{"id":93329,"date":"2016-01-08T18:06:58","date_gmt":"2016-01-08T23:06:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=93329"},"modified":"2016-01-08T19:01:02","modified_gmt":"2016-01-09T00:01:02","slug":"staff-picks-bmx-bbq-brutes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/01\/08\/staff-picks-bmx-bbq-brutes\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: BMX, BBQ, Brutes"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

From an early edition of Black Wings Has My Angel<\/i><\/p><\/div>\n

Dying is an\u00a0experience that biographers tend to pass over in silence. That\u2019s why Katie Roiphe\u2019s forthcoming book The Violet Hour<\/a><\/em> is a revelation, at least to me. Her case studies\u2014of Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, Dylan Thomas, John Updike, and Maurice Sendak\u2014focus on the last months of life, using each writer\u2019s final struggle as a key to his or her character. This is the best book Roiphe has written. She shows\u00a0that our interest in dying is not just an interest in endings, or in final things, or in posterity. Instead, it has to do with how we get along, how families and friendship work, in short, how we live.\u00a0\u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

I spent Christmas on the beach in ninety-degree heat, so I wanted something pulpy to read. I took along Elliott Chaze\u2019s Black Wings Has My Angel<\/a><\/em>, a 1954 noir, just reissued. Its plot doesn\u2019t break the mold: a lowlife dude busts out of the clink, picks up a gorgeous hooker, and embarks with her on a life of crime in big-sky country. But Chaze has a strange eye for details, ones that set him against the grain of most crime writers. (Seldom do you hear a hard-boiled guy extol the potato salad at a roadside BBQ joint or tell you about his hernia exam.) Black Wings <\/em>gathers a bizarre, often comical head of steam that reminded me of Denis Johnson or Wild at Heart<\/em>. What kept me turning the pages was the easy, blunt wit and endless disdain: \u201cBoth had the terrible conceit of little men,\u201d he writes of his employers, \u201cwho through fortune or persistence had landed in positions where there were even littler men for them to boss around. I\u2019m sure it never occurred to either of them that they were stupid.\u201d And Chaze gave his hero an excellent nom de guerre: Timothy Sunblade. \u201cI picked that name,\u201d Sunblade tells us, \u201cbecause it is a name that smells of the out of doors.\u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

An illustration by Laurie Anderson for Heart of a Dog<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

Over the holiday, I saw Laurie Anderson\u2019s latest film,\u00a0Heart of a Dog<\/a><\/em>, an experimental documentary steered by the loss of Anderson\u2019s beloved rat terrier, Lolabelle, and narrated from start to finish by the artist herself. \u201cEvery love story is a ghost story,\u201d she says, borrowing from David Foster Wallace, and\u00a0Heart of a Dog<\/em>\u00a0comprises a series of these haunting tales. There are moments so heartrending they\u2019re near unbearable, like when Anderson admits to having never loved her mother or when she speaks of the artist Gordon Matta-Clark\u2019s final days (he spent them reading aloud to his friends in a hospital room). And yet the film isn\u2019t as morose as I\u2019ve made it sound\u2014it\u2019s also absurdly funny, philosophical, and visually stunning, with home videos, surveillance footage, quotes by Wittgenstein, charcoal drawings, and more as her backdrop. In just seventy-five minutes, Anderson hits her audience with nearly every emotion, and when the credits roll to her late husband Lou Reed\u2019s \u201cTurning Time Around,\u201d it\u2019s all over, at least it was for me: I was in tears. \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Life is bleak in Rock Springs, Wyoming. Growing up in its postindustrial, lower\u2013middle-class wasteland, where the suicide rate is among the highest in the country, J. J. Anselmi fought for ways to stay away from the power plant that employed most of the town and the addiction that ensnared everyone he knew. In his gritty book Heavy: A Memoir of Wyoming, BMX, Drugs, and Heavy Fucking Music<\/a><\/em>, Anselmi grasps for anything that might give him control, reclaiming the ruinscape with his BMX bike and validating his adolescent anger by screaming Pantera lyrics. Heavy<\/em> has a grainy, thrash-music quality to it. On its surface, Anselmi\u2019s story is that of an angry, white-trash kid (he admits this in his book) who never had the chance to fall from grace because grace never lifted him that high; beneath that it\u2019s a book about control, and why destruction equals power for those who feel powerless. \u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u201cA Lake Superior Winter Mail Line,\u201d via NYPL<\/p><\/div>\n

On the advice of a friend who recently saw \u00c9mile Zola\u2019s play Th\u00e9r\u00e8se Raquin<\/em> on Broadway, I decided to pick up the unassumingly narrow novel<\/a>, also Zola\u2019s, on which the play is based. A fugue on Galen\u2019s four temperaments, Raquin<\/em> is, in premise, the literary equivalent of those diatribes that begin, \u201cThere are x kind of people in the world\u2026\u201d But Zola\u2019s frankness takes us into a seductively horrifying tale of languor, lust, and the remorseless guilt of Th\u00e9r\u00e8se and Laurent, the \u201chuman brutes\u201d who are \u201cabsolutely swayed by their nerves and blood, deprived of free will, impelled in every action of life, by the fatal lusts of the flesh.\u201d In such a novel of caricatures, characters with whom one can identify are few and far between\u2014except, perhaps, Francois the all\u2013seeing family cat who, like the reader, \u201cmust know everything,\u201d harboring \u201cthoughts in his strangely dilated round eyes,\u201d a witness without agency. \u2014Robert Magella<\/strong><\/p>\n

Earlier this week the New York Public Library\u00a0released a treasure trove of out-of-copyright digitized material<\/a>\u2014more than 180,000 items\u2014into the public domain. As tends to happen when I first discover these kinds of archives (the\u00a0Prelinger Archives<\/a>\u00a0is another of my favorites), I looked up from aimlessly browsing to find that well over an hour had passed. Mostly I spent my time poking around the\u00a0stereoscope collection<\/a>\u2014which, if you learn to cross your eyes just right, can offer a never-ending dose of what is arguably the oldest form of virtual reality. \u2014Stephen Andrew Hiltner<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dying is an\u00a0experience that biographers tend to pass over in silence. That\u2019s why Katie Roiphe\u2019s forthcoming book The Violet Hour is a revelation, at least to me. Her case studies\u2014of Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, Dylan Thomas, John Updike, and Maurice Sendak\u2014focus on the last months of life, using each writer\u2019s final struggle as a key […]<\/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":[20724,8095,20722,8461,20721,2237,53,354,883,20723],"class_list":["post-93329","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-elliott-chaze","tag-emile-zola","tag-j-j-anselmi","tag-katie-roiphe","tag-laurie-anderson","tag-new-york-public-library","tag-reading","tag-recommendations","tag-staff-picks","tag-stereoscopes"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Katie Roiphe, Elliott Chaze, Laurie Anderson<\/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\/2016\/01\/08\/staff-picks-bmx-bbq-brutes\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Staff Picks: BMX, BBQ, Brutes by The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"January 8, 2016 \u2013 Dying is an\u00a0experience that biographers tend to pass over in silence. 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