#Elizabeth Krauss

[worst-siblings-tournament]

Round 1

Skystar and Graywing (Warrior Cats) vs Sasuke and Itachi Uchiha (Naruto)

Scar and Mufasa (The Lion King) vs Jude and Taryn Duarte (The Folk of the Air)

Krauss, Eva, Rudolf and Rosa Ushiromiya (Umineko) vs The Princes of Stormhold (Stardust)

Blitzø and Barbie Wire (Helluva Boss) vs Bardas and Gorgas Lordan (The Fencer Trilogy)

Vinsmoke Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji (One Piece) vs Nikolai and Vasily Lantsov (Grishaverse/Shadow and Bone)

The Batsiblings (Batman) vs Rattlesnake and Sirocco (Wings of Fire)

Dee and Dennis Reynolds (It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia) vs Folgers Coffee Siblings (Folgers Coffee commercial)

Ianthe and Coronabeth Tridentarius (The Locked Tomb) vs Therese and Jeanette Voerman (Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines)

Junko Enoshima and Mukuro Ikusaba (Danganronpa) vs Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary (English history)

Ruby and Aquamarine Hoshino (Oshi no Ko) vs Richard and Helen Gansey (The Raven Cycle)

The Endless (Sandman) vs Lark and Sparrow Oak-Garcia (Dungeons and Daddies)

The Bridgerton siblings (Bridgerton) vs Clary Fairchild and Sebastian Morgenstern (The Shadowhunter Chronicles)

The Sanderson Sisters (Hocus Pocus) vs Velvet and Veneer (Trolls 3)

The Seven Sisters Colleges (Real Life) vs Zeus and Hera (Greek mythology)

Akio Ootori and Anthy Himemiya (Revolutionary Girl Utena) vs Tom and Jake Berenson (Animorphs)

The Hargreeves siblings (Umbrella Academy) vs Ledroptha Curtain (The Mysterious Benedict Society)

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian (MDZS/The Untamed) vs Rei Asaka and Fukiko Ichinomiya (Oniisama E)

Adam and Eve (NieR: Automata) vs Dys and Tangent (I Was A Teenage Exocolonist)

Percy Jackson and Polyphemus (Percy Jackson) vs Mercer and Gage (The Silt Verses)

King Richard and Prince John (Robin Hood/English history) vs Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII (Egyptian history)

Uru Somezuki and Saito Sejima (AI: The Somnium Files) vs Illumi, Killua and Alluka Zoldyck (Hunter x Hunter)

Andrew and Ashley Graves (The Coffin of Andy and Leyley) vs Belzedar (The Belgariad)

Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion Lannister (A Song of Ice and Fire) vs Torak (The Belgariad)

Phillip and Caleb Wittebane (Owl House) vs Ogata Hyakunosuke and Hanazawa Yuusaku (Golden Kamuy)

Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston (How To Train Your Dragon) vs Andrew and Aaron Minyard (All for the Game)

Goneril and Regan (King Lear) vs Ruby Rocks and Saccharina Frostwhip (Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy)

The Beagle Boys (Donald Duck universe) vs Catherine and Hindley Earnshaw (Limbus Company)

Sam and Dean Winchester (Supernatural) vs John Wilkes and Edwin Booth (US history)

Anne and Mary Boleyn (English history) vs Rodrick, Greg, and Manny Heffly (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Anastasia, Drizella, and Cinderella (Cinderella) vs Wolf 40f and Wolf 42f "Cinderella" (Real Life, Druid Peak wolf pack)

Byes: Azula and Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Cain and Abel (The Bible)

#worst siblings tournament #Round 1

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

blorbo list NOW

The one I started last night, with 50 entries at the time, was getting out of control, so I made this list. I hope to append entries as I go along, and make this the "prestige version" or something. (It's probably not the best list of blorbos I've ever had, but it's among the longest)

