Once upon a time, City of Quartz was a reference point, the quintessential LA book, name-checked in HBO dialogue and indie-rock songs. Mike Davis, thoOnce upon a time, City of Quartz was a reference point, the quintessential LA book, name-checked in HBO dialogue and indie-rock songs. Mike Davis, though, seems to be dangerously at risk of being forgotten. I wish to do my small part to prevent this.
Dead Cities is a representation of his thought throughout, and a crystallization of everything you should love about his writing. A onetime SDS activist who stuck to his guns and bore witness to the Reagan bullshit, the Clinton bullshit, and all the rest, a proud representative of the California of hot rods and Okies and brushfires, explicitly not the California of gentle surf and sangria – all those things made Davis uniquely maladapted to the giggling end of history, and therefore made him a sharper analyst....more
Perhaps Rajchman thinks he’s doing philosophy. He isn’t. I’ve spent enough time in the art world to know my way around the post-whatever logorrhea surPerhaps Rajchman thinks he’s doing philosophy. He isn’t. I’ve spent enough time in the art world to know my way around the post-whatever logorrhea surrounding the visual arts masquerading as philosophy – the other week I saw some massive painted sign on a window promoting concepts like “AI and social justice” at the Parsons School of Design and began questioning whether stochastic violence was really such a bad thing.
Rajchman is, rather, writing some very fun provocations about architecture and art. It’s not serious philosophy, but it is like hanging out with a particularly smart stoner buddy. And for that I have to say I enjoyed reading Constructions immensely, even if I believe – and this is where Rajchman and I depart -- I believe that Deleuzean ideas are better understood as provocations, because if they become bases, you’re just post-hoc justifying the worst tendencies of the particular rhizome we call late capitalism....more
To review a book like Women and Men is a futile task. Is this even a novel? Hardly… it’s an oscillation. The action, such as it is, crawls back and foTo review a book like Women and Men is a futile task. Is this even a novel? Hardly… it’s an oscillation. The action, such as it is, crawls back and forth in time and across space, often jumping oddly, lives intersecting. At 400 pages, this would have been a difficult novel. At 1200 pages… big ask. I have supplicated myself before the saints of the postmodernist sprawl, Williams Gass and Gaddis, Vollmann Perversis, Theroux the Elder, Thomas of the Hidden Face, and I have never had as much difficulty parsing as I have with Women and Men. This is a caution. Perhaps it is a portent of greatness therein. I do not know....more
I like this a lot. I do not like it as much as I would have 20 years ago, but I do like it more than I would have liked it 10 years ago.
At 16, I wouldI like this a lot. I do not like it as much as I would have 20 years ago, but I do like it more than I would have liked it 10 years ago.
At 16, I would have placed Jerry Stahl alongside my heroes of the time, Kerouac and Burroughs and Hunter Thompson and all the rest of the edgelord druggy boy writers. I aspired to me an edgelord druggy boy writer, but I was just stuck smoking schwag out of Pepsi cans in the rural Midwest. But god would I have found Jerry Stahl to be fucking cool.
At 26, I would have deemed Jerry Stahl to be an embarrassing boomer from an impeccably upper middle class background, a successful screenwriter who was liable to still throw around words like “hepcat,” who glamorized his own traumas and consequent bad decisions. Someone barely above the guy who can’t shut the fuck up about seeing Quicksilver Messenger Service at the Cow Palace in ’67.
