The title of Malcolm's new book--"Nobody's Looking at You"--is taken from the rants of an embittered Catholic mom. It's Eileen Fisher's mom--Eileen Fisher, the well-known clothing designer. Fisher's mom wanted to encourage a sense of self-effacement, so whenever Eileen would get a bit self-satisfied, Mom would scowl and say, Nobody's looking at you. In other words: Don't be vain. Don't think you're somebody. Nobody is looking at you.
Malcolm--of course--takes this sentence in another direction. In her hands, the sentence seems to mean this: Everyone around you is lost in a kind of fog. So when people look at you, they really see their parents, or their children, or their spouse. They take their own inner dramas and project them onto you. So rest assured that people don't really see you. They look at you--but they don't look at *you* ....
One of my favorite recent bits of Malcolm-the-contrarian greatness is this: She was asked, in the New York Times, to name a book she sees as over-rated. Most people don't go anywhere near this question. Or they name a book by a long-dead writer--such as "Lolita." Malcolm's answer was perfect. She chose "Dreams from My Father," by Barack Obama. We all want to believe that this book is stunning and profound, because the writer is such a great man. But, says Malcolm, with a hint of mischief, "It's a bit boring. It's good enough--but it's not Rousseau. It's not 'Fathers and Sons,' by Edmund Gosse." This may seem like a little slice of nastiness, but it's really an exhortation to look at the world more closely. To try to puncture myths. This is what Malcolm does--again and again--in her work.
Other examples of this trend: In her new book, Malcolm gleefully rips to shreds our bizarre, widespread belief that the Pevear/Volokhonsky Russian translations are superior to the work of Constance Garnett. (Malcolm has the receipts to back herself up.) Malcolm writes, with seriousness, about the brilliant achievements of "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency." And Malcolm takes time to think deeply about the best kind of email tone: She advocates intense, forced cheeriness, with emojis, because no one has time to reassure the reader, in careful language, that there is intended warmth behind any given email message. Malcolm comes off as a friendly alien, attempting to make sense of life on this planet. Would Joan Didion approach a book on email etiquette with such focus and thoughtfulness? That's hard to imagine.
I'm not sure what Malcolm will do next, now that she has made stunning portrait after stunning portrait, and she has rewritten our understanding of Tolstoy. (In one essay, she explains how Tolstoy made use of archetypal dreams--the test dream, the "I'm running late" anxiety dream--to create certain scenes in "Anna Karenina." Malcolm gets pleasure by finding templates others wouldn't find: The "Ladies' Detective" stories are built on Bible scenes, and "Gossip Girl" borrows from Trollope.)
I have an image of Malcolm wandering the world with her notebook, wide-eyed, keeping her iconoclastic thoughts tucked away, safely, deep in her mind. Ready to listen and take notes. Curious and skeptical. Always looking for new forms of (intellectual) fun.
Malcolm--of course--takes this sentence in another direction. In her hands, the sentence seems to mean this: Everyone around you is lost in a kind of fog. So when people look at you, they really see their parents, or their children, or their spouse. They take their own inner dramas and project them onto you. So rest assured that people don't really see you. They look at you--but they don't look at *you* ....
One of my favorite recent bits of Malcolm-the-contrarian greatness is this: She was asked, in the New York Times, to name a book she sees as over-rated. Most people don't go anywhere near this question. Or they name a book by a long-dead writer--such as "Lolita." Malcolm's answer was perfect. She chose "Dreams from My Father," by Barack Obama. We all want to believe that this book is stunning and profound, because the writer is such a great man. But, says Malcolm, with a hint of mischief, "It's a bit boring. It's good enough--but it's not Rousseau. It's not 'Fathers and Sons,' by Edmund Gosse." This may seem like a little slice of nastiness, but it's really an exhortation to look at the world more closely. To try to puncture myths. This is what Malcolm does--again and again--in her work.
Other examples of this trend: In her new book, Malcolm gleefully rips to shreds our bizarre, widespread belief that the Pevear/Volokhonsky Russian translations are superior to the work of Constance Garnett. (Malcolm has the receipts to back herself up.) Malcolm writes, with seriousness, about the brilliant achievements of "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency." And Malcolm takes time to think deeply about the best kind of email tone: She advocates intense, forced cheeriness, with emojis, because no one has time to reassure the reader, in careful language, that there is intended warmth behind any given email message. Malcolm comes off as a friendly alien, attempting to make sense of life on this planet. Would Joan Didion approach a book on email etiquette with such focus and thoughtfulness? That's hard to imagine.
I'm not sure what Malcolm will do next, now that she has made stunning portrait after stunning portrait, and she has rewritten our understanding of Tolstoy. (In one essay, she explains how Tolstoy made use of archetypal dreams--the test dream, the "I'm running late" anxiety dream--to create certain scenes in "Anna Karenina." Malcolm gets pleasure by finding templates others wouldn't find: The "Ladies' Detective" stories are built on Bible scenes, and "Gossip Girl" borrows from Trollope.)
I have an image of Malcolm wandering the world with her notebook, wide-eyed, keeping her iconoclastic thoughts tucked away, safely, deep in her mind. Ready to listen and take notes. Curious and skeptical. Always looking for new forms of (intellectual) fun.
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