Jacques Derrida

Lawrence Krauss

Petrovich Orevsky

Guido Görlich

Josh McPhee

Binyavanga Wainaina

Allen Ginsberg

lil b

Professor Spafford

General OHara

Eric S Raymond

Jon Kabat-Zinn

Bob Dylan

Werner Heisenberg

Elizabeth Beecher Stow

Prudence Crandall

Derrick Bell

Johnathan Wells

Timothy Leary

Camille Paglia

Tim Harper

William James

Ernst Jünger

Francis Carpenter

Jessica Mitford

Amartya Sen

George Black

Audrey Horne

Baron Munchausen

That one scene from Thumbelina

National Review writers (all of them?)

Poot

Jerry Seinfeld

Justin Bieber (because he's really, really hot)

Amelia Erhart

Louis Brandeis

Francis George Hayes (the real one, not the American)

Lauren Laverne

Frederick Douglass

Lots of other people

(I reserve the right to edit this list at any time so as to remove references to people who I no longer find interesting.)

#<3 #not-a-vampirepoet

[josiebelladonna]

i think she’s got a boring voice, tbh.

when i think of pretty voices i think of alison krauss, dolly parton, sarah maclachlan (especially), joni mitchell, diana krall, ofra haza, selena, nina simone, sinead, sade, elizabeth fraser, whitney houston, miki berenyi, floor jansen, cristina scabbia, tarja turunen, amy lee, lea solanga (the voice of mulan, THE voice of mulan might i add), hell lady gaga especially as of recently, hell… madonna c. ray of light, opera singers, all the women who sang with trans-siberian orchestra especially jennifer cella, some of the women in my aunt’s drama troupe have amazing voices and in fact, check out theatre as a whole: there are hordes of actors who have powerful voices and they aren’t getting an iota of attention outside of the theatre world.

