{"id":86210,"date":"2015-05-29T21:05:52","date_gmt":"2015-05-30T01:05:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=86210"},"modified":"2015-05-31T11:24:10","modified_gmt":"2015-05-31T15:24:10","slug":"staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Peasantry, Propaganda, Playground Crises"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"filmvault\"<\/a>

A still from Forbidden Films<\/i>: a nitrate film vault in the Federal Film Archive in Hoppegarten, Germany.<\/p><\/div>\n

\"9781555974466\"<\/a>After several years of hearing Norwegians describe Dag Solstad as their greatest living novelist, I finally read Shyness & Dignity<\/a><\/em>\u2014and got some idea of what the fuss is all about. Like the title, the plot is defiantly unprepossessing: a high school teacher notices something new about the play he\u2019s teaching (for the umpteenth time), and this discovery triggers an existential crisis on the playground. The part that every Norwegian remembers is when the hero beats his umbrella to death against a water fountain, but behind this moment of high drama lies an amazingly compact story of one career, two marriages, and the history of Western philosophy, with particular attention to Kant and 1968. It is suggestive, sad, and extremely funny. I\u2019ve already forced my copy on a friend. \u2014Lorin Stein
<\/strong><\/p>\n

Felix Moeller\u2019s disturbing new documentary,\u00a0Forbidden Films<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>begins outside the fortified bunker where Nazi propaganda films, still banned by the German government, are stored. There\u2019s such a high quantity of nitro-celluloid, an archivist tells the camera, that the facility officially qualifies as an explosive device. It\u2019s a somewhat heavy-handed attempt to literalize Moeller\u2019s central metaphor: seventy years after their creation, the films still have the capacity to ignite controversy and endanger viewers.\u00a0Moeller documents the rare screenings the government allows, as audiences turn up in droves for \u2026 what, exactly? the novelty? the danger? a dose of national guilt? (Film archives take note: turns out you can sell out a black-and-white movie just by slapping on a ringing endorsement from Joseph Goebbels.)\u00a0I left the theater stunned at the propaganda films\u2019 ability to grab and sway 2015 audiences\u2014to frighten elderly Germans, to shock students, and to galvanize neo-Nazis, who still use the films to attract teenage followers. It\u2019s worth seeing the look on the face of a middle-aged German man as he walks out of a screening and praises an anti-Polish film for its educational qualities: more people should know, he says, that it was really the Polish who started Word War II by persecuting and interning ethnic Germans. \u2014Rebecca Panovka
<\/strong><\/p>\n

The laconic Robert Frost balked at the idea of collecting his prose during his lifetime<\/a>, but he did include his two most voluble critical essays\u2014\u201cThe Figure a Poem Makes\u201d\u00a0and \u201cThe Constant Symbol\u201d\u2014as prefaces to a handful of his poetry collections. The essays find him carrying his poetic fascination with the colloquial into his prose, to a nearly maddening effect; both read like transcripts of impromptu lectures, though in fact they were meticulously drafted. They are, in places, chatty to the point of gibberish. But if you can weather the Yankee turns of phrase, you\u2019ll encounter lovely definitions of poetry that seem to spring from Frost\u2019s own lines: a good poem has the \u201cstraight crookedness of a good walking stick\u201d or, like ice thrown into a hot pan, \u201crides on its own melting.\u201d Frost, conscious of his own influence, strings the reader along with a chummy but nonetheless diabolical wit. Reading the essays alongside his poetry, I\u2019m reminded of D. H. Lawrence\u2019s exhortation: \u201cAn artist is usually a damned liar \u2026 never trust the artist. Trust the tale.\u201d (Alas, Frost wouldn\u2019t like that. When Lionel Trilling invoked Lawrence in a controversial speech he delivered at Frost\u2019s eightieth birthday party\u2014the idea was to supplant Frost\u2019s avuncular reputation with something a bit darker\u2014Frost remarked<\/a> that the comparison left him \u201cpuzzled, oh, utterly at sea.\u201d) \u2014Oliver Preston<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"gates\"<\/a>Four of the stories in David Gates\u2019s new collection, A Hand Reached Down to Guide Me<\/a><\/em>, first appeared in the Review<\/em>\u2014so to mention the book here may seem like a mere formality. But it must be said: the collection is really good. Blurbs on the jacket laud Gates\u2019s fearlessness and \u201chigh moral art,\u201d and rightly so, but I\u2019m surprised more isn\u2019t made of his comic talents. There\u2019s a caustic wit at work on nearly every page; empathy and misanthropy match stride for stride in a way that recalls Cheever at his best. In \u201cBanishment\u201d\u2014a previously unpublished novella about a spectacularly bad marriage\u2014it sometimes seems there\u2019s an act of casual betrayal on every page, each designed to puncture another set of social mores. If we all read the story aloud to the most optimistic grads in our lives, we could appreciably lower the marriage rate. \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the opening of Let Us Now Praise Famous Men<\/a><\/em>, James Agee says, \u201cThis is a book<\/em> only by necessity.\u201d Published in 1941, about five years after Fortune<\/a><\/em> sent Agee with Walker Percy to write about white sharecroppers in the Deep South, the book refuses to hew to any established forms. It\u2019s self-indulgent and angry, aimed at whatever power structure or part of human nature devalues human life. The prose bounces between hellfire sermon and lyrical lily-gilding that exists as if to delight itself, and the chapter structure is a convoluted disaster. But it works\u2014the book seems to justify its amorphousness as it goes along, as if to say, There\u2019s no way to really do justice to this material, so here goes nothin\u2019. Sometimes Agee writes like an omnipotent third eye, sweeping up the landscape and the big picture; other times he zooms in, as when he\u2019s sneaking around a sharecropper\u2019s property at night, cataloging and remarking on the condition of the items in his barn, sniffing them, just to tell us that they all reek of sweat, dust, and mildew. \u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/p>\n

