Monthly Archives: April 2005

Jonathans Are Illuminated: Miller’s Cross

In tomorrow’s Book Review, the always refreshingly frank Laura Miller looks carefully at Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love:

It would be unfair to liken Nicole Krauss’s second novel, The History of Love, to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, the recently published second novel by her better-known husband, Jonathan Safran Foer, except for two things. The first is the deliberate and liberal sprinkling of correspondences between the two books, a system of coy marital cross-referencing that amounts to an engraved invitation to compare and contrast. The second, and more significant, is that Krauss is one of fiction’s dutiful daughters. She has written almost entirely under the influence of powerful literary fathers, an assemblage of canonical figures including (to list only those explicitly cited in ”The History of Love”), Isaac Babel, Franz Kafka and Bruno Schulz. That the relatively young and untried Foer has joined them in her pantheon represents only a slight deviation from form. Keep a-reading.

‘The History of Love’: Under the Influence [NYT]

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New Yorkers: See 7 Stories

7 Stories, playing at the 78th St. Theatre Lab now!
I mean it. Let’s see how I can best entice you. It’s a play that’s not expensive ($15! amazing seats). It’s very, very funny and quite moving. It’s about existential despair, and the costumes are excellent. There’s a wig and low-cut dresses and a crooked mustache. It’s on the Upper West Side (78th Street Theater, just off the southeast corner of 78th and Broadway). It’s by a Canadian playwright named Morris Panych. (Canadians: funny. Can’t deny it.) The women are hot and have great comic timing; the men are debonair and never stutter in their long waterfalls of dialogue. The play’s tagline is “One man on a ledge, twelve people who could care less.” Doesn’t sound funny? Oh, but it is. Panych’s publisher puts it well: “A fast-paced, sophisticated and hilarious play—a man’s contemplation of suicide leads to a charming and surprising ending.” Here’s a plot synopsis:

7 Stories is a comedy that tackles the issues of morality and the meaning of existence. The play opens with a man standing on a ledge of a building on the verge of jumping to his death. His silence is broken when a bickering couple burst from their window in the middle of an arguement. This begins a domino effect of eccentric characters coming out to engage the man on the ledge, oblivious to his state and consumed with their own lives.

Yes, eccentric’s one word for them. Other words are loony, tuney, goony, puny, moony, swoony, and kablooey. Besides that, my handsome and charming cousin Nick Lawson is in it, with a long monologue that demonstrates Panych’s uncanny premonition (in 1990) of Friendster:

Cousin Nick plays Percy.

And so is Paula Burton, as a daffy old lady (though she is, in fact, young, great-looking, and British to boot):

Paula Burton plays Lillian.

Not to mention these these swell actors, whose names you should recognize from major TV shows and other good plays—when you see their faces you’ll know immediately. Names without comment indicate that it’s the middle of the night and I can’t look up all their famousness, but you’ll have to trust me on this one.

Man: Tom Bain [You must not miss him in this. He plays the man on the ledge and never leaves the stage. Incredible.]
Marshall: Paden Fallis
Leonard: Nelson Lee [Traffic, Oz…]
Rodney: Happy Anderson
Charlotte: Teresa Heidt
Nurse Wilson: Jaime Hurley
Michael: Derek Ahonen
Al: Eric Thorne
Jennifer: Sarah Fraunfelder [Va-voom!]
Joan: Sarah Lemp
Rachel: Anna Mannas

Directed by Paden Fallis, Martin Friedrichs, and Nelson Lee; lighting design (excellent) by Chris Jensen.

Why this play? Why not any one of two dozen others? Because it’s cheap, it’s easy to get to, it’s not in Times Square, and it’s actually GOOD. Am I sweet-talking you into seeing it just because my cousin, Undisputed King of All Williamsburg Pizza Deliveries, is in it? No. I only recommend plays I’m really crazy about. From RocketShip’s (the theater company) manifesto:

For those who find pretension and artifice off-putting, who feel that theatre doesn’t neccesarily need to be handled in a reverential way, who tire of its high expense coupled with an all-too-often low pay-off—Rocketship is the night for you.