but

i do not

I DO NOT

and will NEVER

think

of

~~~~bIlLiE eIlIsH~~~~

no, i will always associate her with inexcusable hate. her voice signifies the modern utter contempt for music at best, and any kind of hate you can think of at worst in my view. may i suggest all of you do, too, if you know what’s good for you.

#text #am yisrael chai #billie eilish #the bowel movement i just made is prettier than her pathetic voice and ugly face

[ink-stained-clouds]

hi!! what are some of your favorite readings, books, essays, articles, etc on sociology? i’d love to maybe see what class readings you’re doing

Hi anon!

I have a whole bunch of recommendations, no books, unfortunately. Actually, scratch that, I have one but it's actually a history book! I found it to be sociologically fascinating, though. It's The Origins of the Modern World by Robert B. Marks. It's a really interesting take on decolonizing the study of history and our understanding of how the west became the global superpower

To be honest, I don't know what book chapters I was reading for my theory class, our professor only sent us pdf scans. If you're interested in the philosophic origins of sociology, I am happy to try to hunt down the reference for you. Personally, I'm not a big philosophy fan so I can't speak to how good it was lol

Scholarly articles

Clover, Carol J. 1987. “Her Body, Himself: Gender in the Slasher Film.” Representations, 20: 187-228. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2928507.

Sowles, Shaina J., Monique McLeary, Allison Optican, Elizabeth Cahn, Melissa J. Krauss, Ellen E. Fitzsimmons-Craft, Denise E. Wilfley, and Patricia A. Cavazos-Rehg. 2018. “A content analysis of an online pro-eating disorder community on Reddit.” Body Image, 24: 137-144. doi: 10.1016/j.bodyim.2018.01.001.

Berbrier, Mitch. 1999. “Impression Management for the Thinking Racist: A Case Study of Intellectualization as Stigma Transformation in Contemporary White Supremacist Discourse.” The Sociological Quarterly, 40(3): 411-433.

Kwate, Naa Oyo A. 2008. “Fried chicken and fresh apples: Racial segregation as a fundamental cause of fast food density in black neighborhoods.” Health & Place, 14(1): 32-44. doi: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.healthplace.2007.04.001. (I read this one in a class years ago and it's always stuck with me, highly recommend)

Snow, David A. and Leon Anderson. 1987. “Identity Work Among the Homeless: The Verbal Construction and Avowal of Personal Identities.” American Journal of Sociology, 92(6): 1336-1371. Doi: 10.1086/228668. (a really interesting application of identity work, which is one of my favorite sociological frameworks)

West, Candace and Don H. Zimmerman. 1987. “Doing Gender.” Gender and Society, 1(2): 125-151. doi: https://www.jstor.org/stable/189945. (a classic! essential sociological reading, you may have come across it already)

Non-scholarly articles and essays (that are all very sociological in my opinion)

Being an Honorary White Person Doesn't Make Us More Powerful

How the '5-Minute-Face' Became the $5,000 Face

Why We Should Talk About What Kyrsten Sinema Is Wearing (Tressie McMillan Cottom is a phenomenal sociologist! I recommend all her writing)

Selfies, Surgeries, And Self-Loathing: Inside the Facetune Epidemic

“ain’t i a woman?” on the irony of trans-exclusion by black and african feminists (one of my personal favorites)

Poor People Deserve To Taste Something Other Than Shame (I return to this one often)

Violent Delights (a really interesting commentary on the cultural fascination with true crime)

Podcasts

Sage Sociology

Give Theory a Chance

Maintenance Phase (not technically sociology but very sociological in my opinion)

Unfortunately, I don't really have any books to recommend but if anyone else does I'd love to get some recs too!

I also try to post a round-up of all my reads under my monthly reads tag if you're looking for more suggestions, though it seems I haven't been particularly consistent ope

Thank you for the ask, anon. It was fun going through my notes and finding all these!! Please feel free to reach out with any recommendations of your own :)

#editing this for readability #titles now highlighted #ask #anon #inky speaks #reading list

[slowtides]

country music and folk/rock/blues that feels like country or is adjacent to country. All worth listening to.

