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“Meenakshi Gigi Durham’s recent feminist bestseller, The Lolita Effect: The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What We Can Do About It, identifies and scrutinizes the millennial popularity of the nymphet, looking beyond the corporatization of the...

“Meenakshi Gigi Durham’s recent feminist bestseller, The Lolita Effect: The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What We Can Do About It, identifies and scrutinizes the millennial popularity of the nymphet, looking beyond the corporatization of the pop princess to an entire cultural industry, film, television, fashion, even toys, dedicated to the eroticization of youth.”

Part II of our Lolita series. 

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“The fact that Lolita has become a common noun — a linguistic process that goes by the name of antonomasia — indicates how widespread the influence of Nabokov’s nymphet has been.”
On the 60th anniversary of Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita,” the Los...

“The fact that Lolita has become a common noun — a linguistic process that goes by the name of antonomasia — indicates how widespread the influence of Nabokov’s nymphet has been.”

On the 60th anniversary of Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita,” the Los Angeles Review of Books has assembled a group of female authors, artists and performers who, dedicated to examining the faces, bodies and voices of the young girl, consider the significance of Nabokov’s pubescent protagonist as both a literary conceit and an object of patriarchal fetish.

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Radar LARB

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Lawrence Schiller, Palm Springs Fashion, no. 8


Scheherazadenfreude (noun): perverse joy in the suffering of one of your own characters in the story you are writing/telling. (The Oxford English Fictionary) (h/t @bintbatutta)

Julian Barnes speaks to his bibliophilia: “I am more optimistic, both about reading and about books. There will always be non-readers, bad readers, lazy readers – there always were. Reading is a majority skill but a minority art. Yet nothing can replace the exact, complicated, subtle communion between absent author and entranced, present reader. Nor do I think the e-reader will ever completely supplant the physical book – even if it does so numerically. Every book feels and looks different in your hands; every Kindle download feels and looks exactly the same (though perhaps the e-reader will one day contain a "smell” function, which you will click to make your electronic Dickens novel suddenly reek of damp paper, fox marks and nicotine).“

"Los Angeles for Beginners”: David Goldblatt with four books: “No one who arrives in Los Angeles comes without baggage. I came with a whole lifetime of seeing the city through the filter of its culture industries and the region’s relentless self-promotion. This did not prepare me for the real thing. Watching Thom Andersen's Los Angeles Plays Itself—a brilliant documentary composed entirely of clips of the city in other movies—would have disabused me of at least some of the worst inaccuracies and illusions spun by Hollywood, but I didn’t see it until it was too late. I did come with the standard roster of guides: Time Out, Lonely Planet, Rough Guide. They’re all reasonably helpful, but if you want a vision of the city that extends beyond Grumman’s Chinese theatre, Disneyland, and the mean streets of Beverly Hills (all of which you should visit) other books are in order.”

Mary Ruefle, “On Fear”: “I suppose, as a poet, among my fears can be counted the deep-seated uneasiness that one day it will be revealed that I consecrated my life to an imbecility. Part of what I mean—what I think I mean—by “imbecility” is something intrinsically unnecessary and superfluous and thereby unintentionally cruel. It was a Master who advised that we speak little, better still say nothing, unless we are quite sure that what we wish to say is true, kind, and helpful. But how can a poet, whose role is to speak, adhere to this advice? How can anyone whose role is to facilitate language speak little or say nothing?”

Jacob Steinberg with musings on ‘alt lit’ or 'quickshit’: “The debate going on at the moment over the substance, value, and methodologies of “alt lit,” as well as whether or not they constitute something worthy in the realm of literary criticism, seems to be heavily constructed on a simple divide between two stances: 1. That held by those who criticize a lack of artifice, quality control and time investment in the individual works being produced, accompanied by a perceived lack of objectivity in their reception by fellow readers; and 2. That held by those who interpret the former group’s gestures as snobbish and self-aggrandizing, and feel that rapid-fire production (ie, ‘quickshit’) is more authentic or “sincere” than work that’s been mulled over or highly edited.”

“The Slow Web” by Jack Cheng: “What is the Fast Web? It’s the out of control web. The oh my god there’s so much stuff and I can’t possibly keep up web. It’s the spend two dozen times a day checking web. The in one end out the other web. The web designed to appeal to the basest of our intellectual palettes, the salt, sugar and fat of online content web. It’s the scale hard and fast web. The create a destination for billions of people web. The you have two hundred twenty six new updates web. Keep up or be lost. Click me. Like me. Tweet me. Share me. The Fast Web demands that you do things and do them now. The Fast Web is a cruel wonderland of shiny shiny things […] The Slow Web is timely not real-time. Rhythm not random. Moderation not excess. Knowledge not information. These are a few of the many characteristics of the Slow Web. It’s not so much a checklist as a feeling, one of being at greater ease with the web-enabled products and services in our lives.”