Rocketship is a jam session for actors, a truly accessible, eclectic, ambitious night of theatre. In the same way that minor league baseball attracts those who love the smell, the feel and the passion of the game itself—Rocketship was created by and for those who feel the same way about the theatre.

Rocketship pulls no punches, but relies on the old-fashioned premise that magic can happen when the actor, the text and the audience collide.

I’ll say! This play&#8212the writer, the director, and the actors—gets it. You’ve got to see it. Buy tickets here now. Here are the remaining shows:

Saturday, April 30 @ 8pm and 10pm
Thursday, May 5 @ 8pm
Friday, May 6 @ 8pm
Saturday, May 7 @ 8pm

And give Nick a really good tip next time you see him. He’s earned it.

Nothing’s the matter with these kids today

A swell story by Subir Roy that begins with parental suspicion and ends with New Yorker cartoons:

Our daughter is up to no good, I told my wife. She was also getting worried, she confessed. It was not as if our daughter was openly up to some mischief, defiantly joining the spoilt generation.

Even that would have been a relief. What had got the two of us into a huddle was she wouldn’t say what exactly she was up to.

There were these mysterious goings on between her and different groups of friends, sometimes big and sometimes small, with one or two boys thrown in. Of course, we were broad-minded.

Will you buy us a New Yorker so that we can get some ideas? [She said.] I was impressed they had heard the name and went and got her a copy from Premier bookstore, poorer by Rs 400, courtesy the owner who gave me a Rs 50 discount.

Then a couple of days later when I asked our daughter what she and her friends thought of the magazine, she grinned from ear to ear…. Find out what happens to this errant youth here.

Perhaps Roy would have been safer steering her toward The New York Times Upfront instead, marketed by Scholastic, which claims it’s “more current than textbooks and more appropriate for teen readers than newsstand magazines.” Because Time and Newsweek print so many photos of ill-behaved celebrities?

A view of the New Yorker: The little magazine romances every generation [Business Standard (India)]
Letter From Tokyo: Shopping Rebellion: What the Kids Want [Rebecca Mead, The New Yorker]
Nineteenth-Century American Children & What They Read: Some of Their Magazines [Merry Coz. A joke from the June 1836 issue of Parley’s: “A couple of jolly sailors just landed in New York, saw a couple of men employed in pumping the water out of a cellar. Halloo, Tom, says one of them. What is’t, says Tom. Why, said he, New York has sprung a leak, and they are pumping her out.”]

Picking out a Thermos

There are many places on the Internet for reading bad news, and I salute them. At emdashes, you can often (though not always) read good news instead. And news doesn’t get much better than this:

Universal Home Video has announced it will release 25th, no, a 26th Anniversary Edition of The Jerk, starring Steve Martin, Bernadette Peters and Jackie Mason on July 26 for a suggested price of $19.98.

The film will be presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with a English Dolby Digital 5.1 soundtrack. Extras will include two featurettes: Learn How to Play Tonight You Belong to Me [it’s one thing to have the ukulele tabs, quite another to play it properly] and The Lost Filmstrips of Father Carlos Las Vegas de Cordova, along with production notes.

A Jerk of a DVD [IGN DVD]
The Jerk—The Script [A Movie Script Archive]
Be a Cat Juggler! [Diamond Jim Productions Magical Entertainment]

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Million Dollar Danner

Fawaz Turki on the fisticuffs at the recent PEN World Voices: The New York Festival of International Literature:

And, yes, participants exchanged political ideas as well—or hurled them at each other. There was that heated debate between Mark Danner, a longtime New Yorker staff writer and professor of journalism at the University of California at Berkeley who had filed repeatedly from Baghdad and authored the book Torture and Truth: America, Abu Ghraib and the War on Terror. and the Iraq-born commentator, Kanan Makiya. Danner opposed the invasion of Iraq, but Makiya supported it, claiming improbably “this is a country that now has a hope it never had before.”

