Books Acquired Recently

Rivers, Larry, with Arnold Weinstein. What Did I Do? The Unauthorized Autobiography. New York: Harper, 1992.

I am interested in Larry Rivers because of his close friendship/relationship with my favorite poet Frank O’Hara, but I don’t know much about his work. I recently read an essay on O’Hara in the Journal of the Midwest Modern Language Association that cited this book, and I thought to myself “I bet I can get a copy of this for next-to-nothing on amazon.com,” which was the case. Less that five dollars for a brand new hardcover–how could a book-buying addict like me resist?

Shepard, Judy. The Meaning of Matthew: My Son’s Murder in Laramie, and a World Transformed. 2009. New York: Plume, 201o.

I just received this as a belated birthday gift from a friend. I hadn’t heard of it before, but I am interested in the Matthew Shepard story as a part of my interest in all things queer, so I look forward to reading it.

On the Accumulation of Multiple Copies of the Same Book

In an article in the July 12, 2012 New York Review of Books, Michael Chabon writes that he “acquired five copies, of various size and vintage” of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake during the year that he worked his way through the novel. I love this little detail because I, too, find myself obsessively buying different printings of books that I treasure. Reading isn’t just about encountering ideas in a book, it is also about interacting with a physical object (which is yet another reason why ereaders are evil), and I like that Chabon acknowledges this by ensconcing himself both physically and mentally in the book.

Books that I keep buying include

James Baldwin’s Another Country, which is one of the best novels I’ve ever read about both race and LGBT issues. I think it is Baldwin’s best novel–more powerful than Go Tell It On The Mountain, more sincere than Giovanni’s Room. I have it as an old Signet paperback and in the Library of America’s collection of Baldwin’s early novels, and once I get to teach it I’ll pick up the current Vintage paperback.

Samuel R. Delany’s novels, the old cheap paperbacks (especially the Bantam ones) of which I encounter fairly frequently in used bookstores, and always buy because they are so aesthetically appealing even though I have most of them in their most recent printings from Wesleyan University Press or Vintage.

Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, which, alongside Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, is the cornerstone of American literature, thus one can never have too many copies of it. I have the Penguin edition, a hideous teaching edition from Pearson-Longman, and two beautiful collector’s editions, one from the Folio Society and one from the Franklin Library.

Frank O’Hara’s poetry: I have the indispensable Collected Poems edited by Donald Allen, which was the first of O’Hara’s books that I bought, and I also have the 2008 Selected Poems edited by Mark Ford, as well as O’Hara’s two major original collections, Meditations in An Emergency and Lunch Poems.

Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, which of course was published in six different editions over nine printings during Whitman’s lifetime. I have the Penguin printing of the 1855 edition (the best edition), the Signet printing of the 1892 edition, the Library of America volume which includes the 1855 and 1892 editions plus much of Whitman’s prose, an illustrated edition by Heritage Press (I think it’s the 1855 edition, but I don’t remember off of the top of my head–I’m writing this at my office and the book is at home), a faux facsimile of the 1855 edition by Oxford University Press (it reproduces the exact typsetting formatting of the original, but is not a photographic facsimile), the New York University Press variorum edition that collates all six original editions, and a selection of poems which draws on all of the Leaves of Grass editions edited by Galway Kinnell and published by Ecco that I use for teaching because it includes “Poem on the Proposition of Nakedness,” which did not appear in the 1855 or 1892 editions.

Also, on a somewhat different subject, shortly after reading Chabon’s article, I encountered an article by Louis Menand in the July 2, 2012 New Yorker about biographies of Joyce. I haven’t thought deeply about Joyce in years because I’m not really a fan of his work (I recognize its historical significance, but it feels dated to me), but it always strikes me when I encounter several random references to a person or book within a short period of time. It feels uncanny. I find that this happens to me several times a year, usually with someone whose work I am not familiar with (Marina Abramovic is one example from several years ago, and Antonin Artaud is a more recent one). It is like the universe is telling me that it is the right time in my life for me to encounter the person in question in order to learn from them, and this is often the case–the timing is perfect. I don’t really have the time this summer to give Ulysses the attention that would be necessary for a re-read of it, but these recent encounters with Joyce make me stop and ponder.

