Book in the Pipeline: Desperate Characters by Paula Fox
This past week I finally finished Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. It took me twelve days, and with each page turned, I fell deeper and deeper into the tragic story of Berglunds. I have a full-length review on the way, but safe to say, I absolutely loved this one, and it may even be a contender for my top ten of the year. Jonathan Franzen, in his prominent place within contemporary literature, has frequently been asked to compile a list of books he loves and would recommend to others, and one title which appears more often than not among such lists is American author Paula Fox’s 1970 novel Desperate Characters. From what little I know about it, the novel follows a family living in Brooklyn, the Brentwoods, who soon finds themselves, after a debacle involving a rabid cat, spiraling downward towards discontent and despair. I detect shades similar of Franzen’s stories, and if that turns out to be case, I know I’ll absolutely love it. He’s even written the introduction for this edition.
Franzen's List for Radical Reads
Book Still on the Mind: Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
A close friend of mine is currently working her way through McCarthy’s magnum opus for the first time and has been sending me little updates here and there–lines, details, scenes, and her impressions, thoughts, interpretations of them, all of which, without fail, have sent me running to my old, battered copy to rifle through its gloriously sinister pages. I read it last June over the span of a weekend from the comfort of my front porch chair. And since then, not only have certain scenes, descriptions, even single lines of dialogue stayed fresh in my mind, but the novel itself, the story of the Kid, and the role of the Judge, all of it has turned and twisted and transmogrified into something new, something grander and deeply devastating. Since reading it, I’ve stumbled upon several analyses, ranging from the common religious or anti-religious invocations, critiques frequently spurred by the hellish imagery and McCarthy’s neo-Biblical prose; to the subtle intertextuality which spans the history of literature, from Dante’s The Divine Comedy to the classics of the Western tradition. All this to say again what I said in my original review: McCarthy is a writer whose work warrants multiple readings, and such is undeniably the case with Blood Meridian.
Also, I have to plug one of my favorite resources for Blood Meridian info, annotations, and critical readings: Aaron Gwyn’s “The Night Does Not End” Substack. For any McCarthy fan, seasoned Blood readers and novices alike, it is well worth the subscribe.
Art(ist) of the Week: “In the Loge” (1878) by Mary Cassatt
“In the Loge” (1878) by Mary Cassatt, Museum of Fine Arts Boston
This past Wednesday I went to my local theater and caught the newest installment of the Exhibition on Screen series of art documentaries: “Mary Cassatt: Painting the Modern Women.” Fantastically done, the film opened my eyes to the work and life of doubtless one of the most influential and prolific painters of the late nineteenth century. Mary Cassatt was born in Pittsburgh in 1844 but came of age in the art epicenter of the nation, Philadelphia, the perfect place to discover a passion for painting and begin her lifelong studies in the discipline. In her early twenties, she moved the art epicenter of the world, Paris, where she entered a cohort of other painters, sculptors, and artists whose influence on the young Cassatt was extensive and enduring. Impressionism was at the height of its time, headed by painters like Cezanne, Manet, and Degas, the last of which Cassatt would become lifelong friends with. Drawn to the beauty found as much in the mundane as in the exciting, the subjects of Cassatt’s substantial oeuvre shift and change, yet all the while her works remain resolute in their invocation of an ambiguous range of emotions. Many of her paintings, too, seem to actually coax the viewer into the frame, enticing them to discover the subtleties which hide in plain sight. Such is certainly the case with Cassatt’s 1878 “In the Loge,” which on the surface depicts a woman at a concert, peering through a pair of binoculars into the space just beyond the frame, presumably towards the stage. Yet, with a closer inspection, one will notice that the brightness of the scene suggests the house lights are on, signifying a pause in the performance. Our woman is not looking at the stage; she is looking at another audience member. And indeed, another audience member is looking at her: the man set in the background whose binoculars are pointed forward to our central figure. And just as he is observing her who is observing someone else, we the viewers are observing them and their entangled sequence of observations. It’s wonderfully interactive, wittily referential, and beautifully done.
Music(ian) of the Week: “Freedom” by Paloma Faith (Live on Billboard Tastemakers)
In another head tilt towards the novel I just finished, I’m unearthing this gem from over a decade ago: English singer/songwriter Paloma Faith’s performance of “Freedom” for the Billboard Tastemakers. She’s an artist the timbre of whose voice is indelibly etched into those corners of my ears and mind. Such power, fullness, and vocal agility seems almost unlikely to emanate forth from someone who stands five foot three and rocks a red beret atop a vintage pinup updo. Or perhaps, that’s indeed actually the biggest tell. Seems the greatest of talent often hides under a veil of inconspicuousness. I think Paloma Faith is proof of that. Her music has been a staple in my playlists for a while now, especially her song “Just Be” which she also performed at this event (I’ll include the video); but this one–upbeat, melodic, thrilling from beginning to end–carries that wonderful musical contagion which first stirs the feet of the listener, then the arms, shoulders, and lastly the head into movements synchronized with the tempo of the tune. Remaining still is simply not an option, at least for me, but I imagine most would agree.
Wild Card: The Government Cheese Caves of Kansas City, Missouri
Surely most millennials remember what can only called a “milk craze” which swept through the nineties and early aughts. Campaigns to consume dairy products seemed to be everywhere: slogans such as “Got Milk?” were displayed on every other commercial, not to mention the multitude of mixing powders which turned ordinary milk to chocolate or even strawberry-flavored in seconds; Nesquik and Ovaltine come to mind. Undoubtedly there seemed a major cultural push for household dairy consumption, one backed by countless parents who trumpeted the innumerable health benefits, many of which have since been debunked. But I never understood why it was such a thing. Well, this past week I discovered the cheese caves of Missouri, along with the incredible, strange, and uniquely American history behind them. It’s a story which may (or may not) provide an explanation to the milk craze that persisted through the end of the century; I’ll leave it to the reader to decide.