{"id":71586,"date":"2022-07-12T01:53:19","date_gmt":"2022-07-12T05:53:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/?p=71586"},"modified":"2022-07-12T01:53:19","modified_gmt":"2022-07-12T05:53:19","slug":"small-takes-by-tom-bowden","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/2022\/07\/12\/small-takes-by-tom-bowden\/","title":{"rendered":"Small Takes by Tom Bowden"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/timezone.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71603\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/timezone-95x150.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"95\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/timezone-95x150.jpeg 95w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/timezone.jpeg 318w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 95px) 100vw, 95px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781770464988\"><strong>Time Zone J<\/strong><\/a><br \/>\nJulie Doucet<br \/>\nDrawn &amp; Quarterly<\/p>\n<p>Back to cartooning after shifting her artwork in 2000 to other forms, <strong>Time Zone J <\/strong>records a brief but intense fling she had in 1989 with a soldier she refers to as \u201cthe hussar.\u201d Deep into Montr\u00e9al\u2019s zine scene at the time, a fan struck up a correspondence with her, a sense of comradery was established, and soon an erotic charge animated their relationship, even though phones in 1989 didn\u2019t allow for photo swaps. Two problems face the couple: She\u2019s in Montr\u00e9al and he\u2019s in France, available for furloughs of only 48 or 72 hours, with little warning of their occurrence.<\/p>\n<p>They meet in person a couple of times, the encounters unnerving but not deal-breaking: The hussar is a depressive who likes to cut himself; whether he would do the same to her against her will feeds her uncertainties.<\/p>\n<p>About the cartoons: The drawings look to have been drawn on a scroll that has been folded into 150 uncut pages. The physical continuity of the work along with the narrative add to the book\u2019s energy, which is already amped by the entangled web of images filling each page. The narrative represents Doucet\u2019s obsessive thoughts, mulled over while drawing random faces and objects on a scroll while daydreaming about her fling, pieced together from Doucet\u2019s diaries of the time.<\/p>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"panellogy 415 - julie doucet\" width=\"635\" height=\"357\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/DB-RF4ysOv4?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<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71592\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils-150x79.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"150\" height=\"79\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils-150x79.jpg 150w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils-1024x538.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils-768x403.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/02_Devils.jpg 1200w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 150px) 100vw, 150px\" \/><\/a><strong>The Devils<\/strong><br \/>\nNew Juche<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/amphetaminesulphate.bigcartel.com\/product\/the-devils\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Amphetamine Sulfate<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Taking place in Scotland, where New Juche grew up during the \u201880s but connecting his time in Newbattle with its history of torture and murder and the rape and murder in 2003 of a 15-year-old girl in a house close to where he once lived. The argument behind New Juche\u2019s <strong>The Devils<\/strong> is that neighborhoods like the one he grew up in are breeding grounds for such atrocities. More to the point, he implies that crime, casual violence (domestic and public), routine drug and alcohol abuse\u2014let alone torture and murder\u2014are inherent to the historical place of Newbattle.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><strong>Spaniels<\/strong><br \/>\nJukka Siikala (Jarno Alander, trans.)<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/www.infinitylandpress.com\/spaniels\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Infinity Land Press<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Ah, the dissolute life\u2014income and food insecurity, self-destructive turns at overindulgence in drugs and\/or alcohol, and bouts of debased sex with anonymous persons of uncertain hygiene. One difference between Orwell\u2019s down-and-out and Bukowski\u2019s boarding house blues is the availability of internet porn, which seemingly overlays every sighting of and encounter with the opposite sex in this book. And given the directionless lives of the characters\u2014who are old enough to know better\u2014a patina of unprovoked violence, of potential energy let\u2019s say, covers every thought and encounter with its sour crust. Here\u2019s the last paragraph of the first chapter as an example:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">On his way to the fast-food stand, for no particular reason, the word \u201cdeath\u201d appeared in his mind, as if alcohol and loosened it from its tethers. He waited at the end of the queue, looking at people standing in front of him, thinking about where on their body he would like to shoot them. Two women turned towards him and one asked for a light. He offered his lighter. Trembling with cold, they discussed their evening. He mentioned living in the next city block. He had booze. The women said they were interested.<\/p>\n<p>Orwell had goals and places to go; Bukowski had no interest in going places but at least had the goal of writing every day. Jukka Siikala, as the 21st-century down-and-outer, has writing skills but seems unconvinced that the skill means anything, any more than a spaniel\u2019s loyalty means anything in a time of empty, libertarian self-satisfaction.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/04_Shammai-Weitz-1.