At 36, I deem Jerry Stahl to be both of those things and neither of those things, a guy who has been through the ringer – and I’ve had enough people close to me go through the same ringer at this point – someone who can occasionally trigger an eyeroll but who seems fundamentally kind and decent and empathetic, and a damn good writer, and often viciously funny....more
It’s hard to know what to make of this. On the one hand, I’m bored to death with this endless series of shaggy-dog stories, none of them particularly It’s hard to know what to make of this. On the one hand, I’m bored to death with this endless series of shaggy-dog stories, none of them particularly easy to interpret or assemble. On the other hand, each snippet, in its own right, is rather amusing, as is this charming old geezer of a narrator. You, yourself, play the role of investigator, although what you’re investigating isn’t quite clear. And towards the end, you can feel the actual investigator closing in, ready to spring his trap. Maybe I don’t know how I feel about The Inquisitory, but I do know that I’m impressed by Pinget, and ready to read more....more
So this is my first time reading Naipaul’s nonfiction, and the influence on his greatest frenemy, Paul Theroux, is obvious. Naipaul is just as grumpy So this is my first time reading Naipaul’s nonfiction, and the influence on his greatest frenemy, Paul Theroux, is obvious. Naipaul is just as grumpy as ordinary Paul, and much less forgiving of human foibles on the whole. While there are moments of humanity, V.S. winds up carrying water for the worst sort of postwar racists who have transmuted their contempt for the supposed failures of bloodline to the supposed failures of culture. Sorry we can’t all live up to a certain digestive biscuits and PG Tips standard of what constitutes propriety....more
I was hoping for a deeper appreciation of and insight into The Stranger, a book that has become better-known in the decades since as baby’s first FrenI was hoping for a deeper appreciation of and insight into The Stranger, a book that has become better-known in the decades since as baby’s first French novel. Did I get any such appreciation or insight? Nope, not really. This is one of those books that need not exist – it wasn’t bad, per se, but I got zero from reading it....more
Paul Auster and J.M. Coetzee – two absolutely brilliant writers. This book – not brilliant. Fuck, all you're doing is reading an exchange of barely-idPaul Auster and J.M. Coetzee – two absolutely brilliant writers. This book – not brilliant. Fuck, all you're doing is reading an exchange of barely-ideas by two writers. This has no more grip than looking at one's own old email exchanges, without the charming nostalgia of looking back at what the two of you thought about something at some point. In fact, the whole thing makes me question the very concept of publishing letters, because I imagine most are just as boring....more
An updated version of the Dolores Haze book? I guess. Frankly I thought it was pretty fuckin boring, without any of the charm that Vladimir N. was ablAn updated version of the Dolores Haze book? I guess. Frankly I thought it was pretty fuckin boring, without any of the charm that Vladimir N. was able to bring to similar themes of old artistic weirdo and sexually precocious tween. I’m not sure how I learned about Amanda Filipacchi’s writing – some recommendation in the haze of history, I feel like this book has been on my list for years – but I can’t say I’m interested in reading any more....more
Steiner, you would. You true weirdo. Congrats on your interpretation of literature as theology. Perfect marks for originality.
Does his argument convinSteiner, you would. You true weirdo. Congrats on your interpretation of literature as theology. Perfect marks for originality.
Does his argument convince me? No, not really, but that is fully beside the point. The point is that he is dancing with all the humanities simultaneously, and that makes reading him refreshing and interesting. He isn't trying to convince you of much. He simply wants you to dance along....more
It's hard to know what to make of this – on the one hand Sollers wanted to go on a journey to the end of the night, and I approve of that, but was thiIt's hard to know what to make of this – on the one hand Sollers wanted to go on a journey to the end of the night, and I approve of that, but was this of value? Maybe it was just too nihilistically Frenchy, but more likely it's the fact that this was 200 ages of material in a 600 page book. Pourquoi, Philippe? I really need to read his early work that landed him on the scene at some point, though, because when Roland Barthes speaks, I listen....more
So years after Junger wrote the works which he was more famous for, both in terms of his literary abilities and his dubious to say the least politics,So years after Junger wrote the works which he was more famous for, both in terms of his literary abilities and his dubious to say the least politics, he wrote Eumeswil. Here we have the perspective of the self-styled “anarch,” as he deals with a landscape both self-consciously exotic and strangely familiar, and as he rocks the Condor’s Casbah. I was perhaps less blown away than I was by The Glass Bees or Storm of Steel, but I enjoyed every step of this very self-consciously philosophical novel....more
Can I even comment on this? Blumenberg’s thesis is fairly simple although honestly, having not read Karl Lowith, to whom Blumenberg is largely respondCan I even comment on this? Blumenberg’s thesis is fairly simple although honestly, having not read Karl Lowith, to whom Blumenberg is largely responding, it’s hard for me to have a cogent opinion. I also definitely cannot comment on those largely forgotten scholastic philosophers that Blumenberg evokes, although I question to what degree the forefathers of the modernity we call modernity actually took inspiration from them, especially given the emphasis on little-read thinkers like Plotinus, Duns Scotus, and Nicolas of Cusa… the connection strikes me as a bit tenuous. And at the end of the day, I think Blumenberg’s claim that modernity is more of a gnostic unveiling than a secularization of the religious is little more than a substitution of metaphors, and I wonder why that was worth 600 pages of reading....more
Herbert Simon – a genius for his time, but now we live in a world run by vulgar Simonites (Simonians is already a word for another thing, right?). NeuHerbert Simon – a genius for his time, but now we live in a world run by vulgar Simonites (Simonians is already a word for another thing, right?). Neural networks, nudge theory, systems engineering concepts broadly (mis)applied, the linear programming revolution – you see his impact everywhere. And you see the disastrous results that happen when these tools are put in the hands of alienated technocrats and rapacious capitalists. Because Simon’s dream of a perfect and shockingly elegant system, while light years beyond some of the more simplistic models of A-then-B behaviorism and homo-economicus economic modeling, remains ungrounded. And so this read less as the persuasive intellectual journey of a forward-thinking mind, and more as a grim portent for things to come....more
I like Kincaid immensely, especially with regard to her FU attitude. A woman writer from the Global South – you want rapturous prose about familial loI like Kincaid immensely, especially with regard to her FU attitude. A woman writer from the Global South – you want rapturous prose about familial love and mango-scented kisses? Nah! Jamaica Kincaid fucks.