Vladimir Nabokov reading a translation of his poem “To My Youth” (via openculture.com)




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White on White

MICHAEL WOLFE talks to Edmund White

and ALEX GORTMAN reviews his latest book, Jack Holmes and His Friend.

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Edmund White in his Paris apartment, August 1996 
Photo © James Dowell

MICHAEL WOLFE

Assume the Position

Edmund White’s influence on contemporary fiction is formidable. His nonfiction works, including The Joy of Gay Sex and his autobiography My Lives, pierce truths many writers are afraid to touch. More recently, City Boy chronicles his early years in New York in both nostalgic and grim detail; its final pages strikingly reinvigorate and affirm that the life of a writer is one worth living. Last year, his book of essays Sacred Monsters was published by Magnus Books, followed by the novel Jack Holmes and His Friend, published last month by Bloomsbury.

In a departure from such autobiographical fiction as
A Boy’s Own Story, The Farewell Symphony, The Beautiful Room Is Empty, Skinned Alive, or Chaos, Jack Holmes and His Friend explores the relationship between Jack and Will Wright, a straight man with whom Jack falls in love. Their friendship covers the same trajectory most of White’s writing does, beginning in the 1960s and concluding sometime after the onset of the AIDS epidemic. It’s further proof that White continues in stride to offer the strengths his writing always has: effortless humor, deceptively casual observations, and razor-sharp interiority for characters drawn compassionately, with and without their pants on.

We spoke in his hotel room in Los Angeles, where he had come to be part of Mona Simpson’s “Some Favorite Writers” series at the Hammer Museum. All quotes are from
Jack Holmes and His Friend.

¤

Jack thought he was the one who was pathetic, mooning over a secretive straight man who wasn’t even all that attractive. Sometimes Jack thought that he and Will should live together, that he, Jack, should make Will dinner and suck his cock every night, that he should listen to Will’s novel once a week and praise him every time, that he should keep a low profile at work and push Will ahead — and that he should recognize that at most he’d get two good years out of Will before the young author met the right girl: witty, nearly virginal, rich, fragile, feisty on the surface but essentially yielding.
EDMUND WHITE: What was fun for me was to use the trajectory of my own life, but to assign it to someone who was quite unlike myself. I write so much autobiographically, and I enjoy doing that, but this was a way of extending that. In one of Nabokov’s novels, Look at the Harlequins, he assigns a lot of his life trajectory to another, totally made-up, very vulgar version of himself — somebody who really does like little girls, who really is a white Russian and who mourns his lost fortune — all these things that the real Nabokov would have been too elegant to do. So I thought that was a very good model. Jack is not ambitious, he’s not creative, he’s quite passive in his life.

People find Jack quite attractive, complex as a character, and several readers have told me they’ve fallen in love with him — maybe because he has a big cock. There’s something very engaging about him, so it’s not like he’s a nullity, but he is certainly a muted version of me, if he’s a version of me at all.

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Biography Sideways

MICHAEL NORTH on two volumes of letters by modernist masters

and STEVEN G. KELLMAN on Hemingway’s Boat.

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Ernest Hemingway in Kenya, 1953. LOOK Magazine Photograph
Public domain, part of collection given to The Library of Congress

MICHAEL NORTH

Postal Modernism


Sandra Spanier and Robert W. Trogdon, eds.
The Letters of Ernest Hemingway: Volume 1, 1907-1922

Cambridge University Press, September 2011. 516 pp.

George Craig et al, eds.
The Letters of Samuel Beckett: Volume 2, 1941-1956

Cambridge University Press, September 2011. 886 pp.

Cambridge University Press has been advertising these two volumes of letters together, and, sure enough, Amazon reports that readers who bought one also tended to buy the other. There are a number of obvious reasons for linking the two writers, since they were both famous modernists, each one master of his own idiosyncratically spare prose style, his own particular way of not saying things. Hemingway and Beckett both received the Nobel Prize, fifteen years apart, and when Hemingway won in 1954, it was in the same general atmosphere of international existentialism that made Beckett famous that year, the year in which Waiting for Godot was published by Grove Press. The book that is generally considered to have put Hemingway over the top, The Old Man and the Sea, seemed to many international readers the same sort of bare existential drama that Beckett was just then putting on stage.

