Conversational Reading

Why Is Everyone Reviewing HHhH?

admin — Wed, 16 May 2012 10:50:24 +0000

With the James Wood review in this week’s New Yorker, it’s official: everyone has reviewed HHhH by Lauren Binet. And, well, the critics that I trust haven’t thought too much of it. Wood gives it a very mediocre review, pointing out sloppy prose and a facile meta-narrative structure.

Sam Sacks in the Wall Street Journal writes,

The Heydrich story is one of the war’s darkest, his murder a sensational coup; it would be hard not to turn the tale into an exciting book. Mr. Binet has tried. His rendering (translated from the French by Sam Taylor) is less an imaginative narrative of the historical event than a rambling meditation on the morality of “novelistic invention.” He gives readers behind-the-scenes looks at his research process, and he is constantly interrupting the action to fret about whether it’s ethical to say, for example, that Himmler wore a blue shirt one day if there is no documentation to support the detail. Mr. Binet is passionate about his subject, but his moaning about the challenges of writing historical fiction diminishes the horror and courage at the heart of the story. “I keep banging my head up against the wall of history,” Mr. Binet writes—it isn’t clear why the reader should have to suffer with him.

Michael Orthofer calls it a YA novel, which seems about right.

I could go on. Since so few translations get any coverage whatsoever, it’s always a question when one manages to get attention virtually anywhere. Is it because HHhH was an international bestseller? Was it because it received the Prix Goncourt for a first book (not to be confused with the Prix Goncourt)? Because it’s yet another book about the Holocaust? Because FSG is pushing it hard?

All of those critics that rushed out to cover HHhH for whatever reason should smack themselves on the forehead and take a look at Mathematics: by Jacques Roubaud. Released on March 15 by the Dalkey Archive, it is the most criminally under-appreciated translation to have crossed my desk this year. The third book to be translated in his Great Fire of London “project,” Mathematics: is everything HHhH is not: charmingly bizarre, quietly but powerfully innovative in structure, and possessed of a truly strong, interesting literary voice.

Here are Ryan Ruby’s apt words in Bookforum:

As with Infinite Jest—a work by another author interested in the intersection between philosophy, mathematics, and literature—reading Mathematics: requires the use of multiple bookmarks: one for the main story of the “branch”; one for the extended “interpolations” that are placed at the end of each chapter; and one for the alternative narratives (or “bifurcations”) at the end of chapters two and three. As Roubaud piles tangent upon tangent and traces parallel lines of story, the reader is forced to switch back and forth across the pages until he is quite literally lost in the book. With this structure, which mimics the way our minds are invaded by memories and distractions, he crosses what may be the printed book’s final frontier—the linear progression of pagination.

While all books teach us how they are meant to be read, few do so as explicitly as the “Great Fire” series. A great deal of Mathematics: concerns itself with explaining how its narrative was constructed. There are accounts of the genesis of book’s particular architecture; the constraints under which it was composed; and an elucidation of everything from the interlocking parentheses to the multiple font sizes and typefaces down to the colon at the end of the word mathematics in the title (according to what Roubaud calls the “Gertrude Stein Axiom,” “A title is a proper noun describing a book “—or, to put it another way, “a book is an autobiography of its title.”)

All of this makes for highly self-conscious writing. But Mathematics: avoids the pitfalls of most metafiction: preciousness, smugness, self-indulgence. Though the melancholy tone of the first two branches is largely absent from this one, Mathematics: manages to retain a sense of gravity.

Are People Starting to Tire of the Franz?

admin — Wed, 16 May 2012 10:35:36 +0000

The new book isn’t getting very good reviews. And this review even started out with a meta-critique of Franzen the media hound.

