A cultural dope is someone like me or you, a consumer of culture or a “creative content provider” (through social media aren’t we all these days) who produces, or consumes, the preexisting cultural artifacts of the dominant political economy while functioning under the illusion that what they are creating or consuming –– a TV series, a song, a novel, etc. –– is “new.”
The pathway to becoming cultural dopes runs from Virginia Woolf to the Frankfurt School to Fredric Jameson, among others.
If you haven’t had to go through this particular indignity, I’ll tell you: There’s something about losing at Wordle that stings a little differently than any other defeat. You feel deprived of that little dopamine hit you were counting on. An internal monologue where you have to talk yourself through the five stages of grief becomes necessary.
“Cooking is serious science. In fact, it’s chemistry.” These words may not seem revolutionary today, but 60 years ago the suggestion that an element of women’s work could be approached with the rigor of a laboratory experiment was bold indeed.
The earnest speaker of this truth is 30-something scientist Elizabeth Zott, the protagonist of Bonnie Garmus’ debut novel “Lessons in Chemistry.” Elizabeth’s surprise platform? The set of 1961’s hit TV cooking show “Supper at Six,” of which she is the reluctant host. How Elizabeth lands in front of the camera, rather than under a fume hood, receives frank, satisfying treatment in this briskly paced, often funny, occasionally troubling, brew of a book.
Whether he’s talking politics (“De bourgeois take from de poor an’ give to dem self. De rich take from everybody an’ put it in a tax shelter”), sharing wonderment (Okay. Je l’admets. I never seen nutin’ like dat before. Dat were preddy awesome”), or evading a question (“You dun wanna know, brudder”), Theodore, better known as Thierry, is a born scene-stealer. A character vividly embodying a carpe diem philosophy (that tilts toward unapologetic hedonism), he’s the unfiltered truth-teller and forthright core of The Little Brudders of Misericorde, the accomplished debut novel by Victoria’s David M. Wallace.
Thierry’s also a mouse, one who speaks French and English (and, presumably, Mouse).
The name of Delia Ephron’s new memoir, “Left on Tenth,” not only gives driving directions to Ephron’s apartment in New York, it also delivers a poignant play on words. Ephron’s husband of 35 years, Jerry, died of cancer in that apartment in 2015. Ephron was left a widow on 10th Street. As titles go, it’s an impressive combination of witty, sad and memorable — just like the book itself.
The Seminary Co-op Bookstore in Chicago is among the most venerated in the world, so it's fitting that its director, Jeff Deutsch, has written a book attempting to define what makes a successful bookseller.
The country in which I was born
cannot be seen anymore
you can smell it sometimes
turning a corner, crossing a sewer