knives at this very moment. James Camp has already set the tone in a delightfully sharp piece for The Guardian<\/em><\/a>: \u201cCultivating Thought,\u201d he writes, makes the galling assumption that we don\u2019t have enough to read. \u201cIt transforms writing from a main event into an accompaniment. James Joyce once told an interviewer: \u2018The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole life to my works.\u2019 Joyce didn\u2019t want readers. He wanted hostages. His books aspired to replace the universe. Safran Foer and his collaborators ask only the devotion that is compatible with digestion. At the Chipotle on 42nd Street in New York, the cups and bags had yet to arrive. The public library stood a hundred feet away. Its security guard assured me I wouldn\u2019t be able to take a burrito inside.\u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In the last few years one of my favorite novelists, Donald Antrim, has devoted himself to short stories\u2014not as finger exercises, but with a combined intensity, delicacy, and feeling for tradition that set him apart from any writer of his generation. This morning I finished the galleys of his long-awaited collection, The Emerald Light 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":[3263,13945,3412,13944,13946,10425,5029,13824],"class_list":["post-71396","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-ben-lerner","tag-chipotle","tag-donald-antrim","tag-godzilla","tag-james-camp","tag-kara-walker","tag-ray-bradbury","tag-thomas-glynn"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2019re Loving: Antrim, Glynn, a Massive Sugar-Woman<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This week\u2019s staff picks, including Donald Antrim\u2019s \u201cThe Emerald Light in the Air,\u201d Kara Walker\u2019s \u201cA Subtlety,\u201d and the new version of \u201cGodzilla.\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, 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