The problem reveals itself here, you see, because most of “Farther Away” takes Franzen himself as subject. Self-obsession is a hallmark of the essay. From Montaigne to Joseph Mitchell and beyond, sensibility, voice, and insightful idiosyncrasy offer the compelling arguments for publishing them. But Franzen isn’t Mitchell, and he’s surely not Montaigne. High standards, to be sure, but Franzen often invites himself into discussions of literary greatness, even though what we have to contend with in this collection isn’t the shadow of greatness so much as the stain of celebrity. Here’s my point: Without knowing that these essays are the product of Jonathan Franzen, many don’t merit re-publication.

“Interview with New York State,” a leaden piece of satire in which Franzen personifies the Empire State, is the only outright bad piece in the collection. More pervasive, and thus more disappointing, are multiple book reviews.

With one exception — a startlingly inspired review of Alice Munro that offers insight into reviewing and writing fiction — these reviews are analytically timid, rhetorically bland, and oppressively nice. Donald Antrim, among others, falls under Franzen’s critical lazy eye, but even this piece reads like a favor to an acquaintance. “The craziness of [Antrim’s] ‘The Hundred Brothers,’ ” Franzen writes, “derives from its willingness to embrace, even celebrate, the dark fact that an individual’s life consists, finally, of an accelerating march toward decay and death.” Antrim’s work is profound, but such observations are trite. As a reviewer Franzen’s gold, his name in a publication draws the reader. In his own book, though, name recognition means little.

On the Importance of Not Making People Loathe Literature

admin — Tue, 15 May 2012 10:43:58 +0000

Maybe this is why I’ve generally found Simon Critchley’s philosophy quite rewarding, whereas many others in his genre are dull reads and not worth the struggle. What he says is so true. I happen to believe there’s a sizable audience of people who are interested in literature and don’t loathe it, but do loathe the people who like to make it seem loathsome.

The discipline of the sentence is very important to me. It’s important to write well, and the way you learn to write well is by studying the English language and other languages too. I’m working on a book at the moment on Hamlet, and what fascinates me about Hamlet is the use of language and oxymoronic construction, antithetical construction. So, yes, sentence structure is very important to me. Literature is what it’s all about. It’s symptomatic of a number of things. I’m not really in literature and never really have been. To me the study of literature isn’t really interested in literature; it’s a loathing of it in many ways, either through some sort of boyish Marxism or historicism or formalism or whatever. So I guess the reason people like me and Tom McCarthy stumbled into having more to do with the art world was because we found there was an audience there for what we were interested in, which just wasn’t there in people that were allegedly interested in literature who wanted middlebrow fiction or professionalized scholarly activity. So, literature for me, it’s what everything comes back to, it’s essential.

Naked Singularity Big Read Schedule

admin — Mon, 14 May 2012 13:33:32 +0000

Here is the schedule for the summer read of A Naked Singularity by Sergio De La Pava. The dates correspond to the first day of the week in which we will be reading the indicated segment.

Discussion of each segment will occur during that week, probably with some looking back as we go further. And there will be four signed copies of the original POD edition to be given away at various points during the read.

Schedule

June 10: Chapter 1 to Chapter 3x2x1 (1 – 131)
June 17: Chapter 3x2x1 to End of Part 1 (131 – 313)
June 24: Chapter 12 to Chapter 19 (316 – 425)
July 1: Chapter 19 to End of Part 2 (426 – 525)
July 8: Part 3 (528 – 678)

Here are clips from some of the reviews of the book so far. Interesting stuff:

Booklist: “Although David Foster Wallace fans will likely notice his influence on de la Pava, the better comparison may be to Evan Dara’s The Lost Scrapbook (1998), which, like this book, developed a major following after originally being self-published.”

Dmitry Portnoy (Amazon reviewer): “”A Naked Singularity” is the greatest lawyer novel since “To Kill a Mockingbird,” the best originally self-published novel since “Youth In Revolt,” and the third big fat great novel of this century after “Europe Central” and “The Instructions.”"

switterbug (also from Amazon): “This blazing, colossal creation was originally self-published by a vanity press in 2008, and left to hang in obscurity for four years. Here’s the author’s bio:

“Sergio De La Pava is a writer who does not live in Brooklyn.”

