Nobel Prize Winners

Day 241 of the "What are you reading, and why?" project, and, as of today, some people are reading, for the first time, or re-reading, for the umpteenth time, some work by Mario Vargas Llosa, because this Peruvian writer is the winner of the Nobel Prize!

(You'll see that Wikipedia is already up to date on this, and will probably be altering the article rapidly as new info comes out.)

Yesterday's winners in chemistry, for their work with palladium, put me in mind of Palladium, this book of poems by Alice Fulton, with its gorgeous palladium print by Ellen Foscue Johnson, "Woman in the Grass."

I loved the NPR story yesterday, on the chemistry winners, when the Morning Edition host Steven Inkskeep said, "You lost me at 'palladium,'" and expert Joe Palco went back to define it.

Inskeep was thinking of the theatre definition, but Palco was speaking of the metal, used mostly as a catalyst.

That is the definition that serves in the first section of Fulton's Palladium, followed by poems that, in some way, riff off that.  And then she provides the other definitions, section by section, including the one about theatres and music halls.

Palladium process returns to the chemical definition and a print process in photography that produces beautiful rich blacks, and a precision and mystery, as in the black and white photo on the cover of the poetry book you see here.

Other definitions are mythological.  Athena made a palladium, a kind of talisman in honor of her friend Pallas, whom she accidentally killed.  Athena's palladium is associated with a cult object, the kind that fell from the sky in Troy, meaning safety, later called palta and connected with meteorites.  We always want to turn the scary thing--a sudden hot rock falling from the heavens--into something that insures our safety, don't we?

And, generally, the Nobel Prize secures the safety of a reputation, and honors a body of fine and valuable work.  But I definitely want to know more about this "literary feud"!!  Why did Vargas Llosa punch his friend Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the nose?!  Garcia Marquez is a Nobel Prize winner, too, from 1982, but the nose-punching incident was in 1976....still, professional rivalry, jealousy, or some personal issue?  Eh, Wikipedia...?!

It's Phun to be a Philistine

Day 186 of the "What are you reading, any why?" project and Lorel is reading Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis, and loving it. Because it is way more fun than Olive Kitteridge.

Here are some of the random coincidii related to Babbitt.

Babbitt was, for a time, the favorite book of the owner of Babbitt's Books, who is not named Babbitt, no matter how many people call him that. You can read all about Brian Simpson and the renovation of Uptown Normal* in this really nice article in the Illinois State Alumni Magazine.

Said owner has one of those library posters of himself in the window of Babbitt's Books, holding up the book Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis! This one, a little mass market paperback.

Babbitt's Books just celebrated its 25th year in existence this July, although I still might not have the story straight. Books were a sideline at first in a vintage clothing store, but now it's all books, all the time.

Unless we add some of those cool book cover t-shirts! Or tote bags! (It's phun to be a philistine.)

Lorel just celebrated a birthday on August 9. I won't say which one because:

1) I am a lady

2) she is a lady

3) I don't know

4) I should know, but my brain now resembles steamed cauliflower, and I lost track

I am going to a 50th birthday party tonight! I won't say whose. But not Lorel's. And not mine.

I just read about Sinclair Lewis and Theodore Dreiser's feud, over the Nobel Prize, sort of--they both wanted it, of course, but there were other things going on:

1) Lewis had an alcohol problem

2) Dreiser had flirted with Lewis's wife-to-be, Dorothy Thompson

3) Lewis had failed to provide a publisher blurb for Dreiser's book, An American Tragedy

4) Dreiser had plagiarized or "lifted" passages from a book about Russia by Thompson for his own book about Russia

Sigh. You can read about all this and more in Literary Feuds by Anthony Arthur, which also explains, summarizing Swedish scholar Rolf Lunden, why an American finally got the the Nobel Prize, and why Lewis and Dreiser were the top runners. "Both writers were valued because they portrayed the United States as a nest of grasping, materialistic, bourgeois philistines and hypocrites, at best shallow and silly, at worst brutal and stupid."

No wonder Lorel is enjoying the book so much.

Arthur says, "The Nobel Prize was given to Lewis, in a word, because he insulted his country more entertainingly than Dreiser did...."

And then the two men insulted each other. And nearly had a fistfight at a writers' dinner.

*AKA "Uppity Town Normal" by Kim, who is addicted to hummus.

Terminal Perimenopause

Day 150 of the “What are you reading, and why?” project, and I am still reading Literary Feuds, by Anthony Arthur, where I have most recently completed the “cranky women” chapter on Lillian Hellman and Mary McCarthy, followed by the “cranky men” chapter on Truman Capote and Gore Vidal. Oh, my.

Meanwhile, while I hope I don’t actually die from it, I am suffering from “terminal perimenopause,” a phrase I made up. It is based on “terminal adolescence,” a phrase I grew up on, uttered by my dad*, and “perimenopause,” an awkward term made up by medical professionals to describe that ongoing terrible transition to the real end of menses.

Oh, I should have put up a TMI warning.

Why did they call it “pause” in the first place? When we are in it, we want it not to pause, but to end.

Peri-menopause. “Peri” as a prefix meaning “around” or “about” or “near.” “Menopause” meaning “the period of natural and permanent cessation of menstruation, usually occurring between ages 45 and 55”—who knew it would be all 10 years?!—and “pause” being a confusing word meaning “temporary cessation,” which is of course probably why they called it “menopause” in the first place and there is no need for the word “perimenopause.” Menopause already means the menses will stop and start, erratically, for a decade and drive the woman and anyone near her crazy.

Pertinent here: Freya Manfred’s poems “The Husband Speaks of Menopause” and “The Wife Speaks of Menopause” from her book My Only Home, which I am also reading.

