We are now eight days away from Christmas (as I am reminded several times a day by my nine-year-old daughter, and those of you in the Greater New Orleans area have one more opportunity to buy directly from Deep South Samizdat Books, at the expanded Elysian Fleas market, at 527 Elysian Fields, on the corner of Chartres St. While Elysian Fleas typically takes place on the third Saturday of the month, you will have two opportunities this weekend, Saturday and Sunday, from 11-5. And, as the Saints will be taking on the Dallas Cowboys (otherwise known as the personification of evil) Saturday night, there will be no Sunday conflict with the game. But what about the weather, you say? It's a lot of trouble building bookshelves into the walls of an ark, you say. I hear you, but the forecast is for sunny skies, with a high of 53 Saturday and a balmy 60 on Sunday.
Just as important as the holiday shopping, this weekend should be the last opportunity to cast your vote in the Greater New Orleans Market Bestseller List. To recap, I have been keeping meticulous records for all of 2009, tabulating sales for all of the markets I have participated in, and periodically publishing the results and providing you, the reader, with a cross-section of the literary preferences of the New Orleans community, arrived at through the democratic act of supporting your favorite local guerrilla bookseller. Here, then, is the expanded list, for your perusal:
1. Walker Percy
2. Kurt Vonnegut
3. (tie) Ray Bradbury
3. (tie) Aldlous Huxley
5. (tie) Hermann Hesse
5. (tie) George Orwell
7. (tie) Albert Camus
7. (tie) Henry Miller
9. (tie) Edgar Rice Burroughs
9. (tie) James Joyce
9. (tie) J.D. Salinger
9. (tie) Star Trek
13. (tie) James Lee Burke
13. (tie) Joseph Campbell
13. (tie) Robert Heinlein
13. (tie) Ayn Rand
I'll leave it for future graduate students to draw conclusions based on that data ("The Marketgoer: Literary Consumption and Identity in post-Katrina New Orleans"). But I can guarantee that multiple volumes by each of the above authors will be available, so there is still room for movement within the list. And, sometime after the first of the year, the final list for 2009 will be published, amid great fanfare.
Until next time, my friends, take care of yourselves and each other. Merry Christmas, war is over if you want it, and all the rest--Parker
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
The High Man in the Rent-Controlled Castle, Part Two
Chase plays the role of the tragic-stricken fiancee at soirees around Manhattan, apparently the only acting gig he's had in quite some time. Unfortunately, he can't actually remember Janice very well, and falls into an awkward relationship with Oona. Abneg, meanwhile, is seemingly at war with the natural world, as a mating pair of eagles nest just outside of his apartment, at the same time as he is the city's point person on eliminating the escaped tiger haunting the streets of the borough.
Ah, yes, the tiger. It's difficult to discuss it too much without revealing key plot twists, but it is my assertion that the tiger represents gentrification, configured as an actual (or at least a perceived) force of nature, unpredictable, undomesticated, irrational, unable to be tamed by Abneg. Obviously, no city administration will embrace gentrification as such, with its racist and classist stigmas, its profane and arbitrary destruction in the name of profit, its synthetic-fibered welcome mat leading the moneychangers into the temple, but if a force of nature comes along, say an earthquake, or tsunami, or perhaps.... a hurricane, if you will, then, and only then, maybe it's just best for all parties if cosmetically-damaged but structurally sound public hospitals or public housing units are demolished to make way for new, more fiscally sound projects. Forces of nature are funny that way, aren't they?
