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Posts Tagged ‘publications’

BACK AT THE RANCH

Monday, September 12th, 2011

Esteemed readers! I just returned to Istanbul yesterday, after some sorely needed downtime. The weather is beautiful, the three-inch-long locusts seem to have gone back wherever they came from, Ramadan is over, and I’m happy to be back!

If you’re also in Istanbul these days, please come to the super-cool SALT gallery this Wednesday, where I will be participating in a program called 90, consisting of “lectures, tours, and presentations seeking to answer questions about contemporary Istanbul.” I personally will be seeking to answer the important question of how Istanbul is shaped by football fanaticism.

In other news, I have a couple of short new publications out: a Talk of the Town item on 9/11, in this week’s New Yorker, and a blog post on Solzhenitsyn at Salon. Also, I don’t remember if I posted already this writerly musing about my workplace, but can anyone ever get enough about interior decoration?

There is also some nice news about The Possessed, which has not only been named a runner-up for a PEN/ Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award (for exemplifying the dignity and esteem of the essay form!), but was also recently longlisted for the Guardian First Book award.

Lastly, I’m honored to relate to Swiss and other readers that I will appear next month in Zurich’s Salongespräche series, which my publisher charmingly translated as “Saloon Talks,” and which I imagine going down like this:

saloon talks

OK compadres, that’s all for now… hope to see some of you soon!

MORE SPOOKY READER DREAMS

Sunday, August 14th, 2011

As promised, the second installment of spooky reader dreams.  This comes from an esteemed colleague Sean Carman, and references my Dante-related essay, “A Divine Comedy,” which you can read right now (with subscription) in the September issue of Harper’s.

The essay mentions (a) a lunch I had at a beautiful hotel in Valpolicella with Dante’s very charming winemaking descendants, Count Pieralvise and Massimilla Serego Alighieri, as well as (b) a legend that Dante buried a manuscript of Paradiso somewhere on the Serego Alighieri estate.

Here is Sean’s dream:

Last year, when I was reading the Hollanders’ translation of the Inferno, I had a dream that was so vivid, and seemed so important, that it woke me from my sleep. In the dream, I was driving up a narrow Italian mountain road when I came across a small cafe and wine bar annexed to a castle. The cafe/wine bar had a trellis, and very little parking, and — here is the important part — an open-air cafe with flagstones and Italian waiters who served me wine. In the dream, I had a glass of pinot grigio and then went on my way, not knowing why I was in Italy, or on that particular road, or why I had stopped at the cafe. Still, the dream was so vivid, so rich in detail, I was sure it was trying to tell me something.

I read your article with interest, but I when I came to your visit to Casal dei Ronchi and your meeting with Count Pieralvise, I was riveted. Here was the scene from my dream repeated in your story. The same drive, the same open-air wine bar, the same flagstones. (For some reason, you didn’t mention the trellis.) What could it mean? I read on, captivated but also puzzled. A few paragraphs later, in the rumor that Dante hid a treasure trove of manuscripts somewhere on the estate, the meaning of my dream and its repetition in your Harper’s article became clear.

It’s true, my dream takes place on a narrow mountain road, whereas you were driving on a tall hill in the wine country. Also, I was at a castle, and you were visiting a hotel. Really, the only elements common to both scenes are the flagstones and the waiters.

But set aside the discrepancies between the two scenes, as well as the inconvenient fact that the Paradiso manuscript was supposedly buried at the estate, and also that it would make sense for it to be buried there. Focus on the flagstones. The flagstones, Elif. My dream and its recurrence in your Harper’s piece can only mean one thing. The hotel where you shared a glass of wine with the Count. Under the flagstones, most likely by the entrance trellis.

Elif: That’s where the Dante manuscript is buried.

The combination of flagstones,  visceral memory, and Italy really reminded me of the trippy scene with the flagstones in Time Regained (search for “flagstone”)treasure-seekers, over to you.

“Here was the scene from my dream repeated in your story.”

THE BESOTTED

Wednesday, July 27th, 2011

Germanophilic readers! I’m really happy to share with you the cover designs for the German (Swiss) and Swedish editions of The Possessed.

Die Besessenen comes out this fall with the super-cool Kein & Aber. I love the image of some chick prostrated, clearly by the power of literature, on a green grass-like background:

german cover

I believe this is a visual allusion to the story of my first-ever magazine photo shoot:

I had to lie on my back on a piece of fluorescent green imitation fur, clutching to my bosom a Russian-language volume of Dostoevsky. The photographer stood over me on a ladder, snapping pictures. His assistant… opined that the pictures were coming out “too sultry”. She said I was showing “too much neck”. Overcoming a sense of injustice – if I hadn’t been lying on my back on some kind of pornographic fur carpet, maybe my neck wouldn’t have looked so sultry – I changed into a higher collar. Because the cover of the Dostoevsky was so brown, we switched to a green leatherette Pushkin. “Look like you’re reading,” the photographer suggested. Opening the book at random, I found myself staring at the epilogue to “The Gypsies”: “There is no defence against fate.”

