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Kimberly Dickens is the wife of Andre Dickens, the newly elected Mayor of Atlanta. Find out more about their relationship in the article below.
Kimberly Dickens is married to Andre Dickens who lives in Atlanta. Eight years ago he defeated an incumbent for a seat on the city council for the first time.
He defeated Felicia Moore in a runoff Tuesday to become Atlanta’s 61st mayor.
Dickens is a member of the Atlanta City Council, where he represents At-large Post 3 in Georgia.
Who is Kimberly Dickens? The Wife of Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens
People are curious about Kimberly Dickens, wife of Atalanta Mayor Andre Dickens.
Kimberly Dickens is married to Andre Dickens. Details of the couple’s marriage are not yet known.
Kimberly Dickens is known for being a privacy-obsessed person who has avoed speaking out in public.
She unwaveringly supports her husband’s political ambitions.
Kimberly must be very proud of her husband’s achievement and wishes him a successful tenure as Mayor of Atlanta.
The future of Atlanta has no limits! Tonight, I am honored that you have selected me to be Atlanta’s 61st Mayor! #AndreforAtlanta pic.twitter.com/5UNk05i4AO
— Andre Dickens (@andreforatlanta) December 1, 2021
What is the age of Kimberly Dickens?
The age of newly elected Atlanta Mayor Kimberly Dickens is between 35 and 40 years old.
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She is a beautiful woman with black hair and black eyes.
Kimberly is over 5ft 3in tall and weighs around 60kg.
Her brilliant fashion sense matches her charming personality.
Kimberly Dickens always supports her husband on his political path.
Children and Family Details of Kimberly Dickens
Andre Dickens and Kimberly Dickens are a happy couple who have one daughter together.
Her daughter goes to elementary school.
Both Andre and Kimberly enjoy spending time with their daughter, listening to live music, going to church and traveling worldwe.
In addition to his political activities, Andre Dickens is a family man who is particularly committed to his family.
His family is often there during his mayoral campaign, he has disclosed. His mother Sylvia has also spoken out against him in the media.
Andre has the full support of the Dickens family and is very excited to see him as Mayor of Atlanta.
Support is definitely a verb and I’m so grateful for the support I’ve received on my journey to becoming Atlanta’s next mayor! Polls are open until 8pm today, so make sure the support comes and vote! #AndreforAtlanta #VoteAndreDickens pic.twitter.com/ZYd0WhEG9O
— Andre Dickens (@andreforatlanta) November 30, 2021
Values are the New Religion: Personal Values
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Andre Dickens Wife Kimberly Dickens Family Life and …
Kimberly Dickens is married to Andre Dickens, who is an Atlanta resent. He first defeated an incumbent for a seat on the City Council …
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Date Published: 6/11/2022
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Review of Jewish Feeling in Year’s Work in English Studies …
65–78), examines Dickens’s role as reader of his own work as he edits Dav … ‘Reading for Differentiation: The Family Romance’, compares Scharf’s life …
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Date Published: 3/17/2022
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Surpassing The Love Of Men Romantic Friendship And Between …
Victorian women and the history of marriage and family life. … she was forced to fight as a woman, an immigrant worker, and a Jew with family left behind …
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Date Published: 2/10/2021
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Charles Dickens | Eiger, Mönch & Jungfrau
Today’s reflection on a year in reading is by Martin Schneer, a freelance copyeditor (of books!) who lives in Cleveland, tweets at @wovenstrap, …
Source: eigermonchjungfrau.blog
Date Published: 3/9/2021
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Review of Jewish Feeling in Year’s Work in English Studies, XIV The Victorian Period (p. 32)
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Eiger, Mönch & Jungfrau
November: as long as three regular months! Did the mood swings of the U.S. election and the relatively calm of Thanksgiving happen in a four -week stretch? The rest of the world may have been busy, but at my writing table everything stopped. I felt blocked, uninspired, guilty, anxious, embarrassed. A last-month breakthrough — it seems this manuscript wants to be both about teaching the Holocaust and teaching writing? —That made me feel better; here’s more of that in December. On the reading front, however, things are humming.