Still, readers who actually do buy these two volumes of letters together and read them more or less at the same time are likely to suffer from significant disorientation, for the two authors, although famously associated with the same literary circles in Paris, seem to have inhabited different planets. Some of this is due to the fact that publication of the first volume of Hemingway’s letters has coincided with the second volume of Beckett’s. Hemingway’s are the letters of a boy, who remains just as juvenile at the end of the volume when he has unaccountably become pals with Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound. Beckett’s letters come from the period in which he completes his most accomplished works, Godot and the trilogy of novels Molloy, Malone Dies, and The Unnamable. At this time he perfects the somber, despairingly negative, attitude toward fame and accomplishment he was to maintain for the rest of his life. Reading the two sets of letters together is therefore a bit like stopping an Andy Hardy movie to read a few pages of Civilization and Its Discontents.

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L.A. Woman

STEFFIE NELSON

on Eve Babitz’s Hollywood.

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Painting © Maria Przyszychowska from a Photograph by Julian Wasser

In Eve Babitz’s third book, Sex and Rage, the main character Jacaranda Leven comes upon a black-and-white photograph hanging in a grand Hollywood penthouse apartment, next to “a David Hockney swimming pool, and a huge pornographic watercolor by John Altoon.” Shot by Julian Wasser in 1963, the image shows Marcel Duchamp playing chess in an art gallery with a voluptuous naked woman whose face is obscured by a curtain of dark hair. “The contrast between Duchamp’s dried-out ancient little person and the large young girl’s Rubenesque flesh,” Babitz writes, “was not (unlike chess) at all subtle.” Leven, an aspiring writer who, like all of Babitz’s protagonists, is an obvious stand-in for the author, can’t believe her host owns a print of this legendary photograph, while her host can’t believe this surfer girl in thrift-store Dior has even seen it before. “She’d have to be an idiot,” Jacaranda comments to the reader, “to spend all her time around artists and not know this photograph.”

Jacaranda’s creator, for her part, knew it well, for the naked girl is none other than Babitz herself, age 20. She’d agreed to this stunt proposed by Wasser to spite her married boyfriend, Walter Hopps, who had curated a Duchamp retrospective at the Pasadena Art Museum and failed to invite her to the opening reception. Almost 50 years later, despite the fact that she went on to write a total of seven books, this staged chess match with Duchamp remains the single act Babitz is best remembered for, if she is remembered at all. Sex and Rage, like all of her books, is long out of print. Shockingly, most of them are not even in circulation in the Los Angeles Public Library system. A handful of titles can be found online, but these too reflect the degree to which Babitz’s cultural cachet has overshadowed her reputation as an author: Her 1980 picture book on the New Wave Italian retailer Fiorucci, coveted by fashionistas, typically fetches $600 and up, but her last collection of stories, 1995’s Black Swans, can be had for around $5.

This month, the iconic photograph with Duchamp — which has inspired both homages and feminist rants — is being exhibited in a Julian Wasser retrospective at the Craig Krull gallery in Santa Monica as part of Pacific Standard Time. This ongoing, citywide celebration of postwar art in Los Angeles can be credited with illuminating many forgotten movements and characters, and Babitz is one of them. She is also a central presence in Hunter Drohojowska-Philp’s juicy 1960s L.A. art-world history Rebels in Paradise, published in July. Drohojowska-Philp calls Babitz “my muse,” and notes that her other admirers include Dave Hickey, Joie Davidow, and Joan Didion.

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Between the Georges

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Photo: © Paul Bausch onfocus.com

Today The Dial belongs to F.X. Feeney, who remembers his friend, collaborator, and antagonist, the late director George Hickenlooper. – Tom Lutz
F.X. FEENEY


1.

His heart stopped while he slept, in a moment of triumph. The next morning he failed to appear at a breakfast meeting and was found dead in his room. He was only 47 years old. He was my friend. We’d seen each other less than a month before and he was brimming with plans, happier than I’d ever seen him. In what possible world does this make sense?

Our world, if we pay it the heed that was his lifelong habit.

Director George Hickenlooper, who died on October 29th 2010, departed life exactly as he’d lived it: a working dervish of Type-A activity on a jet-setting schedule of film-friendly obligations. Early cardiovascular deaths had long ago harvested hordes of his ancestors in their late forties. He was lately mixing alcohol and painkillers, a ready cocktail for accidental disaster. What’s more, he was on an ecstatic, frenetic victory lap around the festival circuit with Casino Jack, starring Kevin Spacey — the most acclaimed motion picture of George’s career. His Facebook page showed 3,393 friends on his last day, and recorded months packed with prior entries of far-flung travel. After 20 years of toil, making close to a dozen unique, increasingly well-directed feature films, he seemed poised at last for the first-class recognition he had worked for so vigorously his whole life.

Were he not leaving behind a wife and 9-year-old boy, one might even think his trajectory victorious — if still too brief.

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