I’m on a laid-back mission to make my way through Susan Sontag’s oeuvre, and this in particular has been on my active reading list since I ﬁnished On Photography several years ago. It turned out to be a rather prescient selection, as shortly after I ﬁnished reading, tensions broke open again across Israel and Palestine, making the ideas here profoundly timely. Sontag talks of how “being a spectator of calamities taking place in another country is a quintessential modern experience,” while later clarifying that “speak[ing] of reality becoming a spectacle is a breathtaking provincialism”:
…it is absurd to identify the world with those zones in the well-oﬀ countries where people have the dubious privilege of being spectators, or of declining...more
Just after I started reading this book, I had a conversation in which someone said that inaccessible art can’t possibly be good art, with a side note about how some people may appreciate art solely because they can’t immediately understand it as they assume it’s smarter than they are. The discussion partially came from me describing my struggle through The Luminaries, not entirely enjoying it, but ﬁnding the structure of it compelling from a technical standpoint. The essays in White Girls vary in their accessibility, and since I was reading primarily for entertainment, I skimmed through the ones that didn’t draw me in enough. In this opinion, it can’t be a “good” book, because it was too much work...more
You know you’re in for some bold and broad declarations when a book starts oﬀ, “Every artistic moment from the beginning of time is an attempt to ﬁgure out a way to smuggle more of what the artist thinks is reality into the work of art.”
Reality Hunger calls itself a manifesto, yet it feels less a call to arms to me — it’s more of a collage of thoughts that are numbered in the hundreds and organized into 26 themes that all circle around the intent to deconstruct artistic creativity. Some of the thoughts are Shields’s but many of are quotes or partially comprised of quotes. He wanted to publish these unattributed but was legally required to include a list of...more
I last read this book nearly six and a half years ago; when my friend Eleanor brought it up recently to share a quote from it someone had passed on to her, it felt like perfect time for a re-read. In those six odd years, I’ve read several of Solnit’s books and have come to appreciate her particular way of getting at a subject, where bits and pieces of anecdotes and research fuse together into a nuanced perspective. Much of her work is grounded in history and various arenas of activism, so this feels very personal and nostalgic in comparison, yet I think it has more of those elements than her more recent book, The Faraway Nearby....more
From now to the end of consciousness, we are stuck with the task of defending art. We can only quarrel with one or another means of defense. Indeed, we have an obligation to overthrow any means of defending and justifying art which becomes particularly obtuse or onerous or insensitive to contemporary needs and practices.
This is the case, today, with the very idea of content itself. Whatever it may have been in the past, the idea of content is today mainly a hindrance, a nuisance, a subtle or not so subtle philistinism.
Despite being fascinated by Susan Sontag, I haven’t actually read much of her work, so it was inevitable that at some point I would end up with three of her...more
I expect even some of the most stalwart of Solnit’s fans would not consider this her best book, as it seems a bit scattered, though it’s similar in general feel to A Field Guide to Getting Lost. Its “Russian-doll” structure functions less like burrowing deeper into the complexities of a diﬃcult period of her life and more like the tide retreating away from solid ground only to ﬂow back in. Yet for me the timing of this book was uncanny, as I kept ﬁnding topical moments throughout. Solnit has a lot to say about telling our stories, of the vagaries of illness, of the possibilities of empathy, of the slow pace of change, and of the isolated time she...more
Recounting nine years of living in protective custody after the Ayatollah Khomeini sentenced him to death, Rushdie’s memoir is beﬁttingly hefty at over 630 pages. About three-quarters of the way into it, the tediousness of his ongoing ﬁght to live freely comes through all too clear. In addition to describing the particulars of living constantly with a team of security personnel and the various meetings to try to force Iran to overturn the fatwa, Rushdie also covers general life stories including his several marriages and inﬁdelities as well as his writing process and various parties he attended and celebrities he met, despite the restrictions to his personal freedom.
I met Kat back in zine times, when people made friends through trades and letters, and those friends were often a combination of allies, collaborators, and maybe even the cool cousins you might not have had in your given family. As such I distinctly remember getting one of Kat’s zines and going to rent Breathless because she used stills from the ﬁlm as background art — a quietly expansive moment in my ﬁlm appreciation history. It was telling reading this collection of essays from Kat’s departed blog NOGOODFORME that I was familiar with most of the ﬁlms she mentions either because I reﬂexively continued following her suggestions or I developed similar interests.
NOGOODFORME started as a fashion blog but...more
As with most historical traumas of abuse, the perpetrators — the state, our families, the media, private industry — have generally pretended that the murder and cultural destruction of AIDS, created by their neglect, never took place. They pretend that there was nothing they could have done, and that no survivors or witnesses are walking around today with anything to resolve. They probably believe, as they are pretending, that the loss of those individuals has had no impact on our society, and that the abandonment and subsequent alienation of a people and culture does not matter.
This memoir of the AIDS crisis and analysis of its parallels to gentriﬁcation might be the best book of the year for me due to its concise...more
It’s been a while since I read a book focused on writing. Many writing books are useful for thinking about creativity in general or for applying to any type of writing, but this one is geared toward ﬁction, at least in the speciﬁcally advising sections that are technically the core of the book. I actually skipped much of those, as I didn’t ﬁnd much of the advice helpful and appreciated the memoir parts more. Both the beginning section of how King became a writer and the “On Living” postscript that tells the tale of getting hit by a car while he was working on this book are more interesting to me than a few paragraphs about how adverbs should...more