Robert Pogue Harrison, prof. di letteratura a Stanfod, sulla Silicon Valley, "In truth Silicon Valley does not change the world as much as it changes
my way of being in it, or better, of not being in it. It changes the way
I think, the way I emote, and the way I interact with others. It
corrodes the worldly core of my humanity, leaving me increasingly
worldless. (I do not consider the Internet’s Borg collective, with its
endless drone of voices, a world, any more than I consider social media a
human society; those who do not see the difference have already been
assimilated.). nybooks.
Rassegna della stampa culturale americana e inglese. Segnalazioni di novità in libreria, articoli, interviste, dibattiti, idee e pettegolezzi.
23.7.14
21.7.14
The Last Literary Taboos
Questo è il tema discusso da due scrittori questa settimana sul New York Times. Gli scrittori sono Francine Prose e James Parker. Francine Prose, "One hears about manuscripts turned down for being too this, too that,
too dark, too cerebral, too unsympathetic, too strange; about editors
rejecting books that kept them awake all night reading — but in the cold
light of morning, they couldn’t convince their colleagues that an
audience for such a book existed". nyt.
14.7.14
Life at 60
My generation, the postwar baby-boomers, are over the meridian of our vital
parabolas. We’ve done our best and our worst, overachieved and
underperformed, are either preparing to bask on the sun loungers of our
success or suck our bruised fingers in the waiting rooms of failure. So 60
is both a personal summit from which to look back, breathing heavily, hands
on my knees, and a generational one. ...
How do I feel having reached 60? Well, surprised, mostly. And grateful. When I was 30, a doctor told me that I had a dangerously damaged liver and, all things considered, I probably wouldn’t see another Christmas. I am an alcoholic and a drug addict but, with a lot of help, I stopped. I haven’t had a drink or picked up a drug since. AA Gill (nella foto con il padre) e i suoi primi sessant'anni. thesundaytimes.
How do I feel having reached 60? Well, surprised, mostly. And grateful. When I was 30, a doctor told me that I had a dangerously damaged liver and, all things considered, I probably wouldn’t see another Christmas. I am an alcoholic and a drug addict but, with a lot of help, I stopped. I haven’t had a drink or picked up a drug since. AA Gill (nella foto con il padre) e i suoi primi sessant'anni. thesundaytimes.
11.7.14
The Apthorp
The Apthorp è un palazzo nel West Side di Manhattan. Per un periodo ci ha vissuto Nora Ephron, che l'ha meravigliosamente (come suo solito) descritto in un racconto sul New Yorker, "Moving On". Nora Ephron è morta due anni fa e il New Yorker la ricorda, riproponendo questo racconto. new yorker.
10.7.14
Libri in uscita a luglio
“Preparing the Ghost: An Essay Concerning the Giant Squid and
Its First Photographer” (Liveright), by Matthew Gavin Frank, out July
7th. This strange, innovative book-length essay is, like the squid that serves as its emblematic center, slippery and many-armed.
Questo e altri i libri in uscita a luglio, newyorker.
Questo e altri i libri in uscita a luglio, newyorker.
9.7.14
Apple Cake
"Apple Cake" è il titolo del racconto di Allegra Goodman uscito sull'ultimo numero del New Yorker. Si svolge intorno al letto di Jeanne morente e ha una delle più belle scene di morte che abbia letto, "She wanted to open her eyes, to rise up from her bed. She wanted music and she wanted apples. She wanted to touch the sandy beach, to feel summer's heat. She wanted all this, but she couldn't have it. She died because she couldn't breathe".
In un'intervista Goodman fa anche una considerazione molto interessante tra letteratura e cibo, "My mother Madeleine’s rugelach were unbelievable. I could not use them here because they would have upstaged everything and everyone else. Apple cake is food for a short story. Rugelach require a novel". I rugelach sono dei dolci ebraici, delle specie di croissant (v. foto). newyorker.
In un'intervista Goodman fa anche una considerazione molto interessante tra letteratura e cibo, "My mother Madeleine’s rugelach were unbelievable. I could not use them here because they would have upstaged everything and everyone else. Apple cake is food for a short story. Rugelach require a novel". I rugelach sono dei dolci ebraici, delle specie di croissant (v. foto). newyorker.
7.7.14
Trigger Warning
Un altro attacco della political correctness ... alla letteratura, naturalmente. "Colleges across the country this spring have been wrestling with student
requests for what are known as “trigger warnings,” explicit alerts that
the material they are about to read or see in a classroom might upset
them or, as some students assert, cause symptoms of post-traumatic
stress disorder in victims of rape or in war veterans. ... At Oberlin College [nella foto] in Ohio, a draft guide was circulated that would have
asked professors to put trigger warnings in their syllabuses. The guide
said they should flag anything that might “disrupt a student’s
learning” and “cause trauma,” including anything that would suggest the
inferiority of anyone who is transgender (a form of discrimination known
as cissexism) or who uses a wheelchair (or ableism). nyt.
