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September 19, 2007

Comments

ed

While I won't argue that my report was more subjective than Mr. Marcus's, your use of the adjective "impressionistic" implies that I was making the whole thing up.

TEV

No, not at all, my friend. I was using the more literal definition of "impressionistic" which I have as "showing the effects of light and atmospheric conditions of an artist’s work that spontaneously captures a moment in time." And you did, indeed, capture the moment in time.

David

I didn't take it that way either, more that it was Ed's "impressions" of the night.

ed

Ah, okay, I got it. Sorry for the semantic quibbling, it's been a strange day. But good to see you, Mark, and to finally meet, however briefly, the legendary MOTEV!

Justine Musk

Um, "eloquent summation of the eternal high/low conflict in American culture" forthcoming in a bit more detail anytime soon, or perhaps is already elsewhere on the web, or are you just teasing...?

Welcome back.

TEV

No worries, Ed. A well-intended quibble all around. And MOTEV was equally pleased to have met you.

Justine, I will drop a line to Elisabeth and ask her if she can recreate. I wasn't in a position to take notes.

James Marcus

What Elizabeth Sifton said was: "I always thought that America was a fatuous, thin, trivialized culture, and at the same time, I thought that America was just seething with talent, passion, and curiosity. I held both of those views at the same time, and I still hold both of them." That's 93% of it, anyway. My note-taking hand was getting awfully tired.

TEV

Damn, James, you're good.

Jack Pendarvis

See? I think it was the cigarette holder that got her! Glad to help.

Michael

Although, the second most memorable moment of the night... "Hi, My name's Josh, Class of 2003... I'm interviewing Barack Obama next week..."

genevieve

All this and a podcast? Terrific, guys.

Anne

Bravo! Irving Howe! I'd never recover from that. Bravo! Very nicely done.

I'm sorry to have missed it. I was up in the Bronx, talking about Kim with my students. That was fun, too, but still... xxx

TEV

In all fairness, I should point out that the Howe remark was NOT an intellectual comparison. Rather, it had to do with independence. I was asked whether I was going to put ads here at TEV and said I wasn't interested. I wanted no obligations, not to be beholden, and to have the freedom not to post if I chose. That's when she invoked Howe.

Jack Pendarvis

Hey Mark! I sent you a long rambly email about "art," so you have that to look forward to! I feel sort of forward calling you "Mark," but I read your blog every day, which of course makes for a false sense of intimacy that I willingly exacerbate here in the privacy of my attic. I said "exacerbate!"

TEV

Saw your email, Jack - still digging out but will reply by the weekend. And, please, Mark it is - I'm only Mr. Sarvas to bill collectors.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."