Philip Kerr, Metropolis (2019)
Bernie Guenther’s last book, a prequel, is set at the end of the Weimar Republic when Bernie was first promoted as Detective. He solves a crime that gives Thea von Harbou — Fritz Lang’s once wife and partner — the plot for M. I’ll miss Bernie; he’s fine
Géraldine Schwarz, Forgetful Ones: My Family’s Story in Nazi Europe — A Memoir, A History, A Warning (2017) Trans. Laura Marris (2020)
The journalist Schwarz grew up in France with a French mother and a German father. The summers were spent in Mannheim; the school year in Paris. In the first part of this kind-of-memoir, he researches what his grandparents did during the war. He starts on his father’s side. In the mid -1930s, Karl Schwarz took over an oil company, which gave him not only his livelihood but protected his life. (He avoided being conscripted because his products were considered essential to the war effort.) Karl’s wife Lydia, though not a Nazi fanatic, admired the Führer’s dedication and eventually regularly mourned her. loss. After the war, a letter came from an American lawyer representing Julius Löbmann, whose brother, Siegmund, had been forced to sell his company to Karl at a cut-rate price. Siegmund and his close family were exiled to Gurs, a camp in Vichy France, then to transit camp in Drancy, and from there, on April 15, 1944, to Auschwitz, where they were gassed on arrival.
Löbmann’s desire for reparation infuriated Karl, but the collapse of the affair was not just economic. Karl’s stormy relationship with his son, Volker, Schwarz’s father, disintegrated, as Volker joined student movements determined to call their elders accountable. Seeking a “European” identity, Volker traveled to France, where he met Schwarz’s mother. Josiane grew up next to Drancy, the site of the notorious transit camp where so many, including the Löbmannans, were exiled to murderous areas in the East, a fact that no one was interested in her childhood after the war. As Schwarz investigates her maternal family, she learns about France’s denial of its complicity in German crimes, which continued at least in the 1980s and 90s, but really, she maintains, to this day. Schwarz said Germany’s “memory work” was far superior to France’s: almost undisputed.
Inspired by his family’s example, Schwarz wanted to understand those identified in Germany after the war as die Mitläufer, people who joined the regime. A worthy topic, to be sure, but instead of, for example, exploring the effort made by the Nazi regime in building such a conspiracy and reflect on how that effort worked with its ancestors, left to us by Schwarz’s op-ed caliber banalities:
Through our opportunism, through our adherence to a powerful capitalism, which puts money and consumption into education, intelligence, and culture, we are in danger of losing the democracy, peace, and freedom that many in our predecessors to maintain. .There are many more pontificating armchairs in the book— “We Europeans have come a long way”; “the most dangerous monster is not a megalomaniacal and violent leader, but we, the people who make him possible, who give him the power to rule” – leading to an outrageous ending in which Schwarz travels in European countries, which sends memory work failures to Italy, Hungary, Britain, and Austria within two pages each, he often uses as his evidence the statement of a friend or an experience he once had on vacation.
I learned a few things from this book, of course. I didn’t know, for example, that at the end of the war, the French brought several hundred German scientists into their home: their work laid the foundation for France’s ever -growing aviation and arms industry. Nor, more fascinatingly, did I know about prosecutor Fritz Bauer, a Jew who spent the war in exile in Denmark and Sweden after the Nazis destroyed his legal career, returned to Germany and, as a general prosecutor of Hesse, carefully returned. pursued lawsuits against several mid-level offenders, leading to trials in Auschwitz in the 1960s. (I want to read a book about him.) But moments like this are rare.Most of the things in Those Who Forget are introductory and incredible. Schwarz has no analytic chops of a historian or the panache of an essayist. His title, which refers to those who go along with cruelty, inadvertently describes his readers, who, if they were like me, would quickly forget this book and its nostrums.
Fleur Jaeggy, These Possible Lives (2015) Trans. Minna Zallman Procter (2017)
Everyone loves Jaeggy, but I’m not sure I’m messing around. I was led to this little book by Brian Dillon, but I think I prefer him to Jaeggy than Jaeggy himself. Three short essays — by De Quincy, Keats, and the French symbolist writer Marcel Schwob — emphasize unusual biographical details. Quirky and poetic, I guess, but not really my scene. I forgot almost everything about it.
Tana French, The Searcher (2020)
Champ still.
Charles Dickens, Our Fellow Friends (1865)
What can I say, this is a classic for a reason. I read it often with pleasure and always with interest, but not lively or happily. Dickens is, ultimately, not my man. I would rank Our Mutual Friend below Great Expectations and Bleak House on my own list (although I’ve only read 5 yet). The ambitious of the story, perhaps too ambitious, seems to run away in the end, relying on instantaneous/convenient thread tying. Upon further reflection, however, I feel something about the story that doesn’t want to — maybe even shouldn’t — end, because it’s a book about revenants and ghosts, about corpses that don’t remain hidden. , about material (garbage, trash, ordure., tidal gunk, or whatever the hell “dust” should be) that never comes to the end of its life, that is not garbage or useful, or, rather, both.
