he Spanish novelist Javier Marías arrived at the Frick, one morning last month, looking shaken. “The Americans, it seems, have just committed suicide,” he said, in a vaguely British accent. This was his first visit to New York in seven years, and his timing had backfired. It was November 9th. Marías, who is sixty-five years old with wispy gray hair, wore a dark overcoat and carried a large umbrella. He begged my pardon—might he smoke a cigarette before we stepped inside? He pulled one from a brass case in his breast pocket, and then, changing the topic, told me that something rather extraordinary had just happened.
In the cab to the museum, he had been talking to the driver, a thickset American man, about the election. (Marías interrupted himself here. Was “sturdy” a word that could be used to describe a person in English, or was “robust” better? He opted for the latter, and continued.) The driver asked him what he did for a living, and Marías, who is often cited as the likely future recipient of a Nobel Prize, responded with characteristic gentlemanly understatement: “I write books.” The driver then asked him, out of the blue, “So, did you ever know Ortega y Gasset?” He was referring to José Ortega y Gasset, the liberal Spanish philosopher, who lived during the darkest years of Francisco Franco’s dictatorship. It wasn’t just that the driver was an unlikely Hispanophile; he’d mentioned someone of profound personal significance to his passenger. Marías’s father, Julián, a philosopher, was a close disciple of Ortega y Gasset’s. Marías had grown up in his thrall. “It’s just remarkable,” he said. “Can you believe the coincidence?”
Marías likes to quote Laurence Sterne to describe his craft: “I progress as I digress.” When a dramatic event occurs in one of his novels, it’s usually as a prelude to a string of rambling anecdotes or some lengthy existential musing. In “Tomorrow in the Battle Think On Me,” first published in 1994, a sudden death gives rise to a detailed consideration of the worst ways to go (“dying in the middle of shaving, with one cheek still covered in foam, half-shaven for all eternity”). At the start of the novel “A Heart So White,” from 1992, the mysterious suicide of a newlywed is followed by an excursus on the nature of marital intimacy. One reflection leads to another, and another, until a story line slyly emerges. Marías’s novels are cerebral and allusive, long-winded in the best sense. As Colm Tóibín once wrote, “As a novelist, he has a way of posing as a philosopher . . . all the more to fool the reader and cause great shock when the novel turns out to have a plot after all.”
If rebels in eastern Aleppo break from Al-Nusra Front militants, the latter must face leaving voluntarily or be annihilated, Russia’s envoy to the UN said, adding that the 8-hour ceasefire on October 20 can be extended, but only if various sides agree.
Um grupo de advogados portugueses uniu-se e foi a Londres, pagando as despesas do seu bolso, recolher mais informações sobre os casos de portugueses que nos últimos anos têm perdido os seus filhos para os serviços sociais britânicos. Em maio, quando a VISÃO escreveu a reportagem “Os filhos perdidos em Inglaterra”, havia registo de 47 casos apenas em 16 meses
In late 2006, art conservator Scott Haskins received a call from the federal government. They were on the hunt for an expert witness, experienced in mural restoration, to provide testimony in an increasingly heated legal battle. Several months prior, in June, a beloved Downtown Los Angeles mural, painted by Kent Twitchell, was whitewashed—to the artist’s and the surrounding community’s surprise. The six-story, 70-foot-tall depiction of famed L.A. painter Ed Ruscha had been methodically composed by Twitchell over a span of nine years, between 1978 and 1987, with money from his own pocket.
Twitchell told me that he first heard of the whitewashing on June 6, 2006, while in Northern California readying for his daughter’s wedding. Earlier that day, a friend had serendipitously passed the mural, only to find it mid-erasure. Twitchell immediately called a lawyer friend, Les Weinstein, who took up the case. The overpainting, it turned out, was in direct violation of the Visual Artists Rights Act (VARA), under which, by law, artists must be notified 90 days prior to a mural’s removal. Shortly thereafter, Twitchell sued the Department of Labor, who owned the building, along with other involved parties for $5.5 million. To this day, no one organization or individual has taken responsibility for giving the order to paint over the mural.
Michel Foucault é um dos maiores filósofos da contemporaneidade, foi responsável por novos caminhos na análise do poder e da história e tem relevância acadêmica fora de série. Abaixo você verá uma introdução sobre sua vida, 17 artigos sobre Foucault no Colunas Tortas e 32 livros para download gratuito. Use o índice! Índice Biografia de…
General Lord Dannatt, ex-chief of general staff, said defeating Islamic State (ISIS) would only be achieved through military force.He added airstrikes alone would not yield an end to the five-year long civil war - or finish off the depraved terror group.The senior official, who led the British army between 2006-2009, said: "It is only going to be one with military defeat. From the air can help, but on the ground is where the decision is going to come.