John Irving’s In One Person

John Irving’s new novel In One Person is a beautiful, fantastic book. It is narrated by Bill in the present day as he reflects upon growing up in the 1950s and the intervening half-century. He realizes as a teenager that he is bisexual, and the rest of the novel describes his journey to figuring out how he fits in a society that designates him as Other and the friends he meets along the way. It is the best fictional depiction of bisexuality that I have ever encountered both in terms of how accurate it is and how positively bisexuality is portrayed–Bill encounters lots of people who are unsympathetic to him, but he never lets their hatred affect his confidence in who he is and his confidence that there is nothing wrong with him. The novel also includes several sympathetic transgender characters and a moving description of the early AIDS crisis. It is difficult to write about In One Person because it is just so good that mere descriptions of it pale in comparison.

Euro 2012: Spain Champions Again

Spain made history today with their 4-0 victory over Italy in the Euro 2012 final, becoming the first team to ever win three major championships in a row. Spain also became the first team to win two Euros in a row, and these two victories, along with their 2010 World Cup championship, make them the best side ever. They have had an incredible half-decade.

I have criticized Spain throughout the tournament for playing uninspired soccer, but today they pulled out all of the stops, scoring with ease against an Italian side that were playing quite well. Spain only allowed one goal the entire tournament (in their opening match against Italy), which is another record. They played like a true team in that their offensive players scored enough to get results and the defense was airtight, not assuming that they could be lazy because they could just run up the score on the other end. It gets boring when the same team wins all of the time, but one must give full credit to Spain—their results speak for themselves.

“Another Life” by Paul La Farge

There’s a fantastic short story in this week’s New Yorker (July 2, 2012) by Paul La Farge called “Another Life,” which is about an English professor (aren’t stories by English professors about English professors the best?) in his late 30s who picks up the bartender of his hotel after his wife goes off to sleep with a man whom she meets while watching the Celtics game at the bar. The story is told in the second person, which is often gimmicky, but it works here because La Farge’s language is so vivid and urgent that the reader gets drawn into the story, thinking only about the actions of the characters and what they look like in one’s head and forgetting about the story’s form. For instance, here is the professor’s first kiss with the bartender: “Then the husband leaps forward and kisses April P, whose body is hot and full of instincts.” What a lovely line! It describes something cliche using language which makes fun of the cliche, but in a way that is not cliche, thus making it especially sharp. The story ends realistically, with both April and the professor going back to their dreary, normal lives, but this conclusion is not depressing because the force of their experience, of their brief entrance into the other “life” of the title, is the element of the story that sticks with the reader. Also, there is a hilarious scene where they do a few lines of cocaine off of the cover of the Norton Anthology of American Literature. Best use of a Norton ever!

Theodora Keogh’s My Name is Rose

Theodora Keogh’s 1956 novel My Name is Rose is, like her 1954 novel, The Fascinator, about a married woman having an affair. However, unlike the earlier book, where the story builds up to the affair and the woman is not punished, My Name is Rose depicts a woman whose actions drive her to madness because of the guilt she feels (the narrator’s voice does not seem to condemn her). It takes place in postwar France, with all of the stereotypical touchstones one might expect from such a setting–the poor artistic neighbors, the husband who works on a literary magazine, the American expatriate (Rose herself), the clandestine meetings in cafés, et cetera. But Keogh’s brilliance lies in how affecting, how sharp, how uncanny her books are despite their simple plots. She makes us care for Rose and hope for her happiness, hope that she will realize her husband, who is so modest that he refuses to see her naked, will always make her unhappy. Keogh does this by switching back and forth between first and third person, with Rose’s sections in the form of journal entries. These entries get more and more frenzied even as Rose’s affair makes her happier and happier. Her fatal flaw is that she is only able to take what she wants via action rather than also in spirit–she never commits to doing what she needs, instead letting men use her like a pawn. Rose’s inability to love herself is her undoing. Keogh thus creates another profound proto-feminist text, showing that women must grab control of their own lives.