For this reason, Our Mutual Friend is best when describing between states: a famous example, which I read years ago in an essay by the philosopher Gilles Deleuze and I am glad to finally encounter in the flesh, that is, it involved the resuscitation of the unloved man, a river scavenger and a meddler, who fell into the sea on the Thames in an accident. (Book III, Chapter 3.) A group of spectators are diligently trying to restore the life of the villain: their attention is focused on the body of the unconscious man, so in addition to their CPR it is as if the men are willing to live. . (The man’s daughter watches “with fearful interest” —the phrase also describes the spectators.) When the man explodes, when the “spark of life” re-ignites, they are comforted, even momentarily joyful. But then they returned to despise him, and drifted away. A brilliant, vivid scene – and a helpful comment on the title. How much mutuality is there in this book?
I spoke above in-between states. It has to do with the form of the novel as well as its content.I liked the pieces where the novel threatens to be completely Gothic. (The influence of Wilkie Collins? Or did their friendship end then?) Any scene with Bradley Headstone (that name!) Counts — that person may not be in a novel from Hamsun or Dostoyevsky — but especially the one where he tries to kill Lightwood. Yowza!
Different thoughts:
Appreciate the attempt to rehabilitate the Jews, Charles, but Riah didn’t do it for me. (Tip: next time, avoid having your Jewish character mention the New Testament regularly.)
Sloppy too! Sometimes it’s easier to crush the mangle than to say what’s in your heart. What a waste.
Boffin, you worried me there!
The Lammles, oof hard core, reminded me of bits of Collins’s No Name.
Pa and Bella — cute, but also creepy.
Mr. Venus, very well, the first scene with her and Wegg was 10/10 Dickens. There must be a connection, though not sure how, between her taxidermy and Jenny Wren’s dolls. (Perhaps also reading Sloppy’s newspaper?) Model making, alternative ways of reproducing the world, etc.
Not the first person to say this, sorry for being holy, but it’s annoying that Dickens didn’t write better women’s characters. Has anyone tried to argue against it? I’d like to see how — I guess Mrs. Lammle is the most interesting here — because this incompetence really keeps me from liking him better.
Thanks to Alok Ranjan for prompting me to read this. Absolutely do not regret.
Inge Deutschkron, Outcast: A Jewish Girl in Wartime Berlin (1978) Trans. Jean Steinberg (1989)
Very good.
Ian Rankin, A Song for the Dark Ages (2020)
Not beautiful. Read the print version and wonder if I enjoyed the previous Rebus novels more because of the audiobook narrator than the text. The narrator exudes a brief elegance in writing that seems inert or clumsy on the page. It’s like a series that threatens to get lost in the path.
Kim Stanley Robinson, The Ministry for the Future (2020)
At the beginning of Robinson’s latest novel, a horrible heatwave envelops India.The temperature of the wet bulb reaches 35 C; at this point, the body can no longer control its temperature by sweating and usually boiling. Twenty million people are dying. Frank May, a young American aid worker, is almost one of them. Like others in town, he seeks refuge in a nearby lake; many were burning alive even in the water, but rescuers found Frank still alive, but almost unconscious. He returned to health, but never returned to America, partly because he was angry at his home country’s response to climate change, and partly because he was getting panic attacks wherever it was hot. He eventually settled in Zürich, bringing him into contact with the novel’s true hero, Mary Murphy, the Irish-born head of a UN subsidiary organization formed on climate talks in Paris. , The Ministry for the Future.
Mary is a fitting hero for Robinson’s novel — capable, nonsensical, politically savvy, but devoid of extraordinary power, charisma, or superhuman intelligence. Instead, he was a good bureaucrat. He knew the experts had to be listened to without being allowed to run the show. Someone needs to mediate between them and the politicians and power-brokers, especially the most powerful people on the planet, the unelected heads of the world’s central banks. Mary also knows that big problems are solved by plugging in many small solutions. And the problem with his ministry is the biggest of all: lowering the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.
Starting with our own present (I think the first events will be in 2025, though I’m not sure — it’s a big novel, I may have missed something) and spanning over thirty years or more, The Ministry for the Future how this seemingly unimaginable task can be accomplished. The solution is to think 100 years — the entire seven generations — but such thinking must be incentive, both through carrots and sticks. Mary leads a team with different departments (legal, computing/AI, agriculture, etc.), which is all that is needed to solve the problem, even if the economy is first of all equals: Mary’s legacy that saves the world will finally convince central bankers to create a new currency, the Carboni, dedicated in the long run (it pays in one hundred year installments) and can only be obtained through carbon sequestration, either by leaving fossil fuels on the ground (as Saudi Arabia was eventually forced to do), or by offsetting emissions (planting trees, rethinking agriculture, etc.). Carbon quantitative easing, he calls it.
