{"id":99478,"date":"2016-06-17T14:38:56","date_gmt":"2016-06-17T18:38:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=99478"},"modified":"2016-06-17T15:00:13","modified_gmt":"2016-06-17T19:00:13","slug":"staff-picks-dads-doublemint-dumplingette","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/06\/17\/staff-picks-dads-doublemint-dumplingette\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Dads, Doublemint, Dumplingette<\/i>"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

A still from Cosmos<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

Nineteen cheers to New Directions for reissuing Eliot Weinberger\u2019s Nineteen Ways of Looking at Wang Wei<\/a><\/em>, first published in 1987 and hard to find since then. In this tiny volume, Weinberg examines nineteen different translations of a classic four-line poem by the eighth-century poet Wang Wei. The result is the best primer on translation I\u2019ve ever read, also the funniest and most impatient. (E.g.: \u201cto me this sounds like Gerard Manley Hopkins on LSD.\u201d) The new edition, out in October, includes ten new attempts, most of them clearly influenced by the original Nineteen Ways<\/em>. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Polish director Andrzej \u017bu\u0142awski died in February, leaving us with Cosmos<\/a><\/em>, his final film, adapted from Witold Gombrowicz\u2019s 1965 novel of the same name. The plot, if that\u2019s what this tangle of surreal set pieces should be called, follows a vampirically handsome law student on holiday at a French bed-and-breakfast, where he finds a worrisome succession of dead animals hanging in the woods. Nominally, we\u2019re watching Cosmos<\/em> to discover who\u2019s responsible for these cruelties; really, though, we\u2019re watching because its ensemble excels at depicting various lunacies, and it\u2019s always fun to watch lunatics. A bloviating patriarch uses a toothpick to pick up spilled peas one by one; a mute priest unzips his fly to reveal a phalanx of bees; someone is dressed inexplicably like Tintin. The movie is an intoxicating pageant of life\u2019s confusions\u2014some violent, some sexual, and some just metaphysical. If you like Resnais, Bu\u00f1uel, or people who do really good Donald Duck impressions, you will be moved. If not, you\u2019ll at least leave with a new favorite term of endearment: \u201cmy dumplingette.\u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"9781555977412_custom-4add983d7ba796c92d273bf356c81ca11bb3d066-s400-c85\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A few weeks ago, I used this space to write about my affinity for journals, Bernadette Mayer, and a line of hers on\u00a0the late Bill Berkson<\/a>\u2019s dildo. So it seems fitting that I use it now to recommend what would be Berkson\u2019s final work,\u00a0Invisible Oligarchs<\/a><\/em>, a transcribed reproduction of a notebook he kept while traveling in Russia between the months of January and June in 2006. It\u2019s a slim book (I read most of it while waiting for a shuttle service at LAX), and yet it brims with the romanticism of a transient and drops tidbits of lush trivia into its readers\u2019 heads along the way. Berkson\u2019s lists are some of my favorite entries, telling us which translations of which Russian books to read, that\u00a0derm<\/em>\u00a0in Russian means \u201cshit\u201d and\u00a0i vass lybli<\/em>\u00a0is \u201cI love you.\u201d Scattered throughout, too, are facsimile pages of the journal itself, with Berkson\u2019s chicken-scratch jottings, newspaper clippings, a Wrigley\u2019s Doublemint sugar-free-gum wrapper and a chopsticks wrapper from a sushi bar on Kazanskaya Boulevard pasted in.\u00a0Invisible Oligarchs<\/em>\u00a0is a gorgeous collection of things\u2014thoughts, pamphlets, bits of trash;\u00a0as he once said<\/a>, \u201cYou need the ordinary thing\u2014if only to clear the air, change the topic, or simply because it\u2019s so tremendously actual.\u201d \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