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71611\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/04_Shammai-Weitz-1-99x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"99\" height=\"150\"><\/a><strong>Shammai Weitz<\/strong><br \/>\nIsaac Bashevis Singer \/ Daniel Kennedy<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/sublunaryeditions.com\/products\/shammai-weitz-isaac-bashevis-singer\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Sublunary Editions<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Daniel Kennedy\u2019s translation of Isaac Bashevis Singer is a boon for Singer\u2019s fans for a couple of reasons: \u201cShammai Weitz\u201d has not been translated into English before, and Kennedy\u2019s English more closely replicates the rawness of Singer\u2019s characters in the original Hebrew that previous translators into English were encouraged to soften by Singer himself into genteel hypocrisies more acceptable to audiences unfamiliar with shtetl life.<\/p>\n<p>Shammai Weitz is one of Singer\u2019s unlikeable characters whose force of motivation propels him toward his end goal, come what may and at whose expense. Weitz and his wife move from an obscure shtetl village in Poland to Warsaw (bright lights, big city), where he sets up business as a printer. His wife never adjusts to the big city, is frightened by all of it, even inside her own apartment. While she continues to wear a wig (one of the Jewish Orthodox traditions), Weitz is no longer wearing his yarmulke by the start of his first meal in Warsaw, and soon is ignoring his wife, as well. Such is his life of assimilation and money-making. Singer, of course, has plans for his callousness.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/05_Temple.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71595\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/05_Temple-107x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"107\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/05_Temple-107x150.jpg 107w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/05_Temple.jpg 357w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 107px) 100vw, 107px\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781645250968\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Temple of Gnide<\/a><br \/>\nMontesquieu \/ Brian Stableford<br \/>\nSnuggly Books<\/p>\n<p>An obscure, minor work by Montesquieu that required two levels of falsification to elude French censors: claiming that the book was published in London, thereby bypassing the requirement that all books published in France pass a censor\u2019s inspection; and that the book was translated from the Ancient Greek, so that its commentary on sexual mores would not seem at odds with current Church pronouncements. Coded this way, even contemporaries of Montesquieu knew how to read the metaphors, which pronounce a desire from Bacchus to humans, on behalf of the denizens of Mt. Olympus, that humans live happy, harmonious lives, rich in sexual gratification and poor in jealousy and mistrust.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/06_Dark-Neighbourhood.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71596\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/06_Dark-Neighbourhood-98x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"98\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/06_Dark-Neighbourhood-98x150.jpg 98w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/06_Dark-Neighbourhood.jpg 327w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 98px) 100vw, 98px\" \/><\/a><strong>Dark Neighbourhood<\/strong><br \/>\nVanessa Onwuemezi<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/fitzcarraldoeditions.com\/books\/dark-neighbourhood\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Fitzcarradlo Editions<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Vanessa Onwuemezi is a young British writer from London whose DN is her first collection, the last story of which, \u201cAt the Heart of Things,\u201d won The White Review Short Story Prize 2019. Imagine Kafka reincarnated as an immigrant \/ first-generation person living in a London tenement and you have an idea of the queasy state of unknowing, dread, and mortal vulnerability Onwuemezi evokes in each story, surreal Sisyphean parables in which something elusive ever escapes the protagonist\u2019s grasp\u2014and this reader\u2019s, for that matter. And while I find no single direct reason to appreciate her poetic prose, its collective effect I can feel: Paragraphs become stanzas and vice versa, spacing introduces silences, rhythms are embedded in the prose\u2014it has a strong oral, performative quality to it. Despite the grim tales that unfold in this collection, Onwuemezi\u2019s ear and control of language bring beauty to the desolate.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/07_Famous-Magician.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71597\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/07_Famous-Magician-100x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/07_Famous-Magician-100x150.jpg 100w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/07_Famous-Magician.jpg 333w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 100px) 100vw, 100px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9780811228893\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Famous Magician<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nby C\u00e9sar Aira (Chris Andrews, trans.)<br \/>\nNew Directions<\/p>\n<p>Stephen King is a popular storyteller who, for decades, has succeeded in keeping millions of readers around the world rapt for hours at a time day after day, months on end. Compared to his competition\u2014social media and streaming services\u2014King has managed an enviable feat of attention-keeping, especially when measured against the internet environment where attention spans are limited to six seconds or less. He is clearly one of the best and most financially successful storytellers alive, working in the realm of plotted novels, often based in or on generic models (horror and fantasy, for instance), models understood and loved by the majority of book readers movie- and theater-goers.