The Iraqi, however, was outmatched intellectually by Danner, who had all the pertinent facts and figures at his fingertips, facts and figures that he proceeded to throw at Makiya like a boxer in the ring—a right to the midsection followed by an upper cut here and a left hook there. There was nothing that our pro-war Iraqi activist could do, as the blows rained down on him, than cover up. It was a classic case of an overmatched fighter trapped in the corner of the ring waiting for it to be over.

This is, of course, not the first time the two have taken opposite sides. Michael Massing reflected on the November 2002 forum on Iraq at NYU a few weeks afterward (this has a sort of Sondheim quality, doesn’t it?):

The son of a prominent Iraqi architect who came to this country in the late 1960s to attend MIT and never left, Makiya has spent the past fifteen years publicizing the horrors taking place in his native land. In Republic of Fear (1989) and Cruelty and Silence (1993) he chronicled the instruments of repression used by Saddam Hussein to brutalize his people and to suppress the Kurdish and Shiite uprisings after the Gulf War.

Now Makiya warned the audience of 200 that he would be striking a “discordant note” with the rest of the panel. “When you look at this coming war from the point of view of the people who are going to pay the greatest price—the people of Iraq—they overwhelmingly want it,” Makiya declared. He discussed the steps he and other Iraqi exiles were taking to convince the Bush Administration to make the installation of a democratic government in Baghdad one of its chief war aims. And he urged those in attendance to support that goal. A war to overthrow Saddam, he said, “could have enormous transformative power throughout the Middle East.” If there is even a “sliver of a chance—even 5 to 10 percent—that what I’m talking about might happen,” Makiya said, those committed to bringing democracy and justice to the world have a “moral obligation” to support military action in Iraq. Amid applause from the audience, the other panelists shifted uncomfortably.

“If we’re going to invade, the President has a responsibility to make his case—to explain how long it will take, and what resources we’ll have to put in,” says Mark Danner, who has written extensively about Haiti and Bosnia. “He’s not doing that. We have to read about postwar plans in the New York Times. It’s remarkable.” Danner, who in early October joined such other liberals as Derek Bok, Aryeh Neier and Arthur Schlesinger Jr. in signing an ad in the Times opposing the war, says, “The most forceful argument for going to war is helping the Iraqi people. But that’s not the reason for this war. I don’t remember anybody in the Administration talking about the Iraqi people before August. Rather, it’s about America’s larger strategic goals in the region. They’re going to get rid of this guy, then get out. During the 2000 campaign, George Bush was totally against nation-building. And I don’t see any sign of change in that.”

Word and World in New York [Arab News]
The Moral Quandary: Anti-imperialism vs. Humanitarianism [The Nation]
New Yorker pieces by Mark Danner
Kanan Makiya interview [Frontline, 2002]

Jonathans Are Illuminated: Smart Women, Various Choices

Rachel Aviv’s Voice essay about Nicole Krass’ History of Love—and the links between Krauss’ novel and her husband’s (one Jonathan Safran Foer)—also mentions the art-and-life relationship between Kathryn Chetkovich and Jonathan Franzen: Written With Invisible Ink: Is Nicole Krauss’s book-within-a-book ‘taut as a drum’?

Speaking of Franzen, I’m sure you’re following the writers’ revolt against Oprahlessness:

Oprah, save us, we can’t get by without you.

That’s the message from a group of published and award-winning novelists in an open letter to influential television talk-show host Oprah Winfrey, begging her to resume picking new novels for members of her popular book club.

“There’s a widely-held belief that the landscape of literary fiction is now a gloomy place,” Word of Mouth, a loose alliance of women’s authors, wrote. It said fiction sales began to plummet when the The Oprah Winfrey Book Club went off the air in 2002 and stopped featuring contemporary authors.

“Book Club members stopped buying new fiction, and this changed the face of American publishing,” said the letter, which was signed by 158 authors.