The bankers only got there, however, after many other changes were made. India, furious with the massive deaths caused by the heatwave, has organized a “double Pinatubo” —it emits enough sulfur dioxide into the air equal to twice the amount released by the Mount Pinatubo volcanic eruption. in the early 1990s, which lowered global temperatures by nearly one degree in a matter of years. India left the Paris Accords to do so, and began to isolate itself from the rest of the world, tired of providing its service workers. Various radical political movements — including the resolute rejection of the BJP, which led to the wet bulb fiasco — and progressive social movements, especially in the field of agriculture, make India a world leader.
These changes were motivated by terrorist acts (some of which may have been orchestrated or even committed by an evil element within the Ministry of the Future; Mary does not want to know, although she quietly acknowledges that terrorism will be central to the change of hearts and minds). Children of Kali, for example, injected bioengineered parasites into the world’s beef supply and shot down most of its commercial air traffic in a single day through a massive coordinated drone attack, killing the meat industry and aircraft, respectively.
There is also geoengineering (though scientists mock it in the book), notably, the pumping of water from the bottom of large Antarctic glaciers and ice shelves to slow their movement. It costs a huge amount, but when viewed in terms of civilization survival, it’s cheap (and it works). Glaciologists and Antarctica leaders want to help, but most of them just think that someone is paying them to work and play in the part of the world where they have become addicted. (Robinson is playing a double game here — simultaneously admiring scientists ’ridicule of their bureaucratic masters and criticizing their claims for lack of interest.)
While all of this is happening, the more personal plot of the novel continues as well. Frank and Mary met in Zürich, on occasions I would not be admitted, and a lifelong pas de deux took place. Robinson doesn’t restrict their relationship — it’s not romantic, it’s more interesting than that — but in the end he values other things more.It’s like a setting. Zürich in particular and Switzerland in general serve more than its usual role as an anonymous backdrop for espionage or banking. One way to read The Ministry for the Future is as a hymn in the largest city of this small country, which may seem ridiculous — caring about Zürich, for God’s sake — but Zürich’s practicality is certainly , its indescribable livability, the novel. values. Robinson clearly knows Switzerland. He included some exciting set pieces in the mountains (one of which called Frankenstein, natch), as well as beautiful evocations of lake swimming and Zürich’s Fastnacht (carnival), but what he really liked was the Swiss insistence that when the world is safe, Switzerland is safe. When we help others, we help ourselves. That’s the kind of thinking we all need.
I could go on, but my main point is: I loved this book. It’s a page-turner about extremely non-dramatic but highly consequential decisions.It’s also just kind of a novel: yes, it has main characters, but it also considers other creatures, only a few of whom are human (short chapters are narrated from the POV of caribou, the sun , carbon atoms: not particularly convincing, but nice idea). It’s really an essay-novel hybrid, desperate to cram into its pages the most possible solution to the lower carbon world possible, like the 2000-Watt club (if you divide everyone in the world by the amount of energy consumed let’s say, you get 2000 watts per person per year — or 48 kilowatt-hours per day — which club members show is actually quite achievable and doesn’t require that much change, at least in many parts of the world). Reducing inequality, learning to share, valuing security as a virtue that comes out when everyone has enough — these goals are needed to help us survive. Rewilding, the 50% project (bringing together people in half the territory of the world), labor cooperatives based on the Mondragón model pioneered by the Basques, new technologies, new legal realities (where the not human rights), new economies — all are ways in which we can work to solve the climate crisis.
Surprisingly Robinson showed how this could happen. He is optimistic but not naive. He heaps special satire on economists, which I find enjoyable, and points out that it’s when the shit hits the fan — like when the water stops coming out of the taps — that’s when you need to. of society. Neoliberalism is always full of shit. Ministry for the Future is sometimes an alarming book — I will not soon forget the gruesome opening scene — but more often it is emotional. It offers what we need together: “An earthquake in the head.” Ever since reading this I have felt more hopeful than my ages, and I want to get it to many, many readers.
Lissa Evans, V for Success (2020)
The trilogy that started with Crooked Heart and continued with the awesome Old Baggage ends. Noel Sedgewick, the character who connects the books, now 15, is struggling with his identity. To whom does he belong — the parents he does not know, or the women who raised him, in different but harmonious ways? Evans takes tropes from WWII British literature — the female warden both hardened but given the purpose of war — and messes them up a bit, making them fresh — the warden’s uninformed socialite sister, who wrote a surprise bestseller based on scary fantasy, has become his protector. Ne’er-do-wells prove at the last minute with surprising self-knowledge or unexpected reasons for their actions. And as always, Evans is attracted to the ridiculous aspects of life: a reporter, suddenly crammed into running a raffle at a church fair with strict instructions to keep some of the best prizes until the end maybe people stopped buying tickets, thinking “the article he can squeeze out of here (‘ Fraud Allegation Shatters Methodist Merriment ’).” The novel’s final perspective, of a London just after the days of VE, in which, for even a brief moment, no one waits for anything, neither falling bombs or barking commands, is beautiful in its rapid energy: the this moment feels fully earned.Maybe Evans put these characters aside, but they are adorable, we can always expect more.And if not, dayeinu, it is enough.
