{"id":97002,"date":"2016-04-15T12:48:57","date_gmt":"2016-04-15T16:48:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=97002"},"modified":"2016-04-15T13:11:31","modified_gmt":"2016-04-15T17:11:31","slug":"staff-picks-snails-eating-snails-sailboat-lust-disss-co","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/04\/15\/staff-picks-snails-eating-snails-sailboat-lust-disss-co\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Snails Eating Snails, Sailboat Lust, DISSS-CO!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

The Tarot Garden in Tuscany.<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019ve been impressed by Robyn Schiff\u2019s new collection,\u00a0A Woman of Property<\/a><\/em>,\u00a0<\/em>especially\u00a0the faithfulness with which it renders\u00a0the buzzy dread of parenthood: not the fear of begetting but the fear that begetting occasionally begets. To see the world through Schiff\u2019s poems is to see it magnified by motherhood and aswarm with potential menace. The collection includes poems about anthrax and swine flu, \u201cunbearable \/ supercolonies of ants,\u201d even the slow-motion spectacle of a snail eating another snail. (\u201cWolf snail rewinding \/ common snail up its trembling spool, \/\/ the wheeling \/ of the whelk \/ inside the whelk.\u201d) The poems\u2019 forms are often as relentless as their subjects\u2014it\u2019s the rare stanza that ends on a full stop\u2014but they have their purpose: \u201cThe lyric makes me sing,\u201d she writes \u201cwhat I did not even \/ want said, to get to stop having \/ to keep thinking \/\/ it.\u201d \u2014Bobby Baird<\/strong><\/p>\n

I was just extolling the artistic virtues of Niki de Saint Phalle to a friend\u00a0on Monday, complaining about how she\u2019s discussed so infrequently and exhibited so rarely in the U.S. So\u00a0Ariel Levy\u2019s essay<\/a>\u00a0in the latest issue of\u00a0The New Yorker<\/em>\u00a0was a welcome surprise. Levy\u2019s focus is Saint Phalle\u2019s fourteen-acre Tarot Garden in Tuscany, which she worked on for decades. It\u2019s a site I\u2019m keen to visit, especially given Levy\u2019s apt description: \u201cIt is as if a psychedelic bomb had exploded in the most picturesque part of Tuscany.\u201d Saint Phalle\u2019s interest in the Tarot, her expression of an overt, joyful eroticism, and her assertion of her own creative value and purpose\u2014especially in relation to intense, passionate affairs with male artists\u2014remind me of her contemporary, Dorothy Iannone, who is likewise under-recognized in this country. Yet Saint Phalle, like Iannone, was never in doubt of her power: \u201cIf I didn\u2019t want to be a second-class citizen,\u201d she said, \u201cI would have to go out into the world and fight to impose myself as an artist.\u201d\u2014Nicole Rudick\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"douglas-crimp-disss-co-a-fragment-35\"<\/p>\n

In the midseventies, Douglas Crimp was \u201ctrying to get serious about being an art critic right at the time I became a disco bunny,\u201d and fortunately, he kept notes. I read his disco project,\u00a0DISSS-CO (A FRAGMENT)<\/a>,\u00a0in one sitting. The piece is short (only thirty-one pages) but it carries the energy of \u201cbodies moving en masse, like cogs in a machine\u201d that dance in an industrial space until eight A.M.<\/small> Crimp\u2019s discos of choice had little in common with the exclusive straight discos of sixties-era London; these new discos, he explains, \u201caren\u2019t even heirs to that tradition,\u201d because they\u2019re gay.\u00a0His recollections are nostalgic and tactile: of his faithful dancing partner, Steven, he says, \u201cOur bond was really about dancing \u2026 But to that we were extremely faithful. Having a dance partner who wasn\u2019t a boyfriend worked well for disco: it kept the emotional experience musical and communal, uncomplicated by the petty jealousies that come with lovers who are just as attracted as you are to the guys dancing nearby.\u201d\u00a0Photographs by\u00a0Alvin Baltrop\u00a0accompany the fragments to \u201cillustrate the \u2018naturalness\u2019 of gay men\u2019s bodies during the early disco era, before the gym craze culture.\u201d\u00a0As\u00a0much as\u00a0words\u00a0on a page can recreate a scene,\u00a0these fragments do it.\u00a0\u2014Jessica Calderon<\/strong><\/p>\n