Among those signing the letter were Pulitzer Prize winner Jhumpa Lahiri and Amy Tan, author of The Joy Luck Club. Several male authors also signed.

The letter expressed thanks for Winfrey’s contribution to book sales and asked her to “consider focusing, once again, on contemporary writers in your book club.”

“The readers need you. And we, the writers, need you,” it said. “Oprah Winfrey, we wish you’d come back.”

The club became embroiled in controversy in 2001 when Jonathan Franzen publicly objected to the selection of his novel, The Corrections, and said he feared it might affect his reputation in literary circles. He later said he regretted voicing his reservations.

American novelists beg for Oprah’s Book Club help [Houston Chronicle]
Oprah’s Book Fatigue: How fiction’s best friend ran out of stuff to read [Chris Lehmann, Slate]

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(4.25.05 issue) Rats

From the Cartoon Bank
I promised I’d address the cartoon caption contest, inaugurated in the April 25th issue. My own first reaction was to write below the drawing, “The artists seem nervous about this new marketing scheme, Mr. Mankoff.” My mother, as usual, was more thoughtful. She writes:

I love Mike Twohy’s lab rat cartoons—especially the Dr. Henderson one (“When Dr. Henderson comes in, everybody play dead”). I’m trying to think of a caption, without much luck. So, we have the clipboard guy in the fuzzy rat suit, glasses and street shoes, taking notes and reporting to the lab-coat guy, who appears to be nonplussed. Some of the rats are paying attention, but most are wandering around in their cages.

The only caption I can think of is something like “Participant Observation, Perkins. It all comes down to Participant Observation.” Pretty lame, I realize, but it does call to mind my neophyte anthropology fieldwork days, and the (temporary and misplaced) illusion that I was following guidelines, “fitting into the community” and being something other than a blatant outsider—inevitably creating data perforce to suit my thesis, rather than recording or observing anything genuine, which was elusive and would have taken far more time.

“Participant observation” is probably long gone from the ethnography lexicon now, but as late as the 1960’s the term was still seriously bandied about. The concept was important to the funding of Margaret Mead’s Samoan fieldwork—idea being that as a woman she could find out all kinds of things that the male researchers had only limited or formal access to.

How naive and simplistic it all sounds now. Why would the Samoan (and later the Balinese) women confide in Mead, a white woman and an outsider, suspiciously unmarried, and transient? Similarly, why would the men open their hearts to the tall, somewhat eccentric safari-clad New Zealander Reo Fortune? Researchers like Gregory Bateson and Claude Levi-Strauss had a clearer task: looking into linguistics and local economics and the broad dynamics of social structure. Religion: always more murky.

Back to the lab rats; I look forward to seeing what the winning caption is. But what the heck, I’m writing my personal version on the drawing for posting on my refrigerator. Whatever, the rats with their whiskers and pointy noses are wonderful.

By the way, it’s going to be hard to outdo Twohy in the caption department. If you scan all of his stuff in the Cartoon Bank, you may be surprised to see what a high percentage of really hilarious captions there are. The current issue’s blank cartoon looks like good material for the right writer, though, so I’ll be my optimistic self (I find that even as I become more pessimistic, I seem to remain an optimist almost despite myself) and say good luck to them all, and I’m eager to see the results.

Q. & A.: Your Caption Here [New Yorker; Mankoff explains the contest, its challenges, and its origins. “Now, if instead of the receiver he had a banana in his hand—”]
“I don’t usually volunteer for experiments, but I’m kind of a puzzle freak.” [Twohy, Cartoon Bank]
“Five thousand hours, and his vital signs are still strong.” [Twohy, Cartoon Bank]

(4.25.05 & 5.02.05 issues) Because you might not read the NY Post

Or at least not every day. I’ve been busy catching up on last week’s New Yorker—I’m particularly enjoying Ian Frazier’s piece on the marauder Hulagu (is there anything Frazier can’t write?) and reeling from Lillian Ross’ ecstatic litany of spiffy names (Solondz, Revlon, Perelman, East Sixties, Byrne, Deco, Christian Louboutin, JAR diamond, Warhol, Mao, Yorkie, Maltese, Wheaten, King Charles, Scruffy—just in the first graf) in the style of Bret Easton Ellis, under the auspices of a profile of “squinty” Ellen Barkin. Ross (I mean “a visitor”; they must let her do that as a nod to the old unsigned guard) doesn’t make it clear how a bookshelf can be “piled high with yarmulkes”—where books would normally be? on top? Hard to picture.