Consider that Brooklyn is the writer’s writers’ colony of Pulitzer and other award-stamped writers, the borough of billboard blockbusters and earnest publicity favorites scratching out their lines between the lines of the backlit white box. And, all this time, La Pava was under the radar, his brain a sapient submarine with the torqued turbines whirring, writing the most spectacular linguistic blitzkrieg of a novel that I have encountered in the past decade (or more). Too bad publicity counts for so much, because the only introduction he needs is this phenomenal, audacious, achingly humane book to speak for itself.”

Review of Contemporary Fiction: “The whole feels like The Recognitions as legal thriller, a glorious mess with dashes of Powers, minor Pynchon, and White Noise, among many others. . . . [I]n its ambitions and shortcomings and shaggy glory, A Naked Singularity is perhaps most reminiscent of The Broom of the System. So that bodes well.”

The Quarterly Conversation: “It’s one of those fantastic, big, messy books like Darconville’s Cat or Infinite Jest or Women and Men, though it’s not really like any of those books or those writers. . . . . But see here: I refuse to divulge too much of the plot, because watching it unfold is one of the great joys of the novel. . . . . What I keep coming back to is the audacity of this novel, which is truly a towering, impressive work–De La Pava’s not hesitant to break and then mirror the narrative with the story of professional boxer Wilfred Benitez, or insert a recipe, none of which hinder the narrative but rather shape the entirety of the book, making the actual story and its effect on the characters (and the characters’ actions that shape the story, et cetera) more profound”

See Attacks, Vicious

admin — Mon, 14 May 2012 10:40:02 +0000

Douglas Messerli on Woodcutters by Thomas Bernhard.

In Thomas Bernhard’s 1984 fiction, Holzfällen, moreover, we perceive that the feeling of disgust by some writers for others is not just an American phenomenon, but if we are to take the voice of Bernhard’s narrator as an example, perhaps even more virulently experienced in Austria. And, unless we are somehow involved in that scene, the petty hatreds and disgust (amounting almost to nausea) felt by the central character makes for great fun, as he cattily attacks his fellow dinner partners gathered together in Vienna’s Gentgasse for what the hosts, the detested Auersbergers, have described as “an artistic dinner.” For Bernhard’s Viennese counterparts, some of whom recognized themselves in his satiric attacks, the presentation of their failures, however, was not at all “fun,” one going so far to sue the author and preventing his book from sale.

There is certainly no question that Bernhard, bearing a close relationship to the narrator, presents a devastating portrait of his fellow artists—writers, musicians, tapestry weavers, dancers, actors, and just plain hangers-on. The drubbing they receive and the recounting of the narrator’s intimate relationships with many of these figures is almost maniacal as he recounts over and over how he came to know each figure, what role they played in his life, and how they ultimately came to be the truly “hated” figures he regurgitates up before us. Bernhard’s book, in short, is precisely as its title suggests—at least in the German—a wood-cutting exercise, Holzfällen suggesting in the original not just the noun “woodcutters,” but the verbal construction of a critical denunciation.

More on Bernhard at The Quarterly Conversation.

Review of Varamo

admin — Fri, 11 May 2012 16:59:08 +0000

The next installment in the great Aira invasion of the North American continent is upon us: Varamo. My review has just published at The National:

Perhaps it is because Aira stays so close to Varamo’s daily routine that this is one of the most carefully observed of his novels. Due credit must be paid to the translator, Chris Andrews, for putting Aira’s quietly comic locutions into a well-tended English that maintains the compactness and freshness of the original. Each element Aira draws our attention to is placed into sharp focus before being discussed in short, entertaining digressions. For instance, a “poison-pen” letter received by Varamo’s mother is described as “a little too typical, as if the author had simply wanted to conform to the rules of the genre without having anything definite to say and had filled the letter with classic phrases, which seemed to have been strung together at random, with the sole aim of producing the ‘poison-pen effect’.”