In Max Porter\u2019s debut novel,\u00a0Grief Is the Thing with Feathers<\/a><\/em>, Crow\u2014as in the protagonist of Ted Hughes\u2019s 1970 collection of poetry,\u00a0Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow<\/em>\u2014acts as a makeshift grief counselor for a Dad and his two boys after their wife\/mother dies suddenly. The dynamic is as absurd and haunting as it sounds. Just like in Hughes\u2019s poetry, Crow makes sense of death through folktales, through language that delivers meaning through sonic quality and free association, and through a devilish sense of humor. His black comedy balances out the novel\u2019s inherent sadness, and it sets Porter\u2019s apart from other grief narratives: the book\u2019s shifts from quiet gloom to anthropomorphic burlesque are laugh-out-loud cathartic. During one of the novel’s most hopeful scenes, Dad, two years after his wife\u2019s death, brings home his first woman since the tragedy. They have clunky, tender sex. After she leaves, he wanders aimlessly around his flat, processing, until: \u201cWhen I came down Crow was on the sofa impersonating me pumping and groaning.\u201d Don\u2019t be fooled\u2014Crow is \u201ca sentimental bird,\u201d and in his making light of such morose subject matter, he\u2019s slamming the doors behind these men as they pass through each threshold toward healing. \u2014Daniel Johnson<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

From The\u00a0<\/em>6 Voyages of Lone Sloane<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

Did you know there\u2019s a series called Best American Experimental Writing<\/a>? I didn\u2019t. But I should have: it\u2019s just my kind of rabbit hole. Sesshu Foster\u2019s\u00a0story \u201cMovie Version: \u2018Hell to Eternity\u2019 \u201d progressively abstracts the differences between a man\u2019s life and his biopic: \u201cIn the movie version, the actual colors of the rushing ocean were played by a whirr of a strip through the machine and the sizzling palm leaves were played by folded taco smell. Somebody was played by nobody.\u201d (I recommend his novel\u00a0Atomik Aztex<\/em>.)\u00a0And Aisha Sasha John\u2019s poem \u201cI didn\u2019t want to go so I didn\u2019t go\u201d: \u201cthe sound of a hard crust collapsing \/ the baguette as it\u2019s torn \/ it and the other noises that have \/ wet my ear lately the \/ tinkle \/ the violet tinkle of the nail spa alarm system.\u201d And Shane Book\u2019s poem \u201cMack Daddy Manifesto\u201d: \u201cThus we \/ obtain our concept of the unconscious \/ from the theory of repression, a sweet finish \/\/ after the the bitter pills of floggings and bullets, \/ my Tender-roni, my Maytag Blue.\u201d In my defense, this is only the second volume, guest edited by librettist Douglas Kearney. Last year\u2019s guest editor was Cole Swensen, and 2016\u2019s will be the poet Charles Bernstein and the vocalist-artist-poet Tracie Morris. So no more excuses.\u00a0\u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

Generally speaking, however lauded its artwork and trippy French style might be, a space opera can only break so far into the realm of literary acclaim. But I haven\u2019t enjoyed a graphic novel as much as Philippe Druillet\u2019s\u00a0The 6 Voyages of Lone Sloane<\/a>\u00a0<\/em>since Grant Morrison\u2019s\u00a0The Invisibles<\/em>. The book is actually a collection of short, graphic stories, all six of which you can finish in less than an hour. But I\u2019ve spent the last week with the book, staring\u2014vacantly at times\u2014at the illustrations. This is not your typical, panel-organized comic strip; its pages are more akin to baroque, psychedelic paintings than anything else. Following Sloane as he battles space pirates and mythical beings has his own romantic appeal, but the illustrations are the star of this dark, strange, and spectacular book. \u2014Ty Anania<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Nineteen cheers to New Directions for reissuing Eliot Weinberger\u2019s Nineteen Ways of Looking at Wang Wei, first published in 1987 and hard to find since then. In this tiny volume, Weinberg examines nineteen different translations of a classic four-line poem by the eighth-century poet Wang Wei. The result is the best primer on translation I\u2019ve […]<\/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":[22878,22882,22860,18260,11739,22762,22880,22881,22877,22885,9619,22883,22884,883,22886,530,22879],"class_list":["post-99478","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-andrzej-zulawski","tag-best-experimental-writing","tag-bill-berkson","tag-cosmos","tag-eliot-weinberger","tag-grief-is-the-thing-with-feathers","tag-invisible-oligarchs","tag-max-porter","tag-nineteen-ways-of-looking-at-wang-wei","tag-philippe-druillet","tag-recommended-reading","tag-sesshu-foster","tag-shane-book","tag-staff-picks","tag-the-6-voyages-of-lone-sloane","tag-translation","tag-witold-gombowicz"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Eliot Weinberger, Max Porter, Andrzej 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