And yet she does, as always, provide answers to questions we didn’t know we had, like: Does Barkin, who must have heard some unkind remarks about her last name in the past, like her dogs? And: Who makes the brisket? And: What do cosmetics billionaries wear to work? Barkin, a Twizzler eater, is also remarkably frank on the record about the personality tics of her adolescent children, considering adolescents’ tendency to strike back in deeply unpleasant ways. But on to this week’s contents, courtesy of the sprightly Post writer/s (don’t see a byline):

Criminy, was there any news happening around the world? Lemme see what The New Yorker has. A second installment of Elizabeth Kolbert’s dive into the global warming pool, a David Remnick piece on Tony Blair and an opus on how dummies are helping doctors get better at doctoring. Nope, nothing here. Kolbert says scientists are trying to project future climate-changes by looking back at fallen civilizations. This is what teams of scientists studying for climates for years have determined: that the climate changes which doomed past civilizations “were caused by forces that, at this point, can only be guessed at.” Thanks for that. Remnick finds Blair in a tough race because of his pro-Iraq war stance. Sounds like a replay to most American readers, no?

Incidentally, from Frazier’s Hulagu piece: “Anyone who does research knows you have to stay focussed on your topic and not go down every interesting avenue you pass, or you will end up wandering aimlessly in attention-deficit limbo.” His story, of course, cleverly contradicts this. When, I wonder, will the sensible Remnick—known for resisting temptations to make the magazine into a mausoleum of past glories and styles—put his foot down about British spellings? Half-Canadian and U.K.-mad, I’m hardly one to complain about an extra U here and there in most circumstances, but really, “focussed”? It makes a magazine that’s making strong efforts to move closer to the heart of things American seem sorta precious and elite. That won’t do!

On the other hand, I do like—after initial suspicion—the Charles Addams ripoff/homage on p. 92 by Jason Patterson. It’s a good joke, and a clever drawing (it takes a few seconds to see how disastrous things are, as in the best Addams cartoons), and I say, except for some of Lillian Ross’ product placements and the crumpety spelling, looking back—like wandering aimlessly—is often to be recommended.

On the Newsstand: Celeb Mag Overload [NY Post]

I love that dirty water

Intellectuals are supposedly moving from Boston to Washington. I’m skeptical. Says the Times:


Louis Menand, the New Yorker writer and Harvard literature professor, who has also worked in Washington, said that while the capital has “this reputation of being wonky and boring,” this can be appealing for practitioners of ideas. Washington journalists especially “become suddenly interesting in a way they might not be in New York,” where they are competing with artists, actors, restaurateurs, advertising executives and Wall Street moguls for prestige, he said.

As is often the case, there’s no trend in this Times trend piece, since The Atlantic‘s move from Boston to Washington “was driven by economics, not symbolism or a desire for cachet.” Saying Boston’s no longer “trying”—as if this were a performance review—is pure silliness. Even if what Menand says is true, there’s something defeatist about it—it’s like giving up on New York men and moving to Alaska to find a husband (or dialing up a faraway mail-order bride). Sure, tired people starved for conversation not about tax cuts will find your monograph riveting, but will that satisfy after the first few heady conversations? Of course there are smart folks who read in Washington, but you can’t convince me that Boston still doesn’t have more big thinkers, block for block and bar for bar, than D.C. I’m very fond of the proud northern city myself, though I lived there for only six days before moving to blizzardy Buffalo, NY. On the seventh day, I nested.

Washington’s Egghead Quotient Keeps Growing [NYT]