(5) “Vinegar Girl,” by Anne Tyler. It seems to me that Tyler doesn’t get enough respect. (Half the world feels this way.) One tone-deaf review called this recent Tyler novel insensitive to Eastern European immigrants, and it’s not. It’s smart, brisk, funny, and sad. Tyler has written over twenty novels, and her next one is out in early July. I recommend “Vinegar Girl” while you wait, especially for the classroom scenes: A rebellious pre-K teaching assistant mocks the school lunch, gets entangled in a “did not-did so” discussion, and has the gall to answer, bluntly, a child’s question about “who is the best artist in the class?” As a former childish leader of children, I was delighted, and I “could relate.”
(4) “The Staircase.” Recently, my husband and I woke up in the middle of the night talking about this show. If Janet Malcolm could make a movie, it would be this. The actual trial seems so far removed from the question of what happened on the night of the murder, it’s like you’re watching a “Saturday Night Live” skit. There’s a lengthy discussion about etiquette, about what it means to sign a book, with a gushing inscription, from an “expert” you will later try to dismantle on the stand. The director, not an American, seems uniquely aware of the ways we “perform” for one another. We see clips of newscasters, speaking confidently and mellifluously, then screwing up. We see hour after hour of deranged gallows humor when Peterson’s legal team gathers. We see a lawyer rehearsing, contending with a faulty fire alarm and an inept I/T assistant. Lorrie Moore says, in her writing, she tries to take on the stance of a “friendly alien”--and that’s what the “Staircase” director has done, here, to dazzling effect.
(3) Roxane Gay in the NYT. Gay may be right about the book she is reviewing, but she undersells the value of “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The greatness of that novel isn’t its clumsy approach to the legal plot; it’s the Bildungsroman story. There’s real pleasure in seeing Scout read, and misread, the world--seeing a child make judgments about adult absurdities. Gay hints at this, but she doesn’t spend enough time on Scout’s voice; for that reason, her review seems weak to me.
(2) Life in South Orange. In Park Slope, you had to be very shrewd about the name you assigned to a business. The name had to be spare and crowd-tested; it had to give off a sense of not trying too hard. Sometimes, the business names seemed to be fabricated character names: “Fox and Jane,” “Watty and Meg.” Sometimes, the business name was brutal, severe: “Kitchen,” “Spoon,” “Parish.” South Orange has none of this pretentiousness. These businesses are proudly awkward, and they remind me of my hometown in Western New York. “Falafel-ly Yours.” “Gaslight” (which is unfortunate because it evokes thoughts of a classic film star quietly and slowly murdering Ingrid Bergman). “Global HairImage,” which seems to be a play on “Global Heritage,” and whose owner does not worry--doesn’t worry at all!--about which syllable you choose to stress in the word “HairImage.” This is what it means to go on a journey.
(1) “Sex and the City.” Vulture has helpfully ranked all of the episodes. This means you can focus on the top ten. My NYC life in no way resembled Carrie Bradshaw’s--except that, in Season Five, Carrie takes herself out on a “solo date,” a date-for-one, an evening at the Paris Cinema, near the Southeastern tip of Central Park. That actually was my life--on more than one occasion. It seems, to me, worthwhile to see Sarah Jessica Parker being delighted, or at least faux-delighted, by literally everything. (That’s--often--the story of “Sex and the City.”) It’s also fun to see Carrie stumble and correct her own course--over and over again. More than one gay man has remarked on the inspirational quality of Carrie’s perseverance. Maybe that’s why we keep coming back to this flawed and frequently grating show.
(4) “The Staircase.” Recently, my husband and I woke up in the middle of the night talking about this show. If Janet Malcolm could make a movie, it would be this. The actual trial seems so far removed from the question of what happened on the night of the murder, it’s like you’re watching a “Saturday Night Live” skit. There’s a lengthy discussion about etiquette, about what it means to sign a book, with a gushing inscription, from an “expert” you will later try to dismantle on the stand. The director, not an American, seems uniquely aware of the ways we “perform” for one another. We see clips of newscasters, speaking confidently and mellifluously, then screwing up. We see hour after hour of deranged gallows humor when Peterson’s legal team gathers. We see a lawyer rehearsing, contending with a faulty fire alarm and an inept I/T assistant. Lorrie Moore says, in her writing, she tries to take on the stance of a “friendly alien”--and that’s what the “Staircase” director has done, here, to dazzling effect.
(3) Roxane Gay in the NYT. Gay may be right about the book she is reviewing, but she undersells the value of “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The greatness of that novel isn’t its clumsy approach to the legal plot; it’s the Bildungsroman story. There’s real pleasure in seeing Scout read, and misread, the world--seeing a child make judgments about adult absurdities. Gay hints at this, but she doesn’t spend enough time on Scout’s voice; for that reason, her review seems weak to me.
(2) Life in South Orange. In Park Slope, you had to be very shrewd about the name you assigned to a business. The name had to be spare and crowd-tested; it had to give off a sense of not trying too hard. Sometimes, the business names seemed to be fabricated character names: “Fox and Jane,” “Watty and Meg.” Sometimes, the business name was brutal, severe: “Kitchen,” “Spoon,” “Parish.” South Orange has none of this pretentiousness. These businesses are proudly awkward, and they remind me of my hometown in Western New York. “Falafel-ly Yours.” “Gaslight” (which is unfortunate because it evokes thoughts of a classic film star quietly and slowly murdering Ingrid Bergman). “Global HairImage,” which seems to be a play on “Global Heritage,” and whose owner does not worry--doesn’t worry at all!--about which syllable you choose to stress in the word “HairImage.” This is what it means to go on a journey.
(1) “Sex and the City.” Vulture has helpfully ranked all of the episodes. This means you can focus on the top ten. My NYC life in no way resembled Carrie Bradshaw’s--except that, in Season Five, Carrie takes herself out on a “solo date,” a date-for-one, an evening at the Paris Cinema, near the Southeastern tip of Central Park. That actually was my life--on more than one occasion. It seems, to me, worthwhile to see Sarah Jessica Parker being delighted, or at least faux-delighted, by literally everything. (That’s--often--the story of “Sex and the City.”) It’s also fun to see Carrie stumble and correct her own course--over and over again. More than one gay man has remarked on the inspirational quality of Carrie’s perseverance. Maybe that’s why we keep coming back to this flawed and frequently grating show.
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