<\/p>\n<p>Another type of storyteller, though sadly far less popular, is someone who, also for decades has been writing yarns of 60-100 pages (as opposed to King\u2019s typical 500+ pages), but yarns that just unspool, unplotted, as C\u00e9sar Aira, beginning with a premise and a character, sees where such a premise can take such a character, and improvise his way from one thing to another, sometimes arriving back at the subject of his tale, sometimes leaving the starting point far behind. As far as I can tell, people who seem unable to enjoy un-plotted novels are frustrated by the stories not going or ending in directions that satisfy their expectations. I find it frustrating to know already where the dialogue and story are going, and am disappointed every time my stereotyping is confirmed.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ll avoid summing up <strong>The Famous Magician<\/strong> because (a) spoiler alerts and (b) the point is to get lost in the story wherever the narrator\u2019s thoughts take it, (c) which are usually silly places, and (d) you either enjoy the unusual, improbable, and silly\u2014all told with a straight face\u2014or not. Recommended.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/08_Squatters.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71598\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/08_Squatters-97x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"97\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/08_Squatters-97x150.jpg 97w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/08_Squatters.jpg 259w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 97px) 100vw, 97px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781628973730\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Squatters\u2019 Gift<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nRobert Rybicki \/ Mark Tardi<br \/>\nDalkey Archive<\/p>\n<p>Polish poet Robert Rybicki was born in 1976, with five years of his adult life spent squatting in an abandoned apartment building:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">my philosophy &amp; logic run amok<br \/>\nI\u2019m a trash man from the land o\u2019 yuck<br \/>\nmy sour stank keeps everyone at bay<br \/>\neven the squatters will turn me away<br \/>\nI take a detour from the trash collection<br \/>\nmy legs decide to make an objection<br \/>\nI, a joyful hobo, wino<br \/>\npander &amp; gander! (from \u201cTrash Route\u201d)<\/p>\n<p>Rybicki is not, however, a Polish Bukowski. He loves playing with language, words, and their sounds\u2014\u201cPOETRY LESSON,\u201d in fact, is all in transcribed or imaginary bird song, and \u201cHAPPY DADA\u201d is a linguistic olio. (And translator Mark Tardi certainly gets the \u201cAmerican\u201d English right.)<\/p>\n<p>But the seriousness behind the silliness is the urge to coax readers into actively, consciously taking in and savoring the uniqueness of the world. Part of the world\u2019s uniqueness, of course, is embedded in oneself, and his poem \u201cIn One Moment\u201d pretty much summarizes the attitude toward life he advocates (and which I won\u2019t quote because spoiler alert).<\/p>\n<p>Conformity and social alienation are Rybicki\u2019s enemies: \u201cwhat\u2019s a poe\u2019m \/ if it ain\u2019t changed its author,\u201d he asks in \u201cJOIN &amp; JOINT,\u201d to which he adds in \u201cTRASH ROUTE (RECYCLING)\u201d:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">cars are cages for people<br \/>\nin the age of people looking away<br \/>\nwalking away from each other more rapidly<\/p>\n<p>The age of looking away, of not wanting to engage with others or the empathy that follows, of ignoring other possibilities that experiential knowledge allows. For Rybicki, knowledge \u201cis our consciousness \/ set aglow by imagination.\u201d<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/09_Malongas.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71599\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/09_Malongas-100x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/09_Malongas-100x150.jpg 100w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/09_Malongas.jpg 333w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 100px) 100vw, 100px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781946433893\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Palm-Lined with Potience<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nBasie Allen<br \/>\nUgly Duckling Presse<\/p>\n<p>A debut collection by a confident poet willing to take on a range of poetic expressions concerning family, society, and being Black in America.<\/p>\n<p>In both physical presentation and word choice, a dialectic of choice is presented to the narrator in many of the poems, a narrator who wants a middle way between stark choices (\u201cI am \/\/ genuinely shook \/ to be drawn \/ too far to either side \/ for a great fear \/\/ I\u2019ll never make it \/ bac \/\/ k\u201d (\u201cIn the Hold of an Uncertain Self\u201d), as long as the middle way isn\u2019t a compromise (\u201cas children \/ we learned \/\/ resilience \/ from older tress\u201d (\u201cBranch Kids\u201d)). \u201cNature Walk\u201d begins: \u201cSome people stay up at night wondering what stars are made of \/ While other people sleep great knowing that most stars we can see \/ have already died \/\/ I\u2019ve never slept.\u201d And in addition to such intellectual wonders is the basic emotional need expressed in \u201cEmber,\u201d a poem about fighting for a mother\u2019s attention over a cigarette. Typed across the page, the poem consists of two groups of words per line, the groups forming columns arched liked facing parentheses. Apart from the vaginal appearance formed by the words, the words offer the ability to be read down from one column to the next or across and thus compound the narrator\u2019s frustration and belittlement at playing second fiddle to his mother\u2019s nicotine addiction.