{"id":73566,"date":"2014-07-04T12:15:18","date_gmt":"2014-07-04T16:15:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=73566"},"modified":"2014-07-04T13:10:55","modified_gmt":"2014-07-04T17:10:55","slug":"what-were-loving-procrastination-peacocks-prince","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/07\/04\/what-were-loving-procrastination-peacocks-prince\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Procrastination, Peacocks, Prince"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Phil, a leucistic white peafowl from the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York. Photo via Twitter.<\/p><\/div>\n

It turns out that I was right last week<\/a> (I love it when that happens) about the print version of Nautilus<\/a><\/em>. It\u2019s sharp, well-rounded, and just plain nice to look at. I could recommend any number of articles (such as Slava Gerovitch\u2019s fascinating essay on Russian mathematician Andrei Kolmogorov), but one in particular made an impression: Alisa Opar\u2019s short piece in the Spring 2014 issue on procrastination. I\u2019m writing this, you see, up against the deadline that Dan Piepenbring sets for us each week. I did the same thing last week. Though I spend all week knowing I\u2019ll write a few lines on what I\u2019ve been reading, I wait, without fail, until the very last minute to sit down and write it. That\u2019s because, according to Opar\u2019s article, my\u00a0future self is a stranger. That future version of me is the one who will have to deal with the consequences of my current procrastination (sucker!). Apparently, making a lengthy timeline that ends with me writing this should help me feel connected to my future self. It\u2019s an interesting idea. I\u2019ll get right on it tomorrow. \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

Earlier this week, I took a coffee and a book to the Peace Garden at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, where I found myself joined by a white-feathered peacock; Phil<\/a>, a leucistic peafowl, is apparently a regular there<\/a>. Always followed by his flowing white train, he creates a procession wherever he goes; you couldn\u2019t ask for a more august companion. And with Phil\u2019s distinguished mien in mind, I point to D.\u2009H. Lawrence\u2019s short story \u201cWintry Peacock,\u201d from his 1922 collection England, My England and Other Stories<\/a><\/em>. It tells of secret lovers, purloined correspondence, and a protective peacock named Joey. The narrator finds himself the unwilling mediator of a young English country couple\u2019s marital troubles, a task he meets with equal parts fascination and disgust. As he translates a letter from the husband\u2019s French mistress, he suppresses a gag: \u201cI vaguely realized that I was reading a man\u2019s private correspondence. And yet, how could one consider these trivial, facile French phrases private? Nothing more trite and vulgar in the world than such a love-letter\u2014no newspaper more obvious.\u201d \u2014Chantal McStay<\/strong><\/p>\n

A few weeks ago, I discovered Richard Prince\u2019s Instagram account<\/a>. Prince, for the uninitiated, is the guy who took images of the Marlboro Man from cigarette ads, blew them up, and called them his own work. Then they sold for a bajillion dollars at auction, and he was celebrated as a deity of conceptual appropriationism. His style of appropriation\u2014photographing and re-photographing\u2014is perfectly suited to Instagram. He takes screenshots of posts by celebrities, prints them out on a large scale, takes photos of them with his iPhone, and then reposts them. \u201cIt was like revisiting an older system that I was already familiar with,\u201d he explained in a post on his website, except \u201cthe photo paper was an electronic page, the source material was Google, and the re-photography was a screen-save.\u201d In the past year, he\u2019s posted everything from copies of The Catcher in the Rye <\/em>that credit him as the author to a completely nude ten-year-old Brooke Shields re-photographed from his 1983 work Spiritual America<\/em>. (That got him temporarily banned from the site.) Prince has made room for his experiments in a medium known for food porn and social one-upsmanship\u2014quite a feat.\u00a0\u2014Teddy Lasry<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Pitchfork Review<\/a><\/em>, a new quarterly print counterpart to the music criticism site, may not win many converts\u2014it\u2019s very much \u201con brand,\u201d though Pitchfork\u2019s trademark decimal-point ratings are mercifully absent. Still, even if you\u2019re inclined to write off the site as a hollow tastemaker, give the magazine a look; lavishly designed and thoughtfully composed, it will be of interest to anyone who yearns for the heyday of Spin<\/em>, Rolling Stone<\/em>, Downbeat<\/em>, or The Village Voice<\/em>. Its latest issue boasts a number of excellent diversions\u2014I was particularly impressed with Gary Giddins\u2019s piece on Stanley Kubrick\u2019s scores, and with Lindsay Zoladz\u2019s \u201cGhost Riding: The Story of the Performing Hologram,\u201d which examines the burgeoning use of holography and its curious intersection with hip-hop culture. \u2014Dan Piepenbring <\/strong><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve found me in Coral Springs, Florida, where the last brick-and-mortar bookstore, a Borders, was turned into a Walgreens three years ago. This means the largest bookseller here is Walmart\u2014which has advantages of a sort. In honor of the Fourth, for example, one could purchase a case of Bud, and a bundle of fireworks, and a copy of Rush Revere and the First Patriots: Time Travel Adventures with Exceptional Americans<\/em>, all from one convenient cathedral of commerce. \u2014Andrew Jimenez<\/strong><\/p>\n