There are few in the art world that see more, write more, or speak to more artists than Serpentine Galleries co-director Hans Ulrich Obrist. And, having literally written the book on curating, there are few better positioned to see what shape art will take in the future. So, what is the future of art according to Hans Ulrich Obrist? As he describes below: The Extreme Present.
Cuando este escritor argentino llegó a Madrid para participar en varios actos donde se analizaba su obra literaria, no se podía imaginar que iba a regresar a su Buenos Aires natal con el máximo galardón que se concede en lengua castellana, el premio Cervantes. Justo reconocimiento a quien dio forma narrativa a tantas historias extraordinarias, en las que el mundo cotidiano se transforma para participar de la materia de los sueños.
El autor de La invención de Morel y El lado de la sombra, al que siempre se le suele relacionar con su gran amigo y colaborador Jorge Luis Borges, se nos muestra a sus setenta y seis años como un amante de las cosas más sencillas, nos sorprende al reconocer que sus mayores goces son un baño de agua fresca y el olor a pan tostado.
- Sus cuentos, que parecen comenzar de una forma inofensiva, encierran con frecuencia algo amenazador, algo terrible. La sensación de querer conducirnos por un laberinto, para mostrarnos el otro lado de la realidad, la otra cara del espejo… ¿Qué piensa usted de los espejos?
- Los espejos siempre me han gustado y atraido. A los siete años me fascinaba el espejo del cuarto de vestir de mi madre. Era un espejo de tres cuerpos en el que las imágenes se repetían nítidamente. Representaba para mí la atracción de lo sobrenatural. Quería introducirme en su interior, me daba una especie de vértigo, un vértigo agradable.
- Octavio Paz decía que “el espejo que soy me deshabita”. Es el espejo como algo terrible. Usted parece verlo como algo positivo.
- El espejo me gusta. A mí me gustan las cosas naturales, el agua, el pan. Pero además de su función, me gusta la parte biselada del espejo, esa parte donde no refleja nada, que tiene un color verde oscuro, me parece preciosa. Y la imagen en el espejo, bien nítida, reproducida tal cual es. Fue eso lo que me incitó a crear La invención de Morel.
- ¿El juego de los espejos?
- Sí. Borges me hace decir en “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius”, absurdamente, que a mí el espejo me parece atroz. Cuando leí eso lo agradecí infinitamente, siempre lo agradeceré. Estar en un cuento como ese es la inmortalidad. Pero de todos modos me hace gracia que esté diciendo que me parece atroz lo que desde mi infancia más me gustó. A lo mejor yo, que me creo imaginativo porque invento historias fantásticas, no soy tan imaginativo.
“Soy un individuo bastante simple”
- Usted lo ve todo como muy natural, desde las mismas cosas…
- Yo creo que sí porque soy un individuo bastante simple. Me gusta la vida por motivos simples no por motivos complejísimos. Es verdad que también me gusta la literatura que no es tan sencilla, pero me gusta la literatura en su complejidad y también la que es sencilla. Con Borges tenía una especie de polémica. Yo le señalaba la sencillez de Lope, un poco en contra de la complicación de Quevedo y… Creo que en definitiva Borges admitió, aunque al principio con reticencias, que la simplicidad es una meta digna y que ser sencillo muchas veces es lo más difícil. Fíjese en Berceo, en Fray Luis, en Jorge Manrique que me gustó desde la primera infancia hasta ahora.
Some people dream of winning the Nobel Prize, but Bob Dylan doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered about it. The Swedish Academy says it has given up trying to reach the songwriter, after awarding him the prize for literature last week.
So the Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer wins the Nobel prize for literature. Aside from a couple of long poems available on the net, I haven’t read Tranströmer, yet I feel sure this is a healthy decision in every way. Above all for the Nobel jury. Let me explain.
There are eighteen of them, members of an organization called the Swedish Academy, which back at the end of the 19th century was given the task of awarding the Nobel. At the time two members suggested it was a mistake to accept the job. The Academy’s founding brief, back in 1786, was to promote the “purity, strength, and sublimity of the Swedish language”. Was this compatible with choosing the finest oeuvre of “an idealistic tendency” from anywhere in the world?
All members are Swedish and most of them hold full time professorial jobs in Swedish universities. On the present jury there are just five women and no woman has ever held the presidency. Only one member was born after 1960. This is partly because you cannot resign from the Academy. It’s a life sentence. So there’s rarely any new blood. For the past few years, however, two members have refused to cooperate with deliberations for the prize because of previous disagreements, one over the reaction, or lack of it, to the fatwa against Salman Rushdie and the other over awarding the prize to Elfriede Jelinek, whom he felt was “chaotic and pornographic.”
How do these people decide who are the greatest novelists and/or poets of the day on the international scene? They call on scores of literary experts in scores of countries and pay them to put down a few reflections about possible winners. Such experts are supposed to remain anonymous, but inevitably some have turned out to be acquaintances of those they have nominated.