Perkus Tooth, the soul of Chronic City, is among the many Manhattanites affected by the tiger, and Lethem's obvious affection for him warrants further inspection and speculation. He is a representative of a completely different force of nature, a species of which I am particularly fascinated. The pop vernacular would identify him as a cultural critic, operating in the "postmodern" cultural/media environment. I put the adjective in parentheses only because of the loaded term's ubiquity, but I think it's appropriate given my interpretation. I would argue that the era of postmodernism (perhaps even an epoch, to give it a little geological heft) is one in which the most vital artifacts of popular culture project self-conscious artistry without losing authentic populist coarseness, while the most vital creations of fine art project a grounded populist coarseness without sacrificing self-conscious artistry (think Jasper Johns' Flag and Jimi Hendrix's "Star-Spangled Banner"). And while continents of forests have been felled to produce theses and dissertations and academic journals devoted to the sterile, heads-of-pins theorizing of lesser intellects (I can already feel the comments section filling with the words pot, kettle and black), a few first-rate minds - among them Susan Sontag, Greil Marcus, Cornel West, Lawrence Weschler, Greg Tate, Dave Hickey - have reached the status of what I would call cultural alchemists, squeezing and distilling the post-God scriptures of fine art and popular culture into something truly illuminating, and doing so with style, passion and - gasp! - genuine lucidity.
Now, Lethem likes to play with some of the characters in this novel, dropping obvious clues as to who they were based on. The billionaire mayor is an obvious stand-in for Michael Bloomberg, while a city arts bureaucrat has an awful lot of Art Garfunkel in him. Whether fortunately or not, I heard a recent radio interview with Lethem in which he revealed that much of Perkus Tooth's character and idiosyncracies were those of his friend Paul Nelson, a largely-forgotten music writer, editor and (briefly) music business insider whose advocacy was crucial in the careers of Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart and the New York Dolls, among others. That shot my theory out of the water, but I nevertheless feel compelled to share it, given the possibility of the cosmic unconsciousness working in its mysterious ways.
I intentionally used the term cultural alchemist because it so befit one of my favorite characters, and my nomination for one of the unsung American heroes of the 20th century, Harry Smith (Har-ry Smith, Per-kus Tooth, you see?). Smith was born to practicing occultists in Portland, Oregon, in 1923, and his story was that his father gave him a blacksmith's set when he was young and told him to turn lead into gold, the eternal alchemical project. He grew up to become a pioneering experimental filmmaker and musicologist, collecting the records that became the milestone Anthology of American Folk Music, inspiring the folk revivalists of the 1950's and early 60's - Dylan, Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Dave Van Ronk, the New Lost City Ramblers and so many others - without either the academic credentials or paternalism of Alan Lomax. Smith's stated goal was to the country through the recognition of the cultural contributions of poor black and white musicians. And, given the prominence and further evolution of such music through the course of the Civil Rights Movement and the revolutions of the 1960's, one could make the argument that such an alchemical transformation was achieved.
Of course, Smith was also known for his raging alcoholism and mercurial personality, alienating numerous friends and associates over the years before his death in 1991 (I had the pleasure of hearing him lecture in 1990 at the Naropa Institute, where the seemingly infinitely patient Allen Ginsberg arranged his appointment as Shaman in Residence). I don't know of any contacts Lethem may have had with Smith, but many of their obsessions would seem to dovetail fairly symmetrically.
Jonathan Lethem's Chronic City is a provocative novel of the highest order, the kind you were always hoping to find in musty old used bookstores in the pre-Amazon days, when such tomes were talked about on land line telephones or maybe written about in letters from friends on the coast, when the gratification of personal discovery might be delayed for months or even years from first notice. It is fiercely, passionately relevant.
Ah, yes, the tiger. It's difficult to discuss it too much without revealing key plot twists, but it is my assertion that the tiger represents gentrification, configured as an actual (or at least a perceived) force of nature, unpredictable, undomesticated, irrational, unable to be tamed by Abneg. Obviously, no city administration will embrace gentrification as such, with its racist and classist stigmas, its profane and arbitrary destruction in the name of profit, its synthetic-fibered welcome mat leading the moneychangers into the temple, but if a force of nature comes along, say an earthquake, or tsunami, or perhaps.... a hurricane, if you will, then, and only then, maybe it's just best for all parties if cosmetically-damaged but structurally sound public hospitals or public housing units are demolished to make way for new, more fiscally sound projects. Forces of nature are funny that way, aren't they?