Schopenhauer is one of history\u2019s most potent pessimists. According to him, we\u2019re all doomed to live a life of misery: one\u2019s body is a slave to one\u2019s will; one\u2019s will is a slave to desire; and desire is a pit of infinite, insatiable want that urges the will\u2014and the body\u2014forward. As he writes in The World as Will and Representation<\/a><\/em>, \u201call willing<\/em> springs from lack, from deficiency, and thus from suffering.\u201d Sunny. Still, World <\/em>is a cerebral playground\u2014Proust, for instance, was undoubtedly influenced by its metaphysics\u2014and you may not be familiar with its less acerbic passages on art, which is, as Schopenhauer has it, the ultimate antidote: aesthetic contemplation \u201cthrough the rumination of visual art\u201d allows us to achieve a \u201cpure will-less, painless, timeless subject of knowledge.\u201d Perhaps even more interestingly, Schopenhauer was one of the first philosophers to regard music<\/em>, rather than painting, as the highest and most powerful aesthetic form. Ruminate on that! \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Porochista Khakpour\u2019s The Last Illusion<\/a><\/em> is a kind of myth\u2014Khakpour sets the novel in a rural Iranian village, where she tell the story of Zal, a boy born with such a pale complexion that his mother confines him to a birdcage. Zal has no connection to human society until he is freed from his cage and brought to New York by a behavioral analyst. The novel is a lyrical force of magical realism and cultural examinations, and it is, as Khakpour explained in The New Yorker<\/em><\/a>, based on a short fable from \u201cThe Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings\u201d\u2014a medieval poem regarded as the national epic of Iran and the Persian-speaking world. It, too, tells of a boy named Zal, also raised by a mythical bird. Khakpour expands the story to fit the modern scale, but she celebrates the legacy of centuries past\u2014to read both works side by side is to marvel at the Persia of then and the Iran of now.\u00a0\u2014Yasmin Roshanian<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It turns out that I was right last week (I love it when that happens) about the print version of Nautilus. It\u2019s sharp, well-rounded, and just plain nice to look at. I could recommend any number of articles (such as Slava Gerovitch\u2019s fascinating essay on Russian mathematician Andrei Kolmogorov), but one in particular made an […]<\/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":[14510,1760,10911,14449,14509,14513,1265,14511,1488,12359,14512,5961],"class_list":["post-73566","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-cathedral-of-st-john-the-divine","tag-d-h-lawrence","tag-instagram","tag-nautilus","tag-peacocks","tag-porochista-khakpour","tag-procrastination","tag-richard-prince","tag-schopenhauer","tag-the-pitchfork-review","tag-the-world-as-will-and-representation","tag-walmart"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2019re Loving: Procrastination, Peacocks, Prince by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"July 4, 2014 \u2013 It turns out that I was right last week (I love it when that happens) about the print version of Nautilus. 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