You really must read Jeanette Winterson's latest column for the Times, on the role of art in an economic recession.
I've been tapped (by the Daily Connoisseur) to share six random things about myself… so why not? It's not like I have anything better planned to say today. Soon, very soon, I will have something up about Elizabeth Bowen, since I have been spending all of my time with her over the last few weeks. (Ok, with her novels. She died in 1973. But I feel like I've really gotten to know her.) But for now, a meme.
1. I'm a dog person. Dogs and I… we understand each other.
2. I play the piano, every day if I have time. Bach or Beethoven if I'm feeling analytical, Chopin if I'm feeling emotional, and Tori Amos all the damn time. I think my neighbors must be getting tired of "Boys for Pele."
3. I could probably recite "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" by heart.
4. I love yoga. I've been practicing on a semi-regular basis since freshman year of college. If I miss a month or so I really start to feel out of whack.
5. I shy away from people who are vulgar or stingy (or both).
6. I gravitate toward people who are generous, open-minded, and self-aware.
If they're interested in playing, I'll point to Emilie, Alice, Aralena, Sophie, and… I don't know. Whoever feels like playing!
When tagged, one must:
1. Link to the person who tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Write six random things about yourself
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them
5. Let each person know they've been tagged and leave a comment on their blog
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
The very excellent Meg was kind enough to profile me for her travel blog over at Momondo. * Elaine Sciolino reports for the New York Times on France's "quiet revolution" towards sex taboos (French women in the suburbs of Paris want to practice the Kama Sutra for three days without stopping! That sounds… time consuming!) * Sanjay Subrahmanyam considers what he finds to be the condescending tone of the latest Booker winner for the London Review of Books * James Wood in conversation with Mark Greif of n+1 along with Ruth Franklin and Dennis Loy Johnson on The Great American Novel, from a couple of years ago * Also by Mark Greif, in the LRB, a serious look at the underlying assumptions of Mad Men, which reads as outdated as the series itself, given that Greif concentrates entirely on the first season (whereas in the US, the second season has just concluded). I know it's for a British audience, who are a season behind, but surely hardcore fans of the show in England have been downloading the second season from the internet– many of Greif's reproaches have been resolved or explored more thoroughly in season 2. In any case, it's an insightful read, even if Greif avoids getting his hands too dirty in his analysis.
We have transcended "sick" and have achieved "procrastinating." Welcome back to Tuesday links!
Pierre Assouline on Montaigne ("We haven't produced anything better since 1595"), whose essays have now been translated into a more daring modern French translation. Apparently the original is harder to read than Shakespeare, and previous "updaters" have hardly dared change more than a comma here and there. The new translation is available online. (FR)
*
While we're on the subject of what the French have or have not achieved since 1595, Christopher Caldwell
has a schizophrenic article on the state of French culture in the FT.
This article needs some serious unpacking; if I get some free time in
the next week or so, I'll write more about this.
*
I'm not sure that "cultivating awareness of media spin" and "postmodern analysis" are synonymous activities, but Tim Cavanaugh seems to think Americans are channeling Derrida.
*
The magazine Philosophy Now has dedicated a special issue to Simone de Beauvoir.
*
Michael Kimmelman goes to the "Picasso and the Masters" show at the Grand Palais and finds that Picasso doesn't always keep up with his influences.
*
Detractors of the Nobel prize committee (and their catty remarks about American literature) have retaliated by asking what right a bunch of Swedes have to make such judgments; nevertheless, James English, author of a study called The Economy of Prestige, goes to Stockholm and is impressed.
*
Finally, for those of you following Bertrand Delanoë's quest to destroy intra-muros Paris by building more ugly tall buildings, National Geographic Travel's blog Intelligent Travel gets the goods on exactly what the mayor's plans are for the city. Good news: the ugly tall buildings will be outside the historic city center. (Thank goodness.)
Still getting over this nasty cold, and am rationing whatever energy I have to working on my dissertation (first chapter due in 10 days– yikes). Will be back to blogging prochainement. Thank you for your patience.
Hi there. Sorry for the gaping absence but I have been and continue to be too sick to blog. But I didn't want to leave you hanging! So, in case you didn't see it, let me refer to you an article on Sophie Calle that ran in the New York Times's T Magazine this weekend. We can discuss later.