Mark Roseman, A Past in Hiding: Memory and Survival in Nazi Germany (2000)
From 1989 – 1996, Mark Roseman spent most of his time in an “intimate, polite, careful, guilty clinch” with Marianne Ellenbogen née Strauss, who, as a young woman in 1943, came out of her family home while it is being done. searched by the Gestapo.His parents, his younger brother, his uncle and his wife and his mother — among the last Jews left in the city of Essen at that time — were exiled, first to Theresienstadt and later to Auschwitz. Marianne, the only person in her immediate family to survive, spent the rest of the war as an Aryan, avoiding the same officers seen by her thin false ID and the increasingly destructive Allied bombing raid. He was assisted in this work by members of a little -known organization called the Bund, whose members opposed what the Nazis had done to their beloved Germany.
I recently wrote about Lives Reclaimed, Roseman’s latest book, filling it out, his first, by telling the story of the Bund. (Tl; dnr: brilliant.) The books overlap, of course, but I was surprised at how little Roseman repeats himself. A Past in Hiding (note the subtle difference between this title and the more common A Life in Hiding) provides background to the Bund and introduces some of its key players, but it’s just coincidental about that. In fact, because Marianne is convinced to work with Roseman because she wants the world to know about the Bund’s achievements, which are more than saving her life, then Lives Reclaimed really fulfills her aspiration.
Here Roseman concentrates on Marianne. And why not? Her story is fascinating, and she herself is extraordinary. He freely admitted that Marianne hated the result. He did not want him to spend years after his death in December 1996 interviewing surviving friends, acquaintances, relatives, and lovers, and combing through his complete archive of written documents. But he may have been surprised — not in a good way, perhaps, but in an interested way, no doubt — at Roseman’s conclusion. Her own story, as told to Roseman in the long interview, is not entirely consistent with the story told by these external sources, not because Marianne lied or even the memory is wrong, but because the life we live and the life we remember is not the same.
In particular, in Marianne’s case, the guilt she felt about surviving destroys her memory in particular ways: she emphasizes the suffering of her loved ones (claiming that her father was imprisoned in a camp). dungeon for six weeks after Kristallnacht when it was three, or that the love of his life, exiled a year before he went into hiding, was blinded in a medical experiment rather than in an accident); he minimized his own suffering; and he dramatized the most painful moments of his life (saying he accompanied his girlfriend to the station the day he was exiled where in fact he said goodbye to her last night, or told Roseman that he learned on his birthday, via a BBC broadcast, that his parents ’transport had been gassed, but in fact terrible knowledge came to him a few weeks later).
(How the fate of that particular vehicle was broadcast on the BBC — and how by the amazing coincidence that Marianne secretly listened to it — is a story in itself, relating to the Czechoslovakian resistance inside Auschwitz. -Birkenau and the Nazis. ‘Creation of the so -called “family camp” in Birkenau, where for six months in late 1943/early 44 families in Theresienstadt were allowed to stay together, including their hair and clothes, and were given better rations. worried that the Danish Red Cross, which had “inspected” Theresienstadt, would also do so in Auschwitz, and wanted these prisoners in case a ” show camp “was necessary: the latter was not, and almost all of the prisoners in the family camp were gassed.)
In finding differences in Marianne’s story, Roseman doesn’t arraign her or ask us to doubt her. He uses careful research to prove that the stories we tell ourselves to live are not the same as the stories we have lived.Instead, we interpret the past through concepts developed only in retrospect. For example, Roseman thought of Marianne as a Jewish victim of the Holocaust, a position he himself espoused in the latter part of life, but at the time he thought of himself as a German victim of war. He was assisted in this revelation by some remarkable documents: a diary that Marianne kept while running in 1944, and the letters between Marianne and her boyfriend since she was exiled in April 1942 (in a camp-ghetto). in the province of Lublin called Izbica) until its threatening silence fell. Reading these documents Roseman noticed differences between what Marianne said at the time and what she said later — although he acknowledged that the main documents themselves should be understood not as a record. of unrelated reality but as traces of a continuous experience, in which Marianne is testing ideas, changing her thinking, and struggling with the identity crisis caused not only by being a Jew. Nazis (true for so many victims) but in juggling different identities while running.The Past in Hiding is both theoretical and specific. It both examines what it means to interpret the past and offers a picture of an extraordinary person — capable, intelligent, charismatic — who is both very fortunate and very sad. Highly recommended.