Yesterday, Dany Laferri\u00e8re became the first Haitian author to enter the sacrosanct French Academy in Paris\u2014so maybe now\u2019s a good time to take on one of the cornerstones of Haitian literature, Jacques Roumain\u2019s\u00a0Masters of the Dew<\/em><\/a>, first published in the forties. Roumain was the founder of the Haitian Communist Party, and this, his last novel, finds him renewing\u00a0the peasant-novel tradition: it\u2019s both a political manifesto and a declaration of love to the Haitian landscape, as bountiful as it is avenging. After a fifteen-year absence, Manuel returns to his rural hometown to find it devastated by drought and divided by internal strife. He seeks to extricate his people from poverty by negotiating between two cultures: science and voodoo, town and country. Through Roumain\u2019s poetic prose, Manuel is depicted as an ideal leader, favoring the common good over personal vested interests. Fatalist through and through,\u00a0Masters of the Dew<\/em>\u00a0is a genuine tragedy, softened only by the musicality of its language. \u2014Charlotte Groult<\/strong><\/p>\n

Set in seventies-era suburban London, Gerard Woodward\u2019s I\u2019ll Go to Bed at Noon<\/a> <\/em>is an unflinching portrayal of alcoholism and the disintegration of a family\u2014bed-wetting, burbling, blackouts, delusion, denial.\u00a0One character graduates from homemade wine to a bottle of gin a day, and then attempts to extract ethanol from a tin of shoe polish; another has schemes for booze money that range from\u00a0pawning the copper bathroom pipes to stealing a brain from a hospital morgue. Even Colette, the matriarch, has recently traded sniffing glue for Special Brew. Her sense of self-sacrifice, like that of so many addicts, is an outlet for her sense of guilt. Woodward explores the whole listless, desolate spectrum of alcoholism. At one point, Colette\u2019s brother formulates a wet-brain-ish theory that the past doesn\u2019t exist and memory is merely a dream. \u201cLife must be real,\u201d Colette tells him. \u201cIf I was making all this up, surely I\u2019d make up a better life for myself.\u201d \u2014Kit Connolly<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\u00abThe_Gadfly\u00bb_cover\"<\/a>E. L. Voynich was prominent among revolutionaries in the late nineteenth century; accordingly, her novel The Gadfly<\/a><\/em> became especially popular in the Soviet Union, where it sold millions of copies. Set in the 1840s during the Italian Risorgimento, it focuses on a disillusioned but noble cripple\u2014Arthur Burton, the eponymous Gadfly, who, having discovered radicalism, abandons the Church and begins to write candid, satirical tracts. Sure enough, the state comes after him. But what should be a cut-and-dry political parable, a paean to the insurgent spirit, is complicated by the supporting cast: Burton\u2019s priest, his father, and lover all intercede in various ways, and the book becomes a stirring meditation on forms of love\u2014romantic, religious, familial, and revolutionary. \u2014Alexandra Rezvina<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

After several years of hearing Norwegians describe Dag Solstad as their greatest living novelist, I finally read Shyness & Dignity\u2014and got some idea of what the fuss is all about. Like the title, the plot is defiantly unprepossessing: a high school teacher notices something new about the play he\u2019s teaching (for the umpteenth time), and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[17943,2278,18302,18299,18301,18300,3110],"class_list":["post-86210","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-dag-solstad","tag-david-gates","tag-e-l-voynich","tag-felix-moeller","tag-gerard-woodward","tag-jacques-roumain","tag-robert-frost"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Solstad, Agee, Gates<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"What the staff of The Paris Review is reading this week.\" \/>\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\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Staff Picks: Peasantry, Propaganda, Playground Crises by The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"May 29, 2015 \u2013 After several years of hearing Norwegians describe Dag Solstad as their greatest living novelist, I finally read Shyness & Dignity\u2014and got some idea\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2015-05-30T01:05:52+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2015-05-31T15:24:10+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/05\/filmvault.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2126\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1181\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"7 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/4a14f739935c82f100675b84e220252e\"},\"headline\":\"Staff Picks: Peasantry, Propaganda, Playground Crises\",\"datePublished\":\"2015-05-30T01:05:52+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2015-05-31T15:24:10+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/\"},\"wordCount\":1410,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/05\/29\/staff-picks-peasantry-propaganda-playground-crises\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/05\/filmvault.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"Dag Solstad\",\"David Gates\",\"E. 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