Let’s try to imagine how much reading is involved. Assume that a hundred writers are nominated every year—it’s not unthinkable—of whom the jury presumably try to read at least one book. But this is a prize that goes to the whole oeuvre of a writer, so let’s suppose that as they hone down the number of candidates they now read two books of those who remain, then three, then four. It’s not unlikely that each year they are faced with reading two hundred books (this on top of their ordinary workloads). Of these books very few will be written in Swedish and only some will be available in Swedish translation; many will be in English, or available in English translation. But since the English and Americans notoriously don’t translate a great deal, some reading will have to be done in French, German or perhaps Spanish translations from more exotic originals.
Remember that we’re talking about poems as well as novels and they’re coming from all over the world, many intensely engaged with cultures and literary traditions of which the members of the Swedish Academy understandably know little. So it’s a heterogeneous and taxing bunch of books these professors have to digest and compare, every year. Responding recently to criticism that in the last ten years seven prizes have gone to Europeans, Peter Englund, the president of the current jury, claimed its members were well equipped for English but concerned about their strengths in such languages as Indonesian. Fair enough.
Let’s pause for a moment, here, and imagine our Swedish professors, called to uphold the purity of the Swedish language, as they compare a poet from Indonesia, perhaps translated into English with a novelist from Cameroon, perhaps available only in French, and another who writes in Afrikaans but is published in German and Dutch and then a towering celebrity like Philip Roth, who they could of course read in English, but might equally feel tempted, if only out of a sense of exhaustion, to look at in Swedish.
Do we envy them this task? Does it make much sense? The two members who a century ago felt the cup should be allowed to pass from them were worried that the Academy would become “a cosmopolitan tribunal of literature”. Something they instinctively felt was problematic. They were not wrong.
Now, let’s imagine that we have been condemned for life to making, year in year out a burdensome and near impossible decision to which the world increasingly and inexplicably ascribes a crazy importance. How do we go about it? We look for some simple, rapid and broadly acceptable criteria that will help us get this pain out of the way. And since, as Borges himself noted, aesthetics are difficult and require a special sensibility and long reflection, while political affiliations are easier and quickly grasped, we begin to identify those areas of the world that have grabbed public attention, perhaps because of political turmoil or abuses of human rights, we find those authors who have already won a huge level of respect and possibly major prizes in the literary communities of these countries and who are outspokenly committed on the right side of whatever political divide we’re talking about, and we select them. So we have the period when the prize went to Eastern block dissidents, or to South American writers against dictatorship, or South African writers against apartheid, or, most amazingly, to the anti-Berlusconi playwright Dario Fo whose victory caused some bewilderment in Italy.
It was an honorable enough formula but alas not every trouble spot boasts its great dissident writer (Tibet, Cechnya), to which we might add that since the prize is perceived as going to the country as much as to the writer, it’s not possible to give it to writers from the same trouble spot two years running. What a conundrum!
Sometimes the jury clearly got their hands burned. Having received so many major literary prizes in Germany and Austria, the left-wing feminist Jelinek seemed a safe choice. But her work is ferocious, often quite indigestible (she’d never win a literary prize in say, Italy or England) and the novel Greed, in particular, which appeared shortly before the prize was awarded, was truly unreadable. I know because I tried, and [tried again] (http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2007/jul/19/how-to-read-elfriede-jelinek/). Had the members of the jury really read it? You have to wonder. Not surprisingly, after the controversy that winner caused they fell back on obvious choices for a while: Pinter, politically appropriate and half forgotten; Vargas Llosa who I somehow imagined had already won the prize many years before.
Julien’s Auctions + Artsy present: “Street Art Now,” featuring more than 30 artworks by artists who have forever changed our public spaces. The auction brings together some of the biggest names working in street art, with more emerging talent who follow in the tradition of these now iconic artists. Have questions? Please contact +1.646.712.8154 or firstname.lastname@example.org. Bidding will close at 6pm PST/9pm EST on Sunday, February 21st.
Libya’s Western-backed popular uprising officially began on February 17, 2011, resulting in the toppling of long-time leader Muammar Gaddafi. Since then, the oil-rich nation has been plagued by political instability and the growing threat of Islamic State.
Tina Kim Gallery exhibition program is devoted to presenting contemporary art by both emerging and established artists. The gallery specializes in offering high quality secondary market works by twentieth century masters as well as many important artists working today.
Sharing your scoops to your social media accounts is a must to distribute your curated content. Not only will it drive traffic and leads through your content, but it will help show your expertise with your followers.
How to integrate my topics' content to my website?
Integrating your curated content to your website or blog will allow you to increase your website visitors’ engagement, boost SEO and acquire new visitors. By redirecting your social media traffic to your website, Scoop.it will also help you generate more qualified traffic and leads from your curation work.
Distributing your curated content through a newsletter is a great way to nurture and engage your email subscribers will developing your traffic and visibility.
Creating engaging newsletters with your curated content is really easy.