Explanation

admin — Thu, 10 May 2012 18:15:45 +0000

AO Scott on Patience (After Sebald):

So “Patience (After Sebald)” may not, in the end, offer much in the way of explanation. It does not solve the puzzle of an oeuvre that, as it made its way from German to English, established its creator as a major and unique force in world literature. Once you read him, you may discern traces of his influence everywhere (in a book like Teju Cole’s “Open City,” for example) and may find yourself collecting thoughts and perceptions that qualify as Sebaldian. Whatever that might mean.

Harry Mathews, on confusion, as quoted in Many Subtle Channels:

It’s obviously much more interesting to be curious about a riddle then to find out the solution.

It would be nice to read one review of Patience (After Sebald) that I felt took the film seriously. Till then, read The White Review’s interview with filmmaker Grant Gee.

I Wouldn’t Have Guessed That

admin — Thu, 10 May 2012 17:53:33 +0000

Lev Grossman talking about reviewing books is a little like that 50 Shades of Grey person talking about bring an author. Here, Grossman talks about how he picks books for review:

But then there’s the signal – that delicious, delicious signal. People often ask me how I choose books to review. There’s no simple answer; also no especially interesting answer. I review books if they do something I’ve never seen done before; or if I fall in love with them; or if they shock me or piss me off or otherwise won’t leave me alone; if they alter the way my brain works; if I can’t stop thinking about them; if for whatever reason I absolutely have to tell people about them.

I haven’t always done it that way. Early on in my career I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I thought other people would want me to review, and what I thought other people would fall in love with, and then reviewing those books. But the truth is I was just guessing, and when I did I generally guessed wrong. Over time I retreated to the following position: I am a book-loving human being, and if I love something, then some other book-loving human elsewhere will probably love it too.

I don’t doubt that Grossman follows his heart, but c’mon, he’s following his heart within a very limited range of choices. Just look at his top 10 list from 2011 and try to find a book that wasn’t published by a major American publisher and wreathed with praise from just about every dependable organ of book reviewing in the United States.

I bring this up because immediately before this Grossman talks about the 30 or 40 books that arrive at Time magazine every day, no doubt many from worthy small presses that would die for the kind of attention Time could give. And this is to my point—I’m sure Grossman is a honest, decent guy, but the PR push (read: dollars spent) that a publisher puts behind a book, plus the fact that Time has certain audience expectations that must be met (and Grossman’s periodical isn’t unique here by a long shot), means that those sorts of books have no chance of being covered by this kind of a publication.

I’m fine if Grossman wants to go around saying he’s a book reviewer, but let’s not mistake what he’s doing here: in most cases he’s functioning as an adjunct of a publisher’s marketing department, essentially adding whatever institutional and personal authority he has to the marketing push for a book that has almost certainly been acclaimed 10 times over by “reviewers” that are similarly empowered. In other words, what I’m saying is there is no need for a Lev Grossman review of Freedom, whereas there could be a plausible justification for a Lev Grossman review of My Two Worlds. Using Time magazine to help push a book such as the latter would be to help literary culture emerge from the morass of dull, mainstream novels that it seems destined to remain mired in perpetually, whereas using Time to push the former is only to perpetuate a system of mediocrity.

More on Bolano’s Journalist

admin — Wed, 09 May 2012 16:19:04 +0000

The LARB has a sharp review of The Femicide Machine, plus an interview with author Sergio González Rodríguez.

This caught my eye:

But González Rodríguez agreed to meet us and (winkingly, I thought) chose the patio of the Four Seasons hotel, with its menu of fancy cocktails and uniformed wait staff, as the place. You couldn’t miss the contrast between the setting and the subject matter when González Rodríguez called over the waiter for another round of drinks and then, smiling, pulled out a black-and-white picture to pass around the table. It was going to be the cover of his forthcoming book, El hombre sin cabeza (The Headless Man). It showed a man’s bloody severed head being served on a white plate.