Perkus Tooth, the soul of Chronic City, is among the many Manhattanites affected by the tiger, and Lethem's obvious affection for him warrants further inspection and speculation. He is a representative of a completely different force of nature, a species of which I am particularly fascinated. The pop vernacular would identify him as a cultural critic, operating in the "postmodern" cultural/media environment. I put the adjective in parentheses only because of the loaded term's ubiquity, but I think it's appropriate given my interpretation. I would argue that the era of postmodernism (perhaps even an epoch, to give it a little geological heft) is one in which the most vital artifacts of popular culture project self-conscious artistry without losing authentic populist coarseness, while the most vital creations of fine art project a grounded populist coarseness without sacrificing self-conscious artistry (think Jasper Johns' Flag and Jimi Hendrix's "Star-Spangled Banner"). And while continents of forests have been felled to produce theses and dissertations and academic journals devoted to the sterile, heads-of-pins theorizing of lesser intellects (I can already feel the comments section filling with the words pot, kettle and black), a few first-rate minds - among them Susan Sontag, Greil Marcus, Cornel West, Lawrence Weschler, Greg Tate, Dave Hickey - have reached the status of what I would call cultural alchemists, squeezing and distilling the post-God scriptures of fine art and popular culture into something truly illuminating, and doing so with style, passion and - gasp! - genuine lucidity.
Now, Lethem likes to play with some of the characters in this novel, dropping obvious clues as to who they were based on. The billionaire mayor is an obvious stand-in for Michael Bloomberg, while a city arts bureaucrat has an awful lot of Art Garfunkel in him. Whether fortunately or not, I heard a recent radio interview with Lethem in which he revealed that much of Perkus Tooth's character and idiosyncracies were those of his friend Paul Nelson, a largely-forgotten music writer, editor and (briefly) music business insider whose advocacy was crucial in the careers of Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart and the New York Dolls, among others. That shot my theory out of the water, but I nevertheless feel compelled to share it, given the possibility of the cosmic unconsciousness working in its mysterious ways.
I intentionally used the term cultural alchemist because it so befit one of my favorite characters, and my nomination for one of the unsung American heroes of the 20th century, Harry Smith (Har-ry Smith, Per-kus Tooth, you see?). Smith was born to practicing occultists in Portland, Oregon, in 1923, and his story was that his father gave him a blacksmith's set when he was young and told him to turn lead into gold, the eternal alchemical project. He grew up to become a pioneering experimental filmmaker and musicologist, collecting the records that became the milestone Anthology of American Folk Music, inspiring the folk revivalists of the 1950's and early 60's - Dylan, Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Dave Van Ronk, the New Lost City Ramblers and so many others - without either the academic credentials or paternalism of Alan Lomax. Smith's stated goal was to the country through the recognition of the cultural contributions of poor black and white musicians. And, given the prominence and further evolution of such music through the course of the Civil Rights Movement and the revolutions of the 1960's, one could make the argument that such an alchemical transformation was achieved.
Of course, Smith was also known for his raging alcoholism and mercurial personality, alienating numerous friends and associates over the years before his death in 1991 (I had the pleasure of hearing him lecture in 1990 at the Naropa Institute, where the seemingly infinitely patient Allen Ginsberg arranged his appointment as Shaman in Residence). I don't know of any contacts Lethem may have had with Smith, but many of their obsessions would seem to dovetail fairly symmetrically.
Jonathan Lethem's Chronic City is a provocative novel of the highest order, the kind you were always hoping to find in musty old used bookstores in the pre-Amazon days, when such tomes were talked about on land line telephones or maybe written about in letters from friends on the coast, when the gratification of personal discovery might be delayed for months or even years from first notice. It is fiercely, passionately relevant.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)