Clare Chambers, Small Pleasures (2020)
The enjoyable novel that makes for a wonderful screenplay. In 1950s suburban England, The North Kent Echo received a letter to the editor responding to an article about parthenogenesis. The writer admitted that he knew nothing about science, but he knew that his daughter was born without the involvement of a man. In a lark, the paper sent, Jean Swinney, its only female journalist, to interview the woman, Gretchen Tilbury. No one relies on the Virgin Birth lady, but Jean is captured by Gretchen, amazed at the daughter (Margaret, ten, very similar to her mother), and finds nothing in her first reporting to dispute the bizarre claim. Soon the scientists are involved and Jean is in a big story. But the novel moves into more interesting territory, which becomes the story of how Jean, alone and tired of being saddled with her claustrophobic mother, is caught in the orbit of the Tilbury, especially the kind Howard. , the wife who joined when Gretchen was pregnant. . In this respect, Small Pleasures is a bit like Brookner’s Look at Me — a retired young woman released to herself by another couple, to the dismay of everyone in her life — except everything is more beautiful. You might say, well, then that’s not the Brookner novel, which I can only say, enough. Chambers is a more muted job, and not as great. But I found it really engaging, and I was surprised at the directions it took, especially in the end. (Destructive!) A thoughtful novel about the ambivalent consequences of taking your pleasures, no matter how small, wherever you can find them. Nina Stibbe put it on her best of 2020 list; if you will not accept my word for it, take him.
Tessa Hadley, The Past (2016)
Reading Hadley’s backlist — there are only two left now — has been one of the fun of the year. Here, three sisters and a brother spent one last vacation in their grandparents ’former home, an increasingly dilapidated area in the English countryside. There’s some pretty serious drama — Hadley has a Gothic side that’s often but fun that he doesn’t completely hide — but the way it’s told makes big events commonplace — that only magnifies the weight of the revelations offered. (I was carried away thinking about the difference between his approach approach and, say, the early Ian McEwan; he was more histrionic.) What does it feel like, Hadley asks, to spend a lifetime with someone ? And what does it feel like to spend one without the person we want? (She’s good at making us experience the passing of time.) As always, Hadley is a master of roving omniscience, we are tempted by free indirect discourse, so we wonder how much we have learned about the characters that they know themselves. Consider this description of a nine-year-old who discovers an abandoned hut:
Ivy isn’t brave, she’s a coward when it comes to sports or party games, you’re the type who ran into a team and had to blow up a balloon while sitting on it. But he also had a greedy curiosity that seemed hungry; he wanted to be clear, alone and without embarrassment that other people knew he was doing it, the truth of what could happen.
Lots of psychological intelligence in very short space! And so much ambivalence. Will we admire Ivy? That “greedy curiosity” seems to be double -edged. “The reality of what can happen” – not just the world what it is, but the world how it can, secretly, desperate, be.
In a passage that seems more heartfelt, I appreciate this description of the couple’s reading habits:
Sophy and Graham ate their books: reading was a freedom torn from the controlled fabric of the sun. Without even discussing it, everyone knew that they had agreed with each other their habit that the face of their alarm clock, set at seven o’clock, had turned away from them, so that they would not know how much long passed as they sat awake and turned the pages, not knowing how hastily they were or how much they would pay for it the next day.
But don’t be fooled. Hadley is no great chronicler of middle-class moeurs (though, yes, that too). Even the most bourgeois habit of all, reading, is offered in terms of haste. Everyone pays for everything.
Daniel Mendelsohn, Three Rings: A Tale of Exile, Narrative, and Fate (2020)
When I think of the book I’m trying to write, I go back to Mendelsohn, not because he wrote probably the best book about removing a family’s Holocaust history (I don’t have that kind of history) but because he’s so good at developing nonfictions narratives .In fact, structure is the subject of this booklet, originally given as lectures to his alma mater, the University of Virginia. Mendelsohn began the acedia that prevailed over him after he finished The Lost (the Holocaust book) and his subsequent struggle to improve the manuscript of his next book, An Odyssey (about the time his father, near the end) of his life, was enrolled in Mendelsohn’s Homer class), beyond the initial judgment of his editor: interesting in parts but fundamentally dull. The solution, he later realized, was in the source material itself, specifically in Homer’s use of the “ring structure.”
