I would not wish to pick a fight with Carey, one of the most consistently readable and knowledgeable literary critics writing today – and usually much more concerned with the merits of a book – but his review did join a sub-genre of criticism which is next to useless from many perspectives. It is of little use to an author or a publisher, because it is unlikely to sell many copies; ‘illuminating’ may be praise, but it is also a good deal less fervent than a writer or his editor would hope for. It short-changes a complex subject by offering the most potted of summaries of what is in it, and it leaves the reader feeling faintly disappointed, rather than intrigued. All in all, one has to chalk this up as a missed opportunity.
But why does it matter, you ask? Surely it’s just one review amongst many, and at least offers exposure. But I would argue that the Carey-on-Musgrave pieces are far more common than the Cooke-on-Shulman, and that the trend in book reviewing has gradually become for a critic to show off his or her erudition for most of the piece, before remembering to say something about the volume in front of them in a couple of hurried lines at the end.
This is the George Saunders America, one that is equal parts dangerous, cruel and silly. Sound familiar? “American culture couldn’t be reached by just simple realism,” Saunders has explained of his work, “It had to be a little nutty.”
To be at sea, mid-story; storm-threatened or becalmed; to be adrift, disoriented, at the mercy of incomprehensibly avenging forces that somehow (and you know this, you know this) contain the secret of who you are … We’ve got a poem for that. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” first published in 1798, is—you might say—the archetypal archetypal journey. You might say further: It’s the dream-poem of right now.
If there’s a silver lining to living in virtual lockdown, it’s this: Plenty of time to attack those lists of “things we should do around the house.” Which is how we came recently to complete a book purge, ultimately donating 27 boxes to a used bookstore, getting rid of six overflow bookshelves in the garage and moving one other back into the house. Now, for the first time in two decades, we can park in our two-car garage.
It was a bittersweet experience. With the bitter outweighing the sweet.
As soon as my wife and I started sheltering in place, I got concerned emails and queries on social media: “Jerry, how are you eating and drinking coffee during this?” I haven’t seen anyone else asked this. These queries were specific to me and my wife, Roberta Smith, also an art critic. We’ve made no secret of her battling cancer since 2014. Today she’s doing well on immunotherapy drugs, though she is in several high-risk categories for COVID-19 and our sheltering in place has a lot of moving parts. But people asked us about food and coffee for reasons other than these. Namely, that anyone who has ever heard about how we eat and drink thinks we are insane.
I have folded them away like sweaters.
Kept my distance from the moon, visited the sick.
Together we circled
the rings, a boy, he was still learning
& we moved slowly,
picking up rhythm as we traveled,
we would see it all, digging our blades
There is a pleasant Sushi Man
His name is Danny Fnu
From where does Fnu originate?
I have not a clue