{"id":89302,"date":"2015-08-28T12:38:27","date_gmt":"2015-08-28T16:38:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=89302"},"modified":"2015-08-28T14:06:13","modified_gmt":"2015-08-28T18:06:13","slug":"staff-picks-signage-segel-cerebral-kisses","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/08\/28\/staff-picks-signage-segel-cerebral-kisses\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Signage, Segel, Cerebral Kisses"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Ed Ruscha, Standard, Amarillo, Texas<\/i> (detail), 1962, black-and-white photograph.<\/p><\/div>\n

Katherine Silver\u2019s translation of Dinner<\/a><\/em>, by the Argentinian novelist C\u00e9sar Aira, found its way to me earlier this week, and I\u2019ve since raced through it. It\u2019s a slender, wacky fun house of a novel\u2014featuring peptide-craving cadavers and intricate wind-up toys, among other oddities\u2014and yet it begins at the most ordinary of places: the dinner table. There our sixty-something-year-old bachelor (who still lives with his mom) sits, having surrendered to an evening of drab gossip with a friend. Soon, and without much warning, Aira tosses us into a zombie-infested town where the dead crawl out of their graves to suck the endorphins from the brains of the living, culminating in what he tenderly calls the \u201ccerebral kiss.\u201d Aira writes with imagination and pith; in an interview with Bomb<\/em>\u00a0magazine<\/a>, he told Mar\u00eda Moreno, \u201cIn my work everything is invented, and I can go on inventing indefinitely.\u201d I hope he does. \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ed Ruscha has always been enigmatic about his photographic work; he has called it a hobby, despite the fact that he has produced a number of photo books (now rare and highly prized), including the famous Twentysix Gasoline Stations<\/em>,\u00a0Various Small Fires<\/em>, and Every\u00a0Building on the Sunset Strip<\/em>. Those books have even inspired a book of their own, the recent Various Small Books<\/em>, which catalogues other artists\u2019 riffs on and homages to Ruscha\u2019s volumes. And now I\u2019ve discovered a photo book about Ruscha\u2019s photographs and photo books\u2014the aptly titled Ed Ruscha, Photographer<\/a><\/em>. Somewhere between wanting to be a cartoonist and a commercial artist and becoming a painter, Ruscha fit in a side interest in photography. The book features not only his hymns to repetition and the midcentury American landscape but also his very early snapshots (taken Europe in 1961) and his more recent photographs, which attest to his abiding interest in highway signage. There is also a smattering of color work\u2014strange, often red-stained still lifes involving liquids and food. Think Marilyn Minter crossed with Takeshi Murata put through an Ed Ruscha filter.\u00a0\u2014Nicole Rudick
<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

A still from The End of the Tour<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

To my shock, I loved The End of the Tour<\/a><\/em>. Jason Segel doesn\u2019t look or sound much like David Foster Wallace\u2014he pantomimes DFW\u2019s complex sentences like castles in the air\u2014but he has built a character who can speak Wallace\u2019s words with depth and understanding. Donald Margulies\u2019s screenplay transcends the crumminess of David Lipsky\u2019s original profile by facing it head-on: Lipsky, as played by Jesse Eisenberg, is such a convincing putz, there were audible gasps in the movie theater when he rifled DFW\u2019s medicine cabinet. (The real Lipsky has said this isn\u2019t a film about journalistic exploitation, but Rebecca Mead is right<\/a>\u2014that\u2019s partly what it is.) Along the way, Margulies and the director James Ponsoldt capture the excitement surrounding Infinite Jest<\/em> when it appeared in 1996, at almost the last moment a book could actually appear<\/em> in physical bookstores across the country and in physical, unignorable newspapers and magazines. Among other things, The End of the Tour<\/em> is an elegy to print culture, when even a hack could get lost in a book and envy greatness on the page. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

While we\u2019re on Wallace, anyone who admires his nonfiction should listen to Ruth Reichl on New Books in Food<\/a>, where she discusses the editorial process behind \u201cConsider the Lobster.\u201d I\u2019d known that the essay\u2019s appearance in Gourmet<\/em> had caused a kerfuffle\u2014here was a discursive, sometimes strident meditation on bioethics smack in the middle of \u201cthe magazine of good living\u201d\u2014but I hadn\u2019t known that the magazine lost advertisers over it; or that the title, a play on M. F. K. Fisher\u2019s \u201cConsider the Oyster,\u201d was Gourmet<\/em>\u2019s idea, not Wallace\u2019s; or that he disputed literally every edit along the way. In fact he\u2019d resolved to pull the piece, Reichl says, until she reminded him of the audience he\u2019d reach: \u201cIf you want the people who are cooking lobsters to read this piece, you will keep it in Gourmet<\/em>.\u201d She gives an interesting peek at the politics of magazines, for which every issue brokers a new truce between writers, readers, editors, and advertisers. \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Mario Benedetti.<\/p><\/div>\n

Reading Mario Benedetti\u2019s Primavera con una esquina rota<\/a> <\/em>(1982),<\/em> enthusiastically billed as a \u201cgreat political novel,\u201d I braced myself for what I imagined would be doggedly committed social realism: the book follows a family\u2019s exile after the 1973 military coup in Uruguay. But I was pleasantly surprised\u2014the book is formally experimental, philosophically subtle, and (above all) funny. In fact, a comment of Benedetti\u2019s from 1953\u2014that the eight hundred pages of Ulysses<\/em> comprise not a novel but \u201ca short story of monstrous proportions\u201d\u2014might well be applied to the forty-five fragments of Primavera<\/em>. Brief and intense, each has the quality of a short story; there is something Joycean, too, about their ostentatious variety of narrative modes and perspectives, and the continual wordplay, which offers exile as a linguistic, as well as political, phenomenon. Delightfully weird, Primavera<\/em> resists being confined by categories\u2014in itself, perhaps, a political act. The book deserves an English translation.\u00a0\u2014Chloe Currens<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Katherine Silver\u2019s translation of Dinner, by the Argentinian novelist C\u00e9sar Aira, found its way to me earlier this week, and I\u2019ve since raced through it. It\u2019s a slender, wacky fun house of a novel\u2014featuring peptide-craving cadavers and intricate wind-up toys, among other oddities\u2014and yet it begins at the most ordinary of places: the dinner table. […]<\/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":[5774,154,13754,14429,9371,18341,13250,13755,19286,7397,19285],"class_list":["post-89302","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-cesar-aira","tag-david-foster-wallace","tag-david-lipsky","tag-donald-margulies","tag-ed-ruscha","tag-james-ponsoldt","tag-jason-segal","tag-jesse-eisenberg","tag-mario-benedetti","tag-ruth-reichl","tag-the-end-of-tour"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Aira, Ruscha, Reichl<\/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\" 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