Aravind Adiga, for The White Tiger.
Is American literature too insular, like that Swedish guy said? Scott McLemee talked to a range of bookish types who weighed in. Meanwhile in England, The Observer wonders whether the Nobel Prize has lost its glitter.
*
Scott Esposito has a ridiculously lush and varied roundup of weekend content on his blog, Conversational Reading. This ought to keep you busy for quite awhile.
*
The October issue of Guernica Magazine is full of good stuff like this.
*
Time Magazine says "it's hard to tell where Tina Fey ends and Sarah Palin begins."
*
Daniel Hahn will be keeping a blog that records the translation process from beginning to end. [Via Three Percent]
*
Don't miss David Ulin's piece on Art Spiegelman in the LA Times.
Saturday was my 30th birthday, and Paris cooked up the most wonderful surprises for me. Beshert, you say in Yiddish when something is meant to be. Generally people are referring to your spouse when they say this. But for me, I think it might be Paris. Paris and I are beshert. (Don't tell N. We're beshert too. But in a more human sense of the term.)
Since Thursday I had been doing the Faber Academy writing seminar with Tobias Hill and Jeanette Winterson at Shakespeare & Company. My new friend and colleague Elizabeth blogged all about it here and here (with photos. Loads more photos here). By Saturday, we were all fast friends, and when I arrived in the morning I was greeted with flowers, a gift, a card– and everyone's good wishes. Somehow I had assumed a birthday would be a minor event, to be passed over in favor of the main event: writing. But I forgot that writers are often large-hearted, sensitive people, and for the entire day, I was showered with attention. It was as if I had made my bat mitzvah. (Which I never did. So this was nice.)
By evening, following a rousing session with Jeanette on verbs, we retired from the upstairs library to the front porch of the bookshop. A cake from Eric Kayser emerged and Jeanette Winterson popped open five bottles of champagne and started pouring. On cue, the bells of Notre Dame, directly across the river from the shop, began to ring. It was my birthday, so I rambled to Jeanette about my dissertation. Because it was my birthday, she listened politely.
After champagne and cake it was off to an group dinner at La Coupole, where thirty of us (writers, teachers, spouses, & friends) gorged ourselves on chevre, oysters, pavé, and quenelle de brochet. I had to leave before dessert as I had organized a party at Au Rendez-vous des amis in Montmartre at 9 pm and it was 9:30 when I looked up from my pavé to my watch– let's just say I ran out at full tilt leaving a lot of confused people behind me.*
It was a straight shot on the 12, so I sat and tried not to stress as we ticked off stop after stop, Madeleine, St Lazare, St Georges… When we stopped at Notre Dame de Lorette I caught the eye of a young guy on the platform. He darted up to me, jumped into the car, blew me a kiss, and ran off. I blushed and consulted my iPod, trying to avoid the stares of the other passengers. "It's my birthday," I wanted to explain. "That's why I'm glowing and that's why I'm wearing red lipstick and that's why that guy just blew me a kiss. Ca se voit."
I made it to the bar and rounded up the gang. It was too hot in the bar, so we stood out on the sidewalk, enjoying the balmy October weather. People arrived a few at a time. Anna brought cookies. Sophie took pictures. Rob was in from the Southwest. Meg brought her mystery man. Jacques came and proved he's not only N's friend. The mommies came too: Cath let the hubby watch the Tadpole. Abby got a
babysitter. Alice parted from Emma for her first evening out. And because we're beshert, Paris arranged for a spectacular round of fireworks, just for me.
Ok, and for 104. But for me too.
So merci, merci, et encore merci. Je n'aurais jamais su attendre à tout ça et vous êtes tous des anges. Merci et bon anniversaire à tout le monde!
*Many of whom were not confused at all about why I couldn't make it to the last day of class on Sunday. I can party like a rock star, but I get hung over like… a lightweight.
Just home from the first day of the inaugural Faber Writing Academy at Shakespeare & Co to learn that J.-M. Le Clézio has won the Nobel Prize in Literature. I'm pretty surprised; I didn't have any bets placed this year but I certainly didn't think the winner would come from my adoptive country. So much for the naysayers, with their naysaying about the decline of French culture and its exportability!
The TLS rounds up some Le Clézio goodies here.