And, in fact, it does:

I have to say, this doesn’t exactly surprise me. Back when I lived in Mexico, the Mexican taste for things that we would generally consider grotesque was quite apparent. A severed head on a book cover was definitely the kind of thing that they could roll with, and it wasn’t uncommon to see things like this for sale. I’d love to see this book get published in English, cover intact.

Letras Libres has more on this book, in Spanish.

Someone Save Criticism from The Atlantic

admin — Tue, 08 May 2012 11:26:51 +0000

It’s amazing that in 2012 The Atlantic can still publish something so clueless as this. Titled “Could the Internet Save Book Reviews?” the posting purports to be an investigation into just that. So, what vital new review sources does intrepid Atlantic reporter Sarah Fay turn up? After the obligatory smack at Amazon reviews, we learn,

But there are also signs of hope from pioneers like Nancy Pearl, the Seattle librarian behind “Book Lust.” Pearl tends to recommend rather than review but does so with the expertise that only a librarian or someone who works in an independent bookstore has. (She was also the inspiration for the first librarian action figure.) Like Pearl, Jessa Crispin of Bookslut.com recommends rather than reviews but where Pearl is earnest Crispin is irreverent and sometimes vulgar. She’s a savvy, hipster reviewer whose site is a haphazard array of literary gossip, sound bites, and reviews. Goodreads is a social network for book reviews, but it’s modeled on a book-club model rather than a journalistic one. For now, Goodreads is basically Facebook with books, but if enough contributors set the bar high with creative, funny, and smart reviews it might become a force of its own. These recommenders offer a vision for Orwell’s hope that there be short reviews of less-worthy titles.

The future of book reviewing isn’t confined to the written word: Podcasts could reinvent or ruin journalistic literary criticism. There currently exist only three podcasts that truly review books: Nancy Pearl’s Book Lust podcast, which also airs on NPR’s Morning Edition, Maureen Corrigan’s reviews on Fresh Air, and Tom Lutz’s Los Angeles Review of Books podcasts on KCRW—all of which are smart, valuable resources. Out magazine’s “Outsider” podcast airs once every couple of months and reviews film and visual art as well. The panel of guests for the show often includes Dale Peck, a writer who reached book-reviewer superstardom (if there is such a thing) with Hatchet Jobs, a collection of his reviews for The New Republic, in 2004. He’s best known for his review of Rick Moody’s memoir The Black Veil, which opened with the lede, “Rick Moody is the worst writer of his generation.” But as a reviewer, Peck was more than just a show-boater who stirred up controversy; he was a whipsmart critic with a fabulous sense of humor.

Yes, that’s right, the future of web-based book reviewing is Nancy Pearl, Goodreads, and NPR. I suppose this is my fault for expecting a posting on Internet book reviewing to actually include reviews of books that are native to the Internet.

Oddly, Fay then begins to talk about creative criticism. That’s good, because this is something that’s quite close to my own interests. So who is the form’s leading practitioner?

Michiko Kakutani is perhaps the best example of a creative critic who publishes regularly.

No. Actually, that’s nothing like what is meant by “creative criticism.”

She sometimes mocks literary characters in her reviews, as she did when she parroted Holden Caulfield in her review of Benjamin Kunkel’s Indecision.

No.

(Kakutani is the only American critic whose name has become a verb. The phrase “getting Kakutanied” means receiving a laudatory review followed by a scathing one, a particularly scathing review, or several scathing reviews in a row.)

That sounds like something you just made up.

It’s worth considering whether or not Kakutani is censured because her reviews thrive on authority and imagination.

No, that’s not the reason.

Seriously, Atlantic? I know the imperative to fill up cyberspace with metric tons of prose never abates, but is this really the best you can do? This post is an insult to anyone who actually gives a damn about literary culture and the honest critics who try to promote it. I know you can do better than this, I really know you can.