Euro 2012 Final: Middling Spain vs. Surprising Italy

Italy convincingly beat Germany 2-1 today to set up a match against Spain in the Euro 2012 final. Italy played their best match of the tournament despite a shaky game from goalkeeper Gigi Buffon, with Mario Balotelli scoring two fantastic goals in the first half. The Italians have played inconsistently in the tournament (their only previous win was against underwhelming Ireland), but seem to be peaking at the right time.

Spain, on the other hand, got outplayed by Portugal during regulation of their semifinal, then played somewhat better during extra time, and won on penalties. The Spanish continue to not play impressively, but to their credit they are getting the job done, and the bottom line is results. They look more beatable than they have in quite a while. If Italy plays on Sunday like they did today, they will win the tournament. They were impressive in the first round draw between the two sides. It is difficult to bet against Spain, though.

R.I.P. Nora Ephron

Nora Ephron died today at the age of 71. This is a major loss for American culture. While I enjoyed a number of Ephron’s films, including When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail, and Bewitched, I will especially remember her for her occasional witty personal essays from the New Yorker and her early feminist essays in collections such as Crazy Salad: Some Things About Women (1975). I always felt enriched after reading her work because she had the ability to be profound without being pedantic, and she used enough humor that I would feel inspired to keep on without feeling that she was making a big joke of everything. I will miss her.

Women Readers and the Crisis of the Male Novelist

Elaine Blair has a fantastic article in the current issue of The New York Review of Books (July 12, 2012) about how the fictional trend of oafish male protagonists has evolved from the work of hoary giants such as Philip Roth and John Updike through the work of present-day writers such as Gary Shteyngart and Jonathan Franzen. She points out that, while female readers in the 1960s were willing to read their sexist contemporaries because that’s what one did in order to keep up with the intellectual Joneses, female readers today (who comprise a much larger proportion of fiction readers than they did in the 1960s because all guys want to do now is play video games) are much less willing to put up with men’s misogynist shenanigans, fictional or otherwise. Blair posits that contemporary male authors are aware of this (logical) attitude, and as a result make their male characters so ridiculously pathetic that they are impossible to hate; one just feels sorry for them instead. As a result, maybe female readers will read their books. She shows, though, that this trend is just sexist pandering which leads to a lot of uninteresting novels.

I fully agree with this critique. Blair quotes a David Foster Wallace essay in which he recounts an instance of one of his female friends calling Updike “Just a penis with a thesaurus.” This description is spot on… but damn, that penis sure knows how to get the most out of that thesaurus. I have to admit that I like Updike, and I love Roth (and Wallace, and Franzen). They are my guilty pleasures. I enjoy their writing because I am their intended audience, no matter how much they try to attract female readers. I can’t imagine women enjoying their male characters because I don’t enjoy them either. But I appreciate their truthfulness, and their beautiful use of language.

This raises the question, though, of whether literature that is merely valuable for its formal and/or aesthetic qualities is worthwhile. To read for fun, maybe, but I don’t assign these authors in my classes because they are so off-putting to women. The ideal texts to teach are those which are both aesthetically beautiful and politically engaging–Toni Morrison, Samuel R. Delany, Don DeLillo, and the like.

Euro 2012: England Lose on Penalties Again

The Euro 2012 quarterfinals concluded today with England and Italy drawing 0-0 after extra time and the Italians progressing to the semifinals 4-2 on penalties. It was the first 0-0 match of the tournament even though both sides had some very good scoring chances in the first half and the game was an exciting one until the extra time sessions. It was yet another failure for the English on penalties; this time they were ahead 2-1 when Ashley Young hit the crossbar with his kick and then Ashley Cole had his kick saved. It means that Italy will play Germany in the second semifinal on Thursday, and Portugal and Spain meet in an Iberian derby on Wednesday. Germany have played better than Italy throughout the tournament and will have two days extra rest, so expect them to advance. The Portugal-Spain match will be a close one. Spain have been steady but not great, and Portugal have been riding Cristiano Ronaldo’s coattails. If Ronaldo is able to keep up his torrid play, the Portuguese will pull off the upset.