Earlier this week, when my colleagues had all gone home and the chirr of the office had quieted down, I curled up on our pink couch and pored over Joy Williams\u2019s 99 Stories of God<\/a><\/em>. It\u2019s a slender book, easily read in one sitting, but the brevity of these stories belies their craft and gravity. Its vignettes catalog our run-ins with the enigmatic, the serendipitous, and the mystical\u2014the inexplicable things some ascribe to God. And fittingly, since God himself is the most recurring and likely the most absurd character, many of these stories hinge on the sublime; others have a muted sadness. Williams writes of a woman who sends a postcard to her late mother and receives a note back; of the Lord, who attends a hot-dog-eating contest and calls it the \u201cstupidest thing I\u2019ve ever witnessed\u201d; of \u201ctransgenetic dogs carrying florescent genes.\u201d Look for cameos by Kafka, Ted Kaczynski, Philip K. Dick, Balanchine, and others. (N.B.: We published\u00a0a<\/a>\u00a0few<\/a>\u00a0of<\/a>\u00a0these<\/a>\u00a0stories<\/a>\u00a0on the\u00a0Daily <\/em>in 2013.\u00a0A hardcover will appear in July.) \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

From the cover of Swallowed by the Cold<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

The stories in Jensen Beach\u2019s forthcoming collection,\u00a0Swallowed by the Cold<\/a><\/em>,\u00a0<\/em>are linked by reappearing characters\u2014centrally, Henrik and Helle, lovers in an extramarital affair\u2014but for me they were threaded together by a single scene from the opening story, \u201cIn the Village of Elmsta.\u201d A man, Rolf, is resolved to reach out to his semi-estranged son, but he flips his bicycle on his way home, cracks his head open, and watches a sailboat (Henrik\u2019s) drift by as he dies on the shores of a canal. We learn later that Henrik neither hears Rolf\u2019s call nor sees the blood\u2014he\u2019s too busy checking out Helle\u2019s breasts. This is the book\u2019s quintessential tableau. It would be too easy for Beach to condemn Henrik for not noticing, or for the affair with Helle. No\u2014Swallowed<\/em>\u00a0empathizes with the way we get too caught up in our own messes to notice when our fellow man is, however figuratively, bleeding out alone on a beach. Even when I was reading the final story, \u201cMigration<\/a>,\u201d which we featured in our Spring issue<\/a>, I just couldn\u2019t shake the image of Rolf slumped in the sand. When I finished the book, I called my father, just to say hello. \u2014Daniel Johnson<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

I sat down with a translation of Benjamin Fondane\u2019s\u00a0Cinepoems and Others<\/a>\u00a0<\/em>yesterday, turned the final page this morning, and desperately looked around for someone to give it to. Fondane, a Romanian Jewish \u00e9migr\u00e9 to France, died at Auschwitz in 1944; his poems glitter with surrealist vibrancy, even as they live in the shadow of Jewish exile. Throughout this collection, heads search for their bodies, men transform into objects, and verses vacillate between Technicolor imagery and despondent paranoia. Though Fondane abandoned surrealism after Breton\u2019s Second Manifesto <\/em>(1929), the movement left its mark on him: his characters all seem to stand still as the narrative spins kaleidoscopically around them. This is the work of an artist grappling with the justification for his solipsism, in a world that moves as if unburdened by his genius. \u201cThe world may be there, but am I there in the world?\u201d \u2014Rakin Azfar<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019ve been impressed by Robyn Schiff\u2019s new collection,\u00a0A Woman of Property,\u00a0especially\u00a0the faithfulness with which it renders\u00a0the buzzy dread of parenthood: not the fear of begetting but the fear that begetting occasionally begets. To see the world through Schiff\u2019s poems is to see it magnified by motherhood and aswarm with potential menace. The collection includes poems […]<\/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":[11029,21972,21977,10424,21974,35,17309,7643,21975,21976,21335,7285,14370,100,7221,165,21561,7318,21978,21973,40,9888],"class_list":["post-97002","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-99-stories-of-god","tag-a-woman-of-property","tag-alvin-baltrop","tag-andre-breton","tag-ariel-levy","tag-art","tag-benjamin-fondane","tag-disco","tag-dorothy-iannone","tag-douglas-crimp","tag-jensen-beach","tag-joy-williams","tag-niki-de-saint-phalle","tag-photography","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-robyn-schiff","tag-surrealism","tag-swallowed-by-the-cold","tag-tarot-garden","tag-the-new-yorker","tag-tuscany"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Robyn Schiff, Jensen Beach, Benjamin 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