The classic example of nested narration of this kind is the moment when Odysseus, who has returned to Ithaca but in disguise, finds out by Eurycleia, his childhood nursemaid, that, in the process of washing the feet of a man he believes a traveler and beggars. , recognizes the hero because of a unique scar. Homer flashes back to the past to tell us the story of how Odysseus got the scar (on a boar hunt), first explaining how he caught it in the first place, which requires another digression about the man hosts the hunt, the grandfather of Odysseus, who was instructed by this very Eurycleia to name the child; thus, after beginning with a seemingly insignificant moment Homer offers the in fact consequences of the history of the hero’s very identity, before returning to the present moment, the scene of foot -washing. Recognition, Homer points out, implies a transition between past and present. (In this sense, his best disciple was Proust.) Narratives similarly connect between the important and the unimportant, eventually compromised, even eliminating that distinction: “In composition of the ring, the narrative appears winding towards a deviation … although the deviation, the pretending deviation, turns out to be ultimately a circle, as the narrative returns to the precise point in the action where it lost. “The reason I call this scene the classic example of anagnorisis — a moment of revealing (self) recognition — is not because Homer is the “founder of Western literature” but because it is presented in a book of literary criticism that written by a German. Jewish refugee in Istanbul during WWII, famously without the benefit of the comprehensive library he used to have at his disposal. The man was Erich Auerbach; the book is Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature. Its most famous chapter is the first, “Odysseus’s Scar,” in which Auerbach compares the Greek mode of speaking to Hebrew: the first offers transparency and clarity (the structure of the ring allows Homer to give us the backstory of the scar); the latter offers ambiguity and uncertainty, a privilege unknown — perhaps unknown — psychological motivation. (The example Auerbach chose was Akedah — G-d’s (batshit-insane) request that Abraham sacrifice his beloved son, Isaac.) The difference, says Mendelsohn, summarizing Auerbach, is between a a story of nothing left and a story that leaves. almost all came out. And the philosophical debate that reinforces this distinction is whether the truth is known. And the stakes of that question have to do with the interpretation itself. What’s this for? Are we constrained by its endless estimation?
In thinking about the oscillation between these two beliefs — the truth is clear; the truth is vague: events can be represented; Events are always more than representations — Mendelsohn is led to think of a once influential text in the 17th century, an early novel by a French archbishop named François Fénelon. The Adventures of Telemachus, a sequel to the Odyssey, made its author famous, but the book’s excessive criticism of Louis XIV led its author to be banished to northern France. However, the book’s influence survived, pleasing readers throughout Europe and, later, America, along with Thomas Jefferson, who would find the University of Virginia where Mendelsohn began studying the classics after a few century.
The Three Rings is a book about “deep connections to things that, for the optimist at least, are seen in history as well as in literature.” Thus, Mendelsohn moves away from discussing Proust’s work — his use of ring composition to create oppositions (bourgeois vs. aristocrat, hetero vs. homo, Swann vs.Guermantes) that eventually dismiss themselves. —In regard to his life, in particular the revelation that the model for the character of Saint Loup in Proust’s epic work was a diplomat named Bertrand, who posted, in Proust’s unanswered disappointment, at Constantinople, that the ancestor happened to be absent. except for François Fénelon, the former archbishop of Combrai — a name Proust adapted as a town where his alter-ego spent his childhood summers.
How can we understand such connections? Mendelsohn concludes by reflecting on the work of W. G. Sebald, that great writer of indefinite digressions. Mendelsohn considers some of Sebald’s monomaniacal solitary — at least Sebald’s own figure who, in The Rings of Saturn, wanders through abandoned landscapes taking on signs of former greatness — as in her encounter with a man obsessed with making a model of the Temple in Jerusalem, a missing, mysterious structure: the more the model maker learns, the more he does not understand; the same is true of Sebald in relation to the model maker. Mendelsohn recalls his own obsession when he was young with modeling, one he abandoned but later changed to his writing skills, where he learned to make the most of unresolved dilemmas.Meditating on Sebald’s melancholy deviations — where every possible link seems to fall apart, and destruction is the fate of all creativity — Mendelsohn turns that failure into success, as in his last section if which he considers the most influential book on the 19th-century Ottoman Empire, a translation of Fénelon’s sequel to the Odyssey of Yûsuf Kâmil Pasha, the Grand Vizier of the Empire, one of the many examples in this short book of how not “Western” literature would have existed if it had not been “brought back” from the East. Ultimately, perhaps the biggest deviation of all are the “basic” texts that some want to praise as essential to “western thought” that needs salvation by often destroying “others.” Enriched with the success of his translation, Kâmil Pasha donated part of his wealth to the university in Istanbul — in this way, mimicking Jefferson’s behavior even without knowing it — a center of learning that decades later, in the middle of 20th century, is welcome. scholars who fled to another auto-da-fe in the midst of so-called civilization, among them a German Jewish scholar of literature named Erich Auerbach.
The Three Rings is a brilliant essayistic narrative, satisfying and surprising with a series of historical connections; it is also a brilliant interpretation, because it shows that every story of destruction is one of creation, every moment of ambiguity is a clear one, every moment of the Jews is being Greek — because, of course, we realize that the ways of storytelling of the Greeks always needed the Jews as well. ways of storytelling. Only by interpretation can we think of a literature that does not require it.