And Lucy fucks too. And harbors bad attitudes and smokes weed and sees through the bullshit all around her, whether that’s the bullshit of her bourgeois Caribbean family or the bullshit of thin-lipped New England. A lot of reviewers down there seeming a bit book-club, saying how they can’t believe they liked a book about such an unlikeable character… but what’s not to like about Lucy? I’d kick it with her in a minute. And I liked this novel of bitter perception. ...more
Poor Landolfi, overshadowed by his companero European weirdos. Although, to be honest, he’s no Kafka. These stories were not bad, but on the whole, thPoor Landolfi, overshadowed by his companero European weirdos. Although, to be honest, he’s no Kafka. These stories were not bad, but on the whole, they don’t have the desired effect on me, of the creepy subtleties at the edge of the everyday that characterizes, for instance, Kafka’s Cares of a Family Man. Perhaps this was the translator’s fault, but most of these stories just didn’t do it for me, even if I appreciated a great many moments along the way....more
The entire time I was reading Megan Nolan, I wanted to despise a piece of writing for its singular focus on the bad relationship, a boozy girl and a vThe entire time I was reading Megan Nolan, I wanted to despise a piece of writing for its singular focus on the bad relationship, a boozy girl and a vaguely shitty boy. All of it is just the Millennial version of the Anxious Generation infidelity novel, the worst excesses of the mid-century dick-wavers, just gender-flipped.
But here’s the thing. She makes it work. “Fuck you Meg,” I said at every pitch-perfect description of heavy drinking, embarrassing horniness, and absolutely toxic desire – because I, like probably a lot of Ms. Nolan’s desired readership, finds an absolute allure in encounters in which one party might wind up stabbing the other, possibly predicated on substances. And when I read Acts of Desperation, I could feel very quivering fake eyelash about to be beaded with tears, every cheap tequila shot, every final Spirit before the blow wore off, every whimpering plea to place my hand around a throat, every scream in the mirror the following Monday. So fuck you, Meg, and you’re amazing, and this was a ride....more
I’m scanning all of these glowing reviews, and I’m wondering what it is, exactly, that I don’t get. Maybe this is a product of environment – it isn’t I’m scanning all of these glowing reviews, and I’m wondering what it is, exactly, that I don’t get. Maybe this is a product of environment – it isn’t 1965, and I’m reading this long after my own psychonautic adventures, but then again, it’s not 1965 for most of the other reviewers either, and I’ve loved much but not all of Dick’s other work. For whatever reason, this just didn’t cohere for me, and perhaps it even comes off as a bit dated....more
I’ve been a Bunuel fan since, as a teenager, I wondered what Frank Black was belting about on Debaser, and then saw how the slicing of eyeballs went bI’ve been a Bunuel fan since, as a teenager, I wondered what Frank Black was belting about on Debaser, and then saw how the slicing of eyeballs went back in the early days of Youtube. And it’s the voice of a charming old weirdo looking back with a smile on his long and varied life, from the still-feudal villages of Aragon to the glittering world of Hollywood and the Rive Gauche, and everything in between. Like all the best memoirs, and like its title implies, it’s a long and lovely sigh....more
I wanted so much to like this – historical personages, weirdo tennis-based overarching narrative (DFW in the house cough cough). The only problem is tI wanted so much to like this – historical personages, weirdo tennis-based overarching narrative (DFW in the house cough cough). The only problem is that it was just… bad. There was no there there. Plenty of oddball writers can make their oddball novels work wonders. This was just pointless. Am I the only one who sees this particular emperor as being unclothed? Salman Rushdie liked this, and how the fuck did he get got?...more
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