<\/p>\n<p>Yet, Basie Allen\u2019s line are, overall, motivated by optimistic energy, as in these lines from \u201c\u2019Sweet-boy your eyes\u2019 \/\/ \u2018Keep Going\u2019\u201d intent to instill confidence in the anonymous \u201cyou\u201d:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">you don\u2019t have to sweet-boy<br \/>\nyour eyes<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">for all the glittery dust<br \/>\nprickle<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">there\u2019s still room to be anything<br \/>\nBlack<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">sweet-boy your eyes away<br \/>\nfrom death that isn\u2019t yours<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">sweet boy your eyes<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">your eyes can still be<br \/>\nyour eyes<\/p>\n<p>Recommended.<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/10_Milongas.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-71600\" src=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/10_Milongas-127x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"127\" height=\"150\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/10_Milongas-127x150.jpg 127w, https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/07\/10_Milongas.jpg 423w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 127px) 100vw, 127px\" \/><\/a><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1028\/9781953861108\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Milongas<\/a><\/strong><br \/>\nEdgardo Cozarinsky \/ Valerie Miles<br \/>\nArchipelago Books<\/p>\n<p>Edgardo Cozarinsky is an Argentine writer and film maker whose slim book Milongas consists of his observations and practice of milonga dances in cities around the world. His focus is more on the dance than the music, and the success in his prose (as adeptly conveyed into English by Valerie Miles) lies in how well it captures the visual quality and physicality of the dancers and others in the small rooms where these dances take place in Krakow, London, Paris, and Buenos Aires. Names of dancers and dance clubs are provided.<\/p>\n<p>Although Cozarinsky distinguishes between malonga and tango\u2014that malonga is strictly dance only and not a music too, whereas tango can be both tango and music\u2014one can malonga to tango. Which may explain Cozarinsky\u2019s chapter on Astor Piazzolla, except\u2014as Cozarinsky points out from the master himself\u2014Piazzolla felt that his tangos were more to be listened to than danced to. Yet Cozarinsky manages to find dancers who have succeeded in doing both, erasing the line between dancer and dance, as all good milongas should do.<\/p>\n<p>Myth has it that tango began among poor and vulgar Argentines, in a brothel in Buenos Aires around 1880. When the dance hit Europe in the early years of the 20th century, however, especially Paris, until the onset of WWI, it was presented as an elegant dance for the upper classes, who required authentic teachers. So prominent a phenomenon gave rise to invited opinions from some of Europe\u2019s opinion leaders, including H. G. Wells (\u201csilly\u201d), Pope Pius X (ambivalent), Germany\u2019s Kaiser (\u201ccensure\u201d), and Georges Clemenceau (\u201cThe real tango . . . is disappearing\u201d (!)). Argentine dancers soon headed to Europe, where they earned ten times the income as back home, under better working conditions.<\/p>\n<p>And yet according to one contemporary source, the author and Argentine ambassador to France, Enrique Larreta, \u201cThere\u2019s at least one ballroom in Paris where Argentine tango is not danced, and that\u2019s the one at the Argentine delegation. . . In Buenos Aires, tango is a dance exclusive to the cathouses and worst variety of lowlife bars. It\u2019s never danced in the ballrooms of polite society or among distinguished people. To Argentine ears, tango music rouses truly distasteful ideas.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Tango\u2019s homeland was confused by Europe\u2019s reaction to the Argentine atrocity, which was blamed on the great numbers of unwashed immigrants hitting Argentina\u2019s shores and which led to passage of the Law of Residency in 1902, to \u201chonor and respect the pure vestiges of our national assembly [since] every day we are fewer Argentines. . . [T]ango arrives as the urban form of music par excellence, the dance of a city turning cosmopolitan, anarchistic, and unmanageable.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>One prominent Argentine, Carlos Ibarguren, asserted that \u201cTango is not properly Argentine; it\u2019s a hybrid, or multi-racial product that was born in the slums, it draws on a blend of the tropical habanera and a doctored form of milonga. How far the crude squirm of tango is from the noble, distinguished cueca (Chilean national dance), performed with aristocratic mimicry similar to that of the pavana or the minuet!\u201d Leopoldo Lugones, a prominent authority in Argentina, dismissed tango as \u201cthat brothel reptile.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>And yet, over 140 years later, tango\u2014and milongas\u2014still attracts dancers, musicians, and audiences. Cozarinsky\u2019s history of milongas is concise, briskly paced, crammed with facts and telling, interesting examples. And he\u2019s the only author I\u2019ve read who quotes Julien Green (at least three times), a French-American author whose novels and diaries seem to be almost entirely out of print, in English at least. But that\u2019s another story for another time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Time Zone J Julie Doucet Drawn &amp; Quarterly Back to cartooning after shifting her artwork in 2000 to other forms, Time Zone J records a brief but intense fling she had in 1989 with a soldier she refers to as &ldquo;the hussar.&rdquo; Deep into Montr&eacute;al&rsquo;s zine scene at the time, a fan struck up a [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":71625,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-71586","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71586","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=71586"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71586\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/71625"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=71586"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=71586"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thebookbeat.com\/backroom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=71586"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}