Johnny Cash. John Denver. The Chicks. Brandi Carlile. The Highwomen. Jim Croce. Gillian Welch. Bonnie Raitt. Mary Chapin Carpenter. The Avett Brothers. James Taylor. Joan Armatrading. Tracy Chapman. Judy Blank. Lori McKenna. Emmylou Harris. Dolly Parton. Allison Krauss. The Indigo Girls. Eva Cassidy. Lizzy LeBleu. Neil Halstead. Alexi Murdoch. Mick McAuley. The Soggy Bottom Boys. Marty Robbins. Jimmy Dean. Steve Earle. Darrell Scott. Peter Paul and Mary. Dave Van Ronk. Joan Baez. Carolina Chocolate Drops. Karen Dalton. Sara Watkins. Roberta Flack. Mason Jennings. Patti Griffin. Amos Lee. Reba McEntire. Odetta. Kaia Kater. Elizabeth Cotten. Etta Baker. Candi Staton. Rhiannon Giddens. Yola. Amythyst Kiah.

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Listening to DSH from start to finish for the FIRST TIME EVER

It's midnight here so this is all going to be intelligible

Take What You Want- It's literally OTTN/HND + Euphoria + kinky dilfs and I'm just ARRRRHHGHGHHGHHHHHHH it's a very Joe + Sav song

Kick- I'm literally addicted to this song the lyrics are so sexy I can't take it it's so glam i just gffregerrerergffgr at this point it's my fav song from the album out of the 3 I've heard already and idk how they're gonna top it but I know they will somehow

Fire It Up- IT'S SLANG IT'S SLANG IT'S SLANG IT'S SLANG IT'S SLANG IT'S SLANG Joe can fuck me up with a low register any day ESPECIALLY when it's borderline rapping and I just feel like it's a Leppard song we've been waiting for for a long time and never knew it

This Guitar- I was 2 years old when this song was written it sounds like Unbelievable gone country it's a VERY un-Leppard song and you get whiplash from it after a very Leppard song like Fire it Up but Joe's voice was totally MADE FOR THIS SONG and Alison Krauss' voice was made to be with Joe's?? CAN WE HAVE JOE HARMONIZING WITH A FEMALE VOCALIST MORE OFTEN?????

SOS Emergency- A very self titled song if I do say so myself- reminds me of Dangerous more than anything also 'turn me on just turn me on' Joe be careful what you wish for

Liquid Dust- Right off the bat Slang/X vibes like Pearl of Euphoria meets Gravity and Torn to Shreds and it feels like this song needs to be played as a thunderstorm approaches or something also did I mention I'm a big fan of the drums on this album

U Rok Mi- THAT UKULELE TRANSITION OH FUCK YEAH. UNH. This one is definitely high on my list rn idk there's just something about it maybe it's the A CAPPELLA IDK mAYBE IT'S JOE'S SEXY GRAVELY VOICE IN THIS IDK MAYBE

Goodbye For Good This Time- Ah yes there's the piano we were promised. Also this is straight up Walking to Babylon by Down N Outz at least it is to me. This is another very un-Leppard song imo but that acoustic tho like hoooooooo I kinda hope we get a music video for this and I can't explain why maybe it's bc I want dramatic sad soap opera Joe maybe

All We Need- i got a sense of impending doom when this song started don't ask me why. it's 12:30am and I'm starving. This one also gives me X vibes? "this ain't no bedtime story" well it is for me Joe. I hope there's another good vibes song soon. is it bad i like the outro of this better than the whole song?

Open Your Eyes- LET'S HEAR IT FOR RICHARD ELIZABETH SAVAGE. This is Pearl of Euphoria 2022. This one is an orchestra itself and definitely near the top of my list, too. It's very un-leppard in a few VERY good ways.

Gimme a Kiss- oh FUCK YEA. As soon as this song began I went "uh oh- I have a bad feeling this is the one I'm gonna love more than Kick..." yeah I REALLY like this one totally not making me blush or anything 👁//👄//👁 hoohooheehooo this one is the competitor for my #1 spot with Kick WHEN THE KISS NOISE HAPPENED AT THE END I LITERALLY SAID "EXCUSE ME??????????" OUT LOUD IN MY DEAD QUIET HOUSE AT 12:43AM FUCK YOU JOE STOPPPPPPPP I literally did not pause this album since I started playing it EXCEPT WHEN JOE SMACKED HIS LIPS

Angels (Can't Help You Now)- another Down N Outz-esque song and I'm starting to fall asleep so my comments are running thin- it sounds familiar but I can't put my finger on it? also that ending IS Aladdin Sane well done boys you finally did it

Lifeless- SHE'S BAAAAAAACK! holy shit i just wanna give Joe a hug after hearing this and that ending ;-; also gives me early 00's sad pop vibes

Unbreakable- DEADASS THOUGHT THIS WAS 10538 OVERTURE. The room started spinning. This is an odd combo of X + self titled that WORKS. the line "it's unmistakably love" made me :#{} I never want it to end but I'm starving and about to pass out so I also want it to end ALSO ALL THESE A CAPPELLA ENDINGS ARE THE DEATH OF ME

From Here to Eternity- unmistakably Sav. Kings of the World. Creepy waltz. I could've listened to just the instrumentals for 20 hours straight

and so ends the first of thousands of listens for the rest of my life