(You can see the resulting photo on this page – scroll down, or just do a text search for “CAN’T SAY NYET.”)

There is no defense against fate, but against sultriness of the neck, that girl is protected by her upraised arm – just another example of the inimitable Swiss touch of class.

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LE MOT JUSTE

Tuesday, July 19th, 2011

Concerned readers! I was deeply moved by the recent international outpouring of sentiment, both pro and con, regarding the potential use of “douchebag” in my forthcoming essay on Dante. In the past week I’ve given a lot of consideration to the different views that were expressed. Frankly, I don’t think I’ve struggled more over any single mot juste in my whole career.

At first, I was feeling pretty good about “sleazebags.”  So was my editor.  He said he had intended “assholes” less as an actual substitution for “douchebags,” than as “a prompt to a third way”—and we had found it!

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As the days went by, though, I started to feel less confident.  I was increasingly bothered by the connotation, with “sleazebags,” of criminal slickness—an issue raised by several readers. What if “the thousand and one sleazebags of Florence” was understood to play on some image of Italian corruption or, worse yet, greasiness?  That was the last thing I wanted!  And didn’t “sleazebags” designate a particular kind of behavior or vocation, by contrast with the more existential “douchebags” (the inevitable douchebags, regardless of class or income)?

I began casting about for an alternative.  Although I did appreciate the many piquant suggestions I received from readers, none, to my ear, was quite right in context. That is, the historical moment may come when it sounds OK to refer to “Homer, Moses, Judas, Jesus, Brunetto Latini, Beatrice, all the thousand and one asswizards of Florence,” but I’m pretty sure it isn’t here yet.

One night I lay awake “brainstorming” about all the nimrods, ass-hats, jerks, jerk-offs, knuckleheads, fuckups, fuckwits, et aliiad nauseam, but only succeeded in giving myself terrible dreams about an exboyfriend.

In the morning, I realized it was time to reevaluate the objections to “douchebag.” These seemed to fall into two categories:

  1. Shelf-life: We should avoid fad words of recent coinage, because they might go obsolete.
  2. Staleness/ annoyingness: We should not join annoying, repetitive people in overusing their favorite words.

Interestingly, Objection 2 has been around since at least 2006 when Gawker called a moratorium on “douchebags,” offering, as an reward for the reader who came up with the best alternative, a bottle of Balneol Perianal Cleansing Lotion (“it may not seem like much, but according to a commenter at drugstore.com, ‘it will last at least 6 to 8 months even in the most busy of households’”). What was the result? Choads, twatwaffles, snatches… nothing suitable. The unclaimed bottle of Balneol ended up in the Gawker lavatory.

In 2008-09, the death of “douchebag” was again announced/ called for by various publications, on revamped charges: the word was not only “completely played out,” but was now being bandied about for purposes other than its “true intention”; “the douches themselves” had sinisterly coopted it for use against less deserving candidates; its very transcendent historic-philosophical conditions had expired, along with the financial bubble that brought us the platonic douchebags; etc.

Oh readers—it’s a thankless, dreary task to separate the issues at hand. But did I go into this line of work for the yucks?  Let’s start with the “shelf life” objection. Here, I think there’s been a conflation of normative and prescriptive: people say that douchebag is on the brink of extinction, because they believe it should be on the brink of extinction. Yet the very insistence that it should be extinct is proof that it’s still here.  People have been trying to exterminate this word for 5+ years, and not even the massive incentive of a bottle of Balneol could elicit a viable alternative… these things mean something.

As for overuse: since when is being used a bad thing, for a word?  “Asshole” is obviously used way more than “douchebag,” and nobody says it’s time to retire “asshole.” The view seems to be rather that “asshole” is time-tested—a classic.


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KAFKAS MEDIKAL

Tuesday, June 28th, 2011

Esteemed readers!  I am very honored and excited to share with you another effort of the tireless Batumanologist Kaya Genç, appearing in the June issue of Turkish Vogue:

vogue ecinniler 1 vogue ecinniler 2

The title, “Şatodaki Yazar” (“The Writer in the Castle”), alludes both to a certain famous depressing writer, and also to my Gothic situation as writer-in-residence at Koç University, which I am happy to say has been extended through June 2012(!).

Many thanks to Kaya for the sympathetic reporting, and also to Korhan Karaoysal (no shortage of K’s here) for the equally sympathetic photographs. Those who enjoy Korhan’s work as much as I do are urged to consult his amazing pictures of Turkey’s first sports camp for the disabled.

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Speaking of the disabled, the following slogan recently caught my eye on a street in Turkey’s most Kafkaesque city: “EVERY HEALTHY PERSON IS A POTENTIAL DISABLED PERSON.” (more…)