Three Rings didn’t solve my problem with how to compose my book, but it reminded me — fun, frustrating, insane — of a success I could only hope to emulate.
Alison Lurie, Foreign Affairs (1984)
Read it just a few days before learning of Lurie’s death. Judging by Twitter’s reaction, his work was loved by many, especially this book. I must say, alas, I was not attracted. You know how in the long run everything associated with the 70s was desecrated but now it’s cool as hell? Maybe we’ll get there for the 80s eventually but now it feels dated. In his story about two American sabbatical academies in London — they work on the not -so -thinly disguised version of Cornell, where Lurie has taught for a long time; come to think of it, once someone taught her at the Olin library, though I think she was emerita even then — Lurie quotes Eliot and riffs on Austen, not to mention children’s literature and John Gay (the subject of their respective projects) but I’m not sure why. What does this book have to do with the English literary tradition?
A protagonist begins by hating England, swings to revel in it (as he enters into a dalliance with a well -known actor), and ends with a clear -eyed recognition that he doesn’t belong there. The other is Anglophilic to the extreme, convinced of the superiority of the place, but learns a chastening lesson when he falls in love with a countryman, a noisy American businessman. Is Lurie arguing a version of Wilde’s line about America and England that have everything in common but language? Telling us that people belong where they come from? Or will you just know what home means when you leave it? None of these suggestions are inspiring, but I have no idea. Lurie lovers, help!
I admire Lurie’s willingness to make her female lead simple, crotchy, supercilious, and matter-of-fact in her sexual desire.She gets a comeuppance that doesn’t require her to change herself. (The main man’s story isn’t terribly interesting.) But it’s not a particularly kind book, and its awkwardness isn’t used for any particular purpose (seemingly general and diffuse, not focused or critical). And the description of the American businessman — a lumpen aw shucks gee willikers giant from Oklahoma, the kindest man in the book — is captivating.Perhaps from the novel’s preferred mid-Atlantic viewpoint, there’s nothing more frightening than being from Tulsa, but when it’s, say, a four-hour drive from where you live, it’s just a town, nothing is better or worse than anywhere. I was willing to give Lurie another chance, but her leash was tight.
William Maxwell, They came Like Swallows (1937)
Despite an intense Maxwell stage in my mid-twenties — I was as weird and twee then as I am now — I miss this one. Perhaps my unconscious knows to wait, it will certainly sound louder during a pandemic than it did in the 90s. They Came Like Swallows was set in the fall of 1918. The armistice could be signed in Europe, but in small that town of Illinois mattered was the flu outbreak, which in a few short weeks would completely change the Morrison family. Just as destructive pain plays into our sense of time, the structure of the novella shapes our understanding of events. Each of its three sections focuses on a different character: the eight -year -old Bunny, sensitive, in love with his mother and apprehensive, in different ways, of his father and older brother; the brother, Robert, who suddenly appeared to us in a rather strange light, not concerned with Bunny, yes, (I mean, the child is five years younger, how do you take him seriously?), but sympathizes with his driving to ignore his disability and his victimization of feelings of responsibility that he could not rely on; their father, James Morrison, was far away, yes, and when unsure was inclined to turn to conventionality rather than kindness, but was confused and buffeted by dreadful events. I thought it was a missed opportunity that Maxwell never foreground any of the female characters — they were many: Elizabeth Morrison, the woman these men play, but also her sisters and sister -in -law; and they are the most interesting figures in the book — but then I realized it must be that way. The book is about its absent center, about the uses of men to women, about their consequential bafflement to women. That it makes its men as sympathetic as it does, and the women they value is the art of the book. The title, from Yeats’s “Coole Park, 1929,” is perfect:
They come like swallows and like swallows,
And yet the powerful character of a woman
A swallow may be retained in its first purpose;
And half a dozen in formation there,
That seems to revolve around a compass point,
Found certainty in the dream air
There is more dreaming than certainty in the book — wonderful how Maxwell not only describes the disease but, more ambitious, fills every page with the annoying, eye-opening quality pain that once has to offer— and we are never allowed to forget that the powerful female character, as Yeats has, is a function of the male fantasy. But both poetry and novels are elegias, fascinated by the paradoxes of loss, how survivors have the power to remember the dead, but only because the dead have given them the power of remembrance.
It’s amazing how wise and skillful it is for a young man’s book (Maxwell was only 29 when it was published). Obviously it’s time to re -read his novels, and to face his stories.
Big moon! More hits than misses! The demise of American democracy has been stuck for at least two years! Dickens, Robinson, Hadley, Maxwell — all winners. Deutschkron, Roseman, Mendelsohn — inspiring! I hope you find at least half as much to enjoy your month of reading. Leave a comment on your favorite.
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