2.7.14
Leavitt on Leavitt
Leavitt parla di sé e dei libri che legge:
What books are currently on your night stand?
Dorothy
L. Sayers’s “Gaudy Night,” Georges Simenon’s “The Hanged Man of
Saint-Pholien” and Gretchen Rubin’s “Forty Ways to Look at Winston
Churchill.”
Who is your favorite novelist of all time? And your favorite novelist writing today?
Penelope
Fitzgerald. “The Beginning of Spring,” “The Gate of Angels” and “The
Blue Flower” are novels I return to again and again, with joy and awe.
Among
writers working today, I have the greatest admiration for Norman Rush. I
also admire John Weir, who deserves to be far better known than he is.
And I was floored by Edward St. Aubyn’s Patrick Melrose novels. nyt.
30.6.14
Translating Proust
Yale UP ripropone l'opera di Marcel Proust, che compie 100 anni. E' da poco uscito Swann's Way, nella traduzione degli anni '30 di C. K. Scott Moncrieff, ma con note aggiornate di William C. Carte. Una traduzione bella, ma controversa. Ne parla Leland de la Durantaye (una bella lezione di traduzione):
"The translation Moncrieff produced was a masterpiece. That said, it was not without its share of controversial choices—beginning with the very title. Faced with the formidable challenge of rendering the supple À la recherche du temps perdu, with its final words meaning both lost and wasted time, Moncrieff decided simply to rename the book. The title Remembrance of Things Past was one he took, as more than a few authors of the period were inspired to do, from Shakespeare. (William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury is from 1929, and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World from 1932.) Moncrieff renamed Proust’s work after Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30 (nowhere referred to in Proust’s novel), going so far as to add Shakespeare’s lines as an epigraph. In a letter written from his deathbed, Proust thanked Moncrieff for his efforts but took issue with the title, pointing to the lost register of lost time—the past the narrator is trying, through the magic of memory, to recover". bostonreview.
"The translation Moncrieff produced was a masterpiece. That said, it was not without its share of controversial choices—beginning with the very title. Faced with the formidable challenge of rendering the supple À la recherche du temps perdu, with its final words meaning both lost and wasted time, Moncrieff decided simply to rename the book. The title Remembrance of Things Past was one he took, as more than a few authors of the period were inspired to do, from Shakespeare. (William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury is from 1929, and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World from 1932.) Moncrieff renamed Proust’s work after Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30 (nowhere referred to in Proust’s novel), going so far as to add Shakespeare’s lines as an epigraph. In a letter written from his deathbed, Proust thanked Moncrieff for his efforts but took issue with the title, pointing to the lost register of lost time—the past the narrator is trying, through the magic of memory, to recover". bostonreview.
27.6.14
Becoming Freud
E' uscita una nuova biografia di Freud, Becoming Freud: The Making of a Psychoanalyst, di Adam Phillips (Yale UP). Ce la presenta, di nuovo, Joshua Rothman, "Becoming Freud,
by the British psychoanalyst Adam Phillips, is short for a
biography—less than two hundred pages—and it contains no startling
revelations. But, in its own way, it’s an audacious book. It’s a
revisionist history of Freud and his enterprise; its implicit goal,
never stated but always clear, is to help us salvage the best parts of
Freud’s work while leaving behind the rest—the outmoded theories and
unwieldy jargon that make Freud a caricature rather than an intriguing
thinker. (Whether that’s a worthy goal is an open question.)"
Poi Rothman continua, in modo un po' inquietante (e ci fa venir voglia di leggere il libro), "Phillips is probably today’s most famous psychoanalyst, and a quietly controversial figure. For seven years, he was the principal child psychologist at Charing Cross Hospital, in London. (He’s now in private practice.) Famously, he spends most of the week with his analysands and writes only on Wednesdays; somehow, on that schedule, he’s produced eighteen books. Phillips is obviously brilliant—John Banville has called him “an Emerson of our time”—and yet it’s never quite clear how seriously you should take his writing". newyorker.
Poi Rothman continua, in modo un po' inquietante (e ci fa venir voglia di leggere il libro), "Phillips is probably today’s most famous psychoanalyst, and a quietly controversial figure. For seven years, he was the principal child psychologist at Charing Cross Hospital, in London. (He’s now in private practice.) Famously, he spends most of the week with his analysands and writes only on Wednesdays; somehow, on that schedule, he’s produced eighteen books. Phillips is obviously brilliant—John Banville has called him “an Emerson of our time”—and yet it’s never quite clear how seriously you should take his writing". newyorker.
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