Anyway, Lillian Hellman (1905-1984) was 75, sick, almost blind, and surely past menopause, when she got pissed off by something Mary McCarthy said in a television interview and sued her. McCarthy (1912-1989) was younger and terminally sarcastic when she said the mean things, and both of them had their reasons. I am amazed and admiring of author Anthony Arthur’s compassion and evenhandedness as he writes about these feuding literary types, but this is a case (literally, a legal case) in which, despite his respectful presentation of Hellman’s career and performance during the era of McCarthyism (interesting that two McCarthies—made-up plural—plagued Hellman), he comes down firmly on the side of McCarthy, who accused Hellman of lying.

Apparently, she did lie. Or misrepresent the truth. I have read Pentimento, Hellman’s memoir, and seen the movie Julia, but it seems probable that Hellman took someone else’s story as her own in the “Julia” case, namely that of Muriel Gardiner. It’s all over now, the court case, the quibbling. Muriel Gardiner has told her own story. But why do people do this kind of thing? Insecurity, literary ambition, the yearning for some kind of power?

The fiddling-with-truth seems always to have been an aspect of memoir, but also of history. Arthur points out that even the New Journalism, and Capote’s invented form, the “non-fiction novel,” were not really new, after all, just ways to label and market things. In Cold Blood.

Anyway, Capote and Vidal were not suffering from perimenopause, just from spurts of mean-spiritedness, which could afflict any of us, perhaps, for various circumstantial, hormonal, and personality-based reasons. And both suffered from literary ambition, which seems the basis of most literary feuds. Sigh…

Anyway, I have read The Group, by Mary McCarthy--happen to have a first Avon printing, I see, now that I work in a bookstore and notice such things—and Arthur’s book tells me it was based on a real group of women, her own “liberal intellectual set” (quoting Michiko Kakutani), the kind of thing that ultimately got Truman Capote in trouble, commenting on his own glamorous celebrity set. And not to call any of these writers lightweights (that’s the kind of thing they do), but I am glad I have paperback copies, due to my terminal lower back pain.

Since I admit I never really grew up, but did get boobs and a period, it occurs to me that I have indeed gone from one painfully awkward long transition stage, terminal adolescence, to another awkwardly painful long transition stage, terminal perimenopause, and may well die of the two combined.

*The phrase “terminal adolescence” was uttered by my dad, who attributed it to a friend, well before Kevin Leman wrote the book Adolescence Isn’t Terminal—It Just Feels Like It and long before Cheaper Than Therapy turned “Terminal Adolescence” into a song. Where did that phrase originate? Was it my dad’s buddy, as he claims?!

But I’m pretty sure I just originated the phrase “terminal perimenopause.” Let’s see if it sticks. Meanwhile, I am happy to direct you to this blog on perimenopause, which turned up when I searched for the phrase and does seem pertinent. Oooh, and here's another! The Scandalous Women blog has an account of the quarrel!

On the Media & On Math

Day 147 of the "What are you reading, and why?" project, and I'm glad to report that National Public Radio is rebroadcasting its "Book It" Series on On the Media. You can hear stories on the publishing industry, the future of reading, comparative reading, and innovations in reading. For all you aural learners and audioreaders, NPR is a wonderful thing.

When I was teaching, we'd do essays on early reading experiences to make that connection between reading and writing, and, in some cases, try to figure out where it all went hooey, when they stopped loving reading. Main answer: when they had to read for school and write papers. So many students told me about their joyful library "Book It" programs--a different "book it"--with prizes including personal pizzas.

I was always a happy youngster at the library, with no incentives but the reading itself. I would sometimes agonize over the choices, though, not wanting to be disappointed. Sometimes I yearned for something magical, fantastic, or scary. I was in second grade when I read a book of Alfred Hitchcock (was he the editor? did he write the intro?) stories when my parents went out and we had a babysitter. My mom warned me not to, but I did it anyway, and scared myself silly--then had to wait for them to get home to be comforted. Meanwhile, I was scared and, as the oldest, embarrassed.

Today, continuing in the Anthony Arthur book Literary Feuds, I read about C. P. Snow and F. R. Leavis and the "two cultures" (science and literature) debate. Snow was a scientist and a novelist, and mainly a generalist. Leavis was an academic and literary critic, and a specialist. Snow was wildly popular and successful. Leavis was not, comparatively speaking, and was known for his sharp, witty, and pretty mean reviews.

I had been pondering the "two cultures" thing--from the early 1960s--pretty recently--that is, in the 2000s--because a buddy in the Great Books biz had brought it up again, noticing that indeed many scientists he knows are rather well read in literature while the literary bunch is not very well read in the sciences. The science journalists and generalists and literary science types have done a lot to change that in recent decades, making many scientific concepts clear to lay people. Why can't we all get along? (Boy, would Leavis make fun of me!)

It is so nice to be unimportant. No one will feud with me!

Anyhoo, the science vs. humanities debate brings me to Taye, who is reading math. A big 3-volume set of mathematics essays, covering the history of mathematical thought and also special kinds of math. He told me that books 6 and 7 were intentionally left out of this fantastic set of writings when it was translated from Russian to English, and these are the books that make sense of everything. Why?! Why were these books left out?!

Fortunately, they were later published in English in a journal, harder to find than the books. Taye says that you open most math books and see lots of numbers. Not these. These have words. He hated math as a kid in school. He says you have to force yourself to think in math ways, and once he did, he understood things better, everything. He saw connections. He teaches political science and thinking with math logic has changed his life and his teaching.

Sigh.... But I do possess and have read around in Poetry of the Universe: A Mathematical Exploration of the Cosmos, by Robert Osserman. At Taye's urging, I will read around in it some more.