Last Week's New Yorker Review: š„ The Weekend Special (August 18)
The Weekend Special
Pieces are given up to three Knapps (for fiction), Downeys (for essays), or Fords (for random picks). As with restaurant stars, even one Knapp, Downey, or Ford indicates a generally positive review.
š„ Fiction
āThe Corn Woman, Her Husband, and Their Childā by Annie Proulx. No Knapps. marriage, mavericks, magma. Certainly better than Proulxās previous very long return-to-fiction misfire, because at least her descriptive prose is largely convincing here. Still, this reads like a talented stylistās exercise in free writing; an attempt to continue a story every day, including plenty of information on whatever Proulx has decided to research or read about, with no particular thought as to its overall meaning or shape. The ending tries to wrap things up by returning to the start, but itās not at all convincing. The best material here, which at least sparks with the risk of thought, concerns Goldieās trans identity and her motherās tortured reaction; because there is little to no psychological interiority here, though, itās very hard to tell how anyone feels about anything, which is the heart of the matter. Itās all endless information and discourse, plus clunky dialogue that seems to be heavily telegraphing its point ā yet never actually makes that point clear. Can anything mean anything in this relentless swirl of information? If you can read this whole story without your eyes glazing over, youāre better than I. Proulx neither rejects nor takes advantage of the tools of narrative. There is, certainly, a circus-act wonder at this almost-ninety-year-old legend fearlessly making a mess. But she seems to be aiming at a psychologically acute portrait of human existence; that sheās arrived, instead, at a gonzo postmodern jumble of signifiers canāt quite be taken as a success.
š„ Weekend Essay
āWhat Itās Like to Brainstorm with a Botā by Dan Rockmore. No Downeys. collaboration, colleague, convincing. The slopper doth protest too much, methinks.
š„ Random Pick
āA Kind of Dancerā by Suzannah Lessard. (January 9, 1989.) No Fords. neoclassical, narrow, nature. Rietiās music is a witty reconfiguration of the tropes of traditional orchestration which still takes obvious pleasure in those tropes; itās not the worst thing, but it is a little lightweight, and Iām not inherently interested in the guyās life. Still, I was enjoying this for its first half ā and then the second half is a mostly-quoted interview that repeats nearly all the information from the first half over again. Why?! The piece just ends up too long, and repetitive. Plus, I never got the sense Lessard is a subject-matter expert, necessarily; her take on Rietiās avant-garde contemporaries is needlessly dismissive. (Sure, Winthrop Sargeant was needlessly dismissive of much the same thing, but he was contemporaneous; plus, that was his brand.) Still, she can write; this has the magazineās traditional erudite bounce. In the regular edition, this would be a very high āSkipā; itās easily the best of the three pieces in this Special. But thereās just no particular reason to dig for it in the archives.
š„ Something Extra
I had the most incredible meal at CafƩ Mado the other day. They are doing unspeakable things with summer produce.
ā¦Hey, not like that! Ew!
Sunday Song: