{"id":70421,"date":"2021-07-05T01:01:40","date_gmt":"2021-07-05T05:01:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/?p=70421"},"modified":"2021-07-05T01:10:37","modified_gmt":"2021-07-05T05:10:37","slug":"i-arrogantly-recommend-by-tom-bowden-18","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/2021\/07\/05\/i-arrogantly-recommend-by-tom-bowden-18\/","title":{"rendered":"i arrogantly recommend&#8230; by Tom Bowden"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/01_PeachBlossom.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-thumbnail wp-image-70422 alignleft\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/01_PeachBlossom-94x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"94\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/01_PeachBlossom-94x150.jpg 94w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/01_PeachBlossom.jpg 313w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 94px) 100vw, 94px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781681374703\"><strong>Peach Blossom Paradise<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nGe Fei [Canaan Morse, trans.]<br \/>\nNYRB Classics<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLet a thousand flowers bloom.\u201d \u2014Mao<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">Magpie brought the cicada to the pawnshop, but the pawnbroker wouldn\u2019t take it. In fact, he wouldn\u2019t even look at it twice. He stuffed his hands in his sleeves and said dully, \u201cI know it\u2019s gold. But gold isn\u2019t worth anything when people are starving.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA single death is a tragedy; a million deaths are a statistic.\u201d \u2014Joseph Stalin<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">The hermit\u2019s hedgerow is like the Peach Blossom Paradise:<br \/>\nAfter these flowers blossom, no others will bloom.<\/p>\n<p>An old Chinese tale describes a remote spot stumbled upon by an outsider, who discovers a perfect place where all people and creatures are in harmony with each other, Peach Blossom Paradise. After his stay, he returns home, describing the paradise he discovered. Some dismiss his stories; others try but cannot again find the place described. Ge Fei weaves this tale with another search for Paradise on Earth, a pre-Maoist Communist Revolution that in part promises to liberate women from the tyranny of arranged marriages\u2014so that any man can fuck any woman he wants at any time.<\/p>\n<p>Xiumi, the novel\u2019s protagonist, is around 12 years old when the book starts. Her father is a government functionary, and thus part of the upper class\u2014an estate with land plowed by others and a house with live-in maids. He apparently goes mad, and just walks away from home one day, never to return. One doesn\u2019t need to know about the violent tumult across China resulting from the late-19th century Hundred Days\u2019 Reform to appreciate the shock and confusion among isolated rural communities far from any hub of reactionary or revolutionary turmoil about what is going on.<\/p>\n<p>By age 15, Xiumi\u2019s mother is almost out of money to run the household and sells her daughter into an arranged marriage. <em>En route<\/em> to her fianc\u00e9\u2019s estate for the marriage, Xiumi is kidnapped and taken to an island while awaiting ransom. But neither Xiumi\u2019s mother nor her fianc\u00e9 is willing to pay her ransom, and thus the kidnappers rape and sell her off to another man. Passed among government officials and criminal kingpins, Xiumi learns ruthlessness and gains revenge. Perhaps worse, she also gains an ideology. Talk of revolution permeates the air, but when the characters in this novel ask each other what \u201crevolution\u201d means, the only working definition that they can guess at is \u201cthe ability to do whatever I want.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>While I was reading Xiumi\u2019s transformation into a nightmare, and understanding the forces that shaped her, I came across a review of Alex Kotlowitz&#8217;s <strong>An American Summer: Love and Death in Chicago<\/strong> in &#8220;<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/articles\/2021\/06\/10\/how-can-we-stop-gun-violence\/\">How Can We Stop Gun Violence?<\/a>&#8221; by Francesca Mari, that focused on Kotlowitz\u2019s descriptions of a young man, Thomas, with post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by the many murders Thomas had witnessed since he was 11 years old\u2014friends, family, strangers. He is in a constant state of high-tension anger and anxiety. The only thing that quells it is violent release, which allows him to finally sleep.<\/p>\n<p>Xiumi\u2019s ideological vengeance\u2014her violent release\u2014ends with the death of her six-year-old son, whom she had never even bothered to name, consumed as she was by her revolutionary furor. The last quarter of the book regards Xiumi\u2019s atonement and repentance, largely by heeding Voltaire\u2019s advice to tend her own garden. A sense of redemption and grace concludes the book.<\/p>\n<p>Ge Fei is an excellent writer, with a talent for empathy, depth, and subtlety. This is only the second book by him recently translated into English, and it\u2019s the best novel I\u2019ve read so far this year. Translator Canaan Morse has a keen eye for key words and phrases deployed and developed throughout the novel, echoing its themes: the dangers of ideologies, the fact that ideologies are rarely women-friendly (even in the hands of women), and the need and ability to recover from ideological delusions\u2014\u201crecovery\u201d including humility and selflessness.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/02_Invisibility.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70423\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/02_Invisibility-94x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"94\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/02_Invisibility-94x150.jpg 94w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/02_Invisibility.jpg 313w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 94px) 100vw, 94px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781681370200\"><strong>The Invisibility Cloak<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nGe Fei [Canaan Morse, trans.]<br \/>\nNYRB Classics<\/p>\n<p>On the other side of serious historical fiction is light-hearted contemporary fiction, each skewering hypocrisies in its own way. Ge Fei, a professor of literature at Tsinghua University in Beijing, takes on (in part) capitalism at the nexus of government, commerce, and crime through the eyes of the narrator, Cui, who builds high-end stereo systems for high-end clients with no taste in music, an underlying frustration for Cui.<\/p>\n<p>Although his clients are wealthy, Cui is generally poor since he spends his money on high-end equipment, most of which he never uses because his apartment lacks ideal listening acoustics. As the book starts, his sister tells him he must move out (the apartment is owned by her and her husband). Challenged to raise enough money to buy a new apartment, the narrator\u2019s lifelong friend gives him the phone number of a mysterious man who wants \u201cthe best sound system in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The other subplot of <strong>The Invisibility Cloak<\/strong> is a search for a wife\u2014most insistently on his sister\u2019s part, far less so on Cui\u2019s, who cannot image a replacement for his beloved Yufen, who divorced him.<\/p>\n<p>What he needs, as his mother would put it, is a woman with \u201chatch marks.\u201d<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/03_FactorySummers.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70424\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/03_FactorySummers-108x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"108\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/03_FactorySummers-108x150.jpg 108w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/03_FactorySummers.jpg 360w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 108px) 100vw, 108px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781770464599\"><strong>Factory Summers<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nGuy Delisle [Helge Dasher and Rob Aspinall, trans.]<br \/>\nDrawn &amp; Quarterly<\/p>\n<p>Aah, the rite of summer jobs, when school is still a part of one\u2019s life and the onset of adulthood looms ever closer. For many teens, it\u2019s an introduction to the weird world of adults (apart from one\u2019s family), whose occasional (or nonstop) pettiness has an authority ominously different from that suffered under among peers or parents: the friendly, overly-touchy mentor; the resentful coworkers (having to work only summers is a privilege).<\/p>\n<p>In Guy Delisle\u2019s newest graphic memoir, he details three summers he spent working in a paper mill in Montr\u00e9al, starting at age 16. The son of one of the plant\u2019s engineers, Delisle gets the gig easily enough, and immediately is challenged by the physicality of the work required during the four 12-hour shifts that make up a work week. The heat, noise, and danger contribute to the draining efforts required of the work, which includes monitoring and trouble-shooting multi-ton rollers that produce newspaper.<\/p>\n<p>It\u2019s an all-male environment (mono-cultural, too, it seems), where preening and posturing and physical and emotional toughness are prized. Delisle is just a kid, working a summer job, so most of the guys leave him be, letting him spend his downtime reading. (Reading is OK\u2014this is Canada, after all\u2014but weeping when Lennie is killed in <strong>Of Mice and Men<\/strong> is not.)<\/p>\n<p>He develops acquaintances among the workers over the years, sees the stockpile of wood for pulp diminish each year as use of recycled paper increases, sees his father at work, and uses his factory wages to pay for his art school and his factory time to motivate him to never work in a factory again.<\/p>\n<p>Watch: <a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/watch\/live\/?v=492499301980959&amp;ref=watch_permalink\">At Home with Guy Delisle<\/a><\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04_Echoes_cover.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70425\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04_Echoes_cover-113x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"113\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04_Echoes_cover-113x150.jpg 113w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04_Echoes_cover.jpg 377w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 113px) 100vw, 113px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/charcoalbookclub.com\/products\/echoes-shades-1?variant=39301289312343\">Echoes Shades<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nPiotr Zbierski<br \/>\nCharcoal Press<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">\u201cI understand culture as an echo of nature, while its symbols, signs, products and rituals as shades of elements and phenomena that occur in nature.\u201d \u2014 Piotr Zbierski<\/p>\n<p>Photographing cultures in places as varied as Indonesia, Siberia, Africa, and Romania, Zbierski examines lives near nature\u2014traditional, oral cultures whose members live at subsistence level. This near to nature means death is close by too, as whimsical as it is final. Ritual and spirit worship give cohesion to death\u2019s arbitrary but inevitable appearance. Zbierski\u2019s black and white photographs capture some of the energy motivating these lives, from simple point-and-shoot documentation to disorienting presentations of the ordinary, each shot a synecdoche of the broader community and its harmonies.<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04a_Echoes.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-70433\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04a_Echoes.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04a_Echoes.jpg 1000w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04a_Echoes-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04a_Echoes-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04b_Echoes.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-70435\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04b_Echoes.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"498\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04b_Echoes.jpg 498w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04b_Echoes-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 498px) 100vw, 498px\" \/><\/a><br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04c_Echoes.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-70436\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04c_Echoes.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"500\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04c_Echoes.jpg 500w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/04c_Echoes-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/05_Permafrost.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70426\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/05_Permafrost-97x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"97\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/05_Permafrost-97x150.jpg 97w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/05_Permafrost.jpg 324w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 97px) 100vw, 97px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781911508755\"><strong>Permafrost<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nEva Baltasar [Julia Sanches, trans.]<br \/>\nAnd Other Stories<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">Getting a job after someone\u2019s put in a good word for you must be the closest thing to falling in love. You settle into a weightlessness that is for a while deeply pleasing, as though your life\u2019s been whisked down a tree-lined promenade that crests at a bridge over still water. As you gaze at green mallards and their single-parent families, you let go. It\u2019s so painless at the end of the day. And there\u2019s so much beauty, born again in your own face, permeating the friendly halves of other people. Your senses are honed. You rediscover the sun, whose light shines all around you and falls over exteriors like geometric shapes at rest. I don\u2019t see how this state of being can be normal. If it were I might not be so shocked by everyone\u2019s eagerness to go on living day after day.<\/p>\n<p>The lesbian narrator of this wry novel accepts her sexual desires but not the heteronormative social norms that paired relationships tend to imply for her\u2014marriage, children, a home. Or, perhaps not \u201cheteronormative social norms\u201d but \u201ccontrolling mom norms\u201d: \u201cOne summer, we couldn\u2019t go away on vacation because your university fees went up.\u201d \u201cThe summer we couldn\u2019t go on holiday because you needed braces.\u201d \u201cI still remember that summer when we couldn\u2019t get away because your glasses broke and you needed a new pair.\u201d \u201cAnd what about that summer when we didn\u2019t move house so that you could take a two-week intensive tennis course?\u201d Et cetera.<\/p>\n<p>As a result, the narrator is horny but cold to intimate trust, intelligent but directionless, open to new experience but prone to suicide. If the first three-quarters of the book could be said to be the case for her life\u2019s uselessness\u2014and thus her icy indifference to much of it\u2014the last quarter of it is her reaction to having her bluff called.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">\u201cFamilies huddle like villages under siege. But the savagery that stalks and besieges us\u2014is life.\u201d<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"2018-11-27 Conversation with Paul B. Preciado\" width=\"635\" height=\"357\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/p1g01eFWei4?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe><br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/06_MonsterSpeak.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70427\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/06_MonsterSpeak-96x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"96\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/06_MonsterSpeak-96x150.jpg 96w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/06_MonsterSpeak.jpg 321w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 96px) 100vw, 96px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781635901511\"><strong>Can the Monster Speak?<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nPaul B. Preciado<br \/>\nSemiotext(e)<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">[G]ender transition . . . entails activating those genes whose expression had been thwarted by the presence of oestrogens, by connecting them via testosterone and triggering a parallel evolution of my own life, by giving free expression to the phenotype that would otherwise have remained silent. To be trans, one must accept the triumphant irruption of another future in oneself, in every cell of one\u2019s body. To transition comes down to understanding that the cultural codes of masculinity and femininity are anecdotal compared to the infinite variety of modalities of existence.<\/p>\n<p>In 2019, Paul B. Preciado was invited to give a talk to a convention of 3,500 Freudian psychoanalysts in Paris\u2014a talk that was jeered at by the Freudians, denounced, and shouted down before Preciado was even half-through. Not a single member of that group from Ecole de la Cause Freudienne would even admit to, for instance, being gay, when asked, a way of being the group asserts is pathological.<\/p>\n<p>The entirety of Preciado\u2019s speech has now been translated and published. Preciado, a trans man, has studied the history of psychology and legislation as it relates to defining \u201cnormality,\u201d and finds it still primarily based on masculine identity and genitalia. Even women, according to these Freudians and Lacanians, are a sub-species or lesser example of the male ideal.<\/p>\n<p>Gore Vidal in an essay once alluded to Freud as a Viennese novelist\u2014no science, no research, just unexamined assumptions, and a hostility toward evidence (richly abundant from his own patients) at odds with his unsupported assertions. Lacan was even less of a scientist than Freud, even less of a writer, but couched his prose in dense absurdities difficult to unravel. (For those who made the effort to unravel his essays, the hard work revealed only unsubstantiated nonsense at its core.)<\/p>\n<p>By defining what characterizes \u201cmale\u201d and \u201cfemale\u201d and positing heterosexuality as the only nonpathological way of living and loving in the world, Freudians helped shape and determine the legal context in which people may be arrested, jailed, forcibly medicated, raped, operated upon, kept from employment, and so forth.<\/p>\n<p>Just as Ptolemy and Galileo helped decenter the Sun, Earth, and humanity from Center of the Universe to small corner of an unremarkable galaxy among trillions of others, the notion of what it means to be human is undergoing a profound shift in understanding what is at the core of our being, no matter our genitalia, reproductive capacity, or preferences in intimacy. Living in a small corner of an unremarkable galaxy makes us no less human than before (or any less the children of God to theists)\u2014any more than existing on a continuum of physiology and desires does.<\/p>\n<p>William Burroughs, in <strong>The Book of Breeething<\/strong> [sic], argues for using the \u201cas\u201d of identity rather than the \u201cis,\u201d as shown in Egyptian hieroglyphs. In these hieroglyphs, the \u201cas\u201d of identity describes people according to functions they perform: X as uncle, as brickmaker, as citizen, etc.&nbsp; &nbsp;\u201cIs\u201d labels, however, are prone to limiting bigotries. The \u201cis\u201d of identity assumes that everything significant about that person is revealed by biological descriptors. For instance, \u201cX <strong>is<\/strong> gay\u201d (or Black or Jewish, etc.): \u201cThat\u2019s all I need to know about him!\u201d Preciado convincingly argues along similar lines for a human emancipation that frees us from destructive, limiting notions of what it means to be fully human to productive, varied, and affirming notions of existence, unshackled from genital obsession.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/07_WeirdlyOutWest.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70428\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/07_WeirdlyOutWest-97x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"97\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/07_WeirdlyOutWest-97x150.jpg 97w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/07_WeirdlyOutWest.jpg 324w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 97px) 100vw, 97px\" \/><\/a><strong>Weirdly Out West<\/strong><br \/>\nRhys Hughes<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/blackscatbooks.com\/\">Black Scat Books<\/a> (Absurdist Texts <em>&amp; <\/em>Documents No. 42)<\/p>\n<p>Filled with puns and other word play, literary allusions, parodies, and tributes, <strong>Weirdly Out West<\/strong> is a smart and often very funny spoof of the Western genre, with bonus points for the mash-ups with other genres, such as the haikus that make up \u201cThe Narrow Path to the Far West\u201d series.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">Bulging sack splits wide<br \/>\nCoffee beans in horse trough fall<br \/>\nPony Espresso<\/p>\n<p>The dialogue in the stories often has the pacing of an absurd Marx Brothers or Firesign Theatre routine, as in this exchange between Apollonius, a talking horse, and his rider, Glen:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">APOLLONIUS: I have a name and not just any name. It\u2019s a classical name, the name of exactly the sort of artistic soul who composed epic verse in days of yore.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">GLEN (frowning): In the days of my what?<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">APOLLONIUS: Just in the days of yore. They didn\u2019t belong to you. They weren\u2019t your days. They were the days of yore and belonged to others.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">And then there are the fables, one-page mythic scenarios. Here is most of \u201cThe Wild Fables\u201d:<br \/>\nThe original gods of the West kept their fables in stables and only took them out occasionally but the classical gods who came with the settlers allowed their fables to graze free on the land. Needless to say, many of those fables escaped and went wild. Most were never recaptured and if a skilled cowboy happened to be lucky enough to successfully lasso one he could be sure it would never allow him to ride on its back. Broken bones still litter the remoter prairies as a result, enough to construct an irregular tower, if you are so inclined. The indigenous gods and the intruder gods will trade individual words on neutral territory but rarely full sentences. The mutual suspicion continues. Herds of fables come down to the river in the early evening to drink. They have interbred and now the stories are jumbled but strong.<\/p>\n<p>Very silly, and thus recommended.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<div id=\"attachment_70431\" style=\"width: 746px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/bud.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-70431\" class=\"wp-image-70431 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/bud.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"736\" height=\"327\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/bud.jpeg 736w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/bud-150x67.jpeg 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 736px) 100vw, 736px\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-70431\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vladim\u00edr Boudn\u00edk (17 March 1924 in Prague &#8211; 5 December 1968 in Prague) Untitled painting, 1963<\/p><\/div>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/08_GentleBar.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70429\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/08_GentleBar-98x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"98\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/08_GentleBar-98x150.jpg 98w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/08_GentleBar.jpg 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 98px) 100vw, 98px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9780811228589\">The Gentle Barbarian<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nBohumil Hrabal [Paul Wilson, trans.]<br \/>\nNew Directions<\/p>\n<p>An influential Czech artist during the 1950s and \u201860s, Vladimir Boudnik was a close friend of Bohumil Hrabal, who wrote this brief memoir of their acquaintance as a tribute to him. When Hrabal says that this is a \u201cpoetic and truthful\u201d account of their friendship, mutual friends of Hrabal and Boudnik are quick to point out that \u201cpoetic and truthful\u201d does not mean \u201cfactual.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Or no less factual than the bar talk and digressions that his novels are known for, allegedly largely built upon the stories he is told or overhears in the bars he haunts. Thus, The Gentle Barbarian is episodic, a series of set-pieces recounting the deeds of Boudnik alone or together with Hrabal. A third friend, Egon Bondy, usually hears of these accounts second-hand from Hrabal and provides the anecdote with its comedic conclusion about what a genius Boudnik is.<\/p>\n<p>The repressive conditions they endure during Soviet control is only hinted at in Hrabal\u2019s sketches:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">When Vladimir got married a second time, in Cesky Krumlov, he asked me to be his best man. I was in for a surprise. I set out in my car but I couldn\u2019t get out of Prague, neither through the city center, nor by using back routes, because the fraternal armies had arrived with their tanks to liquidate a nonexistent problem. So I returned home and then went to see an exhibition of modern American art in the Waldstein Riding School. I knocked on the gate, but the show had been postponed because the armies had arrived. When Egon Bondy heard about his, he shouted: \u201cGoddamn it! That Vladimir! Will I ever have the good fortune to have so many armies set in motion because I\u2019m getting married!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Earlier in the book, Vladimir tells Hrabal and Egon Bondy how he came to be jailed for painting a picture of a brook running through the woods: \u201cThe pensioner called the police. He claimed there\u2019s a boatyard of strategic importance to the state just past the inlet we were painting. We tried to explain that we were only interested in painting trees, but they brought us in anyway, and we had to make a sworn statement. I think we\u2019re going to have to stick to humanist abstraction.\u201d<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/MOTOR-CITY-W.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-70430\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/MOTOR-CITY-W-150x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"150\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/MOTOR-CITY-W-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/MOTOR-CITY-W.jpg 430w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 150px) 100vw, 150px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/bookshop\/catalog\/motor-city-underground-leni-sinclair-photographs-1963-1978\/\">Motor City Underground: Leni Sinclair\u2014Photographs 1963-1978<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nCary Loren and Lorraine Wild, Editors<br \/>\nMuseum of Contemporary Art Detroit<\/p>\n<p>During the \u201860s and \u201870s Detroit had thriving, entwined sub-cultures united music, painting, and poetry with armed politics. At their nexus was Leni Sinclair, who documented the large milieu she and her husband John Sinclair circulated within, capturing the energy, tensions, and joys of the era. While turning the pages you may feel that, while you\u2019re hearing the voice of young America again, it ain\u2019t the Motown version but a complementary co-history of that era.<\/p>\n<p>The MC5, Sun Ra, Tom Hayden, Alice Coltrane, Iggy Pop, Huey Newton, Aretha Franklin, and dozens more activists and artists, poets and partiers, musicians and mischief-makers appear throughout the book\u2019s 400 pages of anti-war demonstrations, concerts, conferences, and rebellions.<\/p>\n<p>Motor City Underground is beautifully designed and edited, a vital document of the time and a tribute to the photographer who kept a record of the time. The photo captions provide the context and significance of the events and people shown, and quotes from songs, statements, and reminiscences of the time are interspersed throughout, further explaining or exemplifying what is being documented. Cary Loren contributes an important 50-page essay, \u201cMotor City Underground: Through the Lens of Leni Sinclar,\u201d which begins as a biography of Sinclair but morphs about halfway through into biographies of the parts comprising the Motor City Underground. The book concludes with an interview with Sinclair.<\/p>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Leni Sinclair | Detroit Performs Clip\" width=\"635\" height=\"357\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/up8Nje7qV1M?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Peach Blossom Paradise Ge Fei [Canaan Morse, trans.] NYRB Classics &ldquo;Let a thousand flowers bloom.&rdquo; &mdash;Mao Magpie brought the cicada to the pawnshop, but the pawnbroker wouldn&rsquo;t take it. In fact, he wouldn&rsquo;t even look at it twice. He stuffed his hands in his sleeves and said dully, &ldquo;I know it&rsquo;s gold. But gold isn&rsquo;t [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":70432,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[466,461],"class_list":["post-70421","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-general","tag-i-arrogantly-recommend","tag-tom-bowden"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/70421","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=70421"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/70421\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/70432"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=70421"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=70421"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=70421"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}