#yes I started playing the album from start to finish exactly at midnight the second it became available on spotify #def leppard #diamond star halos #i'm going the fuck to bed my life kinda stinks rn except for this album and i'm prepared for it to become a bandaid over my entire soul

[pimpernals]

HELENE LAUTMANN.

GENERAL.

NAME.   helene lautmann (nee krauss)

ALIASES.   n/a

AGE.   thirty-nine

BIRTHDATE.   october 23

GENDER.   female 

SEXUALITY.   bisexual

STATUS.   married (unhappily)

ETHNICITY.   white

NATIONALITY.   german

BIRTHPLACE.   berlin, germany

RESIDENCE.   new york city, new york

OCCUPATION.   factory worker

PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT.   5’8”

WEIGHT.   149 lbs

BODY TYPE.   mesomorph

SKIN TONE.   fair

HAIRSTYLE.   straight

HAIR COLOR.   brown

EYE COLOR.   blue

SCARS.   several

FACECLAIM.   elizabeth mcgovren

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS.   manipulative, sharp, cruel, cunning

HABITS.   holding grudges

HOBBIES.   doesn't indulge in any real hobbies aside from the crossword occasionally. her lifestyle doesn't really permit it.

FEARS   loosing control

FAMILY.

FATHER.   hans krauss

MOTHER.   frida krauss

SISTER.   martina krauss

BROTHER.   none

SIGNIFICANT OTHER.   wilhelm lautmann

SON.   rolf lautmann (@soldwrecked)

DAUGHTER.   none

EXTRA.

MBTI.   tba.

ENNEAGRAM.   tba.

ALIGNMENT.   tba.

HISTORY.

she was born into a life of poverty. world war one thrust germany into a great depression. her family could hardly get by.

her first betrayal came when her beloved sister left her family to run off with her boyfriend. her sister brought in one of the largest incomes in their family, which caused thekrauss to struggle even more than before.

she met and married wilhelm when she was about nineteen years old. they married a month after they met.

as germany started to close it's boarders, they were struggling to find a way out of their life of poverty. helene just found out she was pregnant. their marriage was on the fritz with that news. while she didn't care too much for being a mother or the idea of having a child, she wanted to have a better life.

in order to get out, helene seduced and slept with a high ranking officer. she ended up falling for him, but took the opportunity to get out of germany. his wife couldn't find out about them anyway.

helene nearly died giving birth to their son, rolf. he was named after wilhelm's father which also happened to be the name of the man she seduced and fell for to get to america.

she resents her son, putting all the blame on him for anything that's gone wrong in her life. she was incredibly abusive to him and didn't stop her husband from hurting their child either.

her life is spent between work, drinking, drug use, and sex as a coping mechanism.

rolf ran away when he was twelve. he was returned at a time she was surprisingly sober, but couldn't bring herself to care enough to fret over or scold him. he ran away again when both of his parents were out.

while part of her wonders what happened to her son after he ran away, she doesn't care enough to look for him. he's the cause of all the hurt in her life, isn't he?

#interaction: h. lautmann #headcanon: h. lautmann #aesthetic: h. lautmann #visage: h. lautmann #study: h. lautmann

[opswimsuit]

Johanna Krauss - Diana Caterina - Elizabeth MICLAU | 5-10m Platform Divi...

[kamreadsandrecs]

by Adam Kirsch

In Elif Batuman’s 2022 novel Either/Or, the narrator, Selin, goes to her college library to look for Prozac Nation, the 1994 memoir by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Both of Harvard’s copies are checked out, so instead she reads reviews of the book, including Michiko Kakutani’s in the New York Times, which Batuman quotes:

“Ms. Wurtzel’s self-important whining” made Ms. Kakutani “want to shake the author, and remind her that there are far worse fates than growing up during the 70’s in New York and going to Harvard.”

It’s a typically canny moment in a novel that strives to seem artless. Batuman clearly recognizes that every criticism of Wurtzel’s bestseller—narcissism, privilege, triviality—could be applied to Either/Or and its predecessor, The Idiot, right down to the authors’ shared Harvard pedigree. Yet her protagonist resists the identification, in large part because she doesn’t see herself as Wurtzel’s contemporary. Wurtzel was born in 1967 and Batuman in 1977. This makes both of them members of Generation X, which includes those born between 1965 and 1980. But Selin insists that the ten-year gap matters: “Generation X: that was the people who were going around being alternative when I was in middle school.”

I was born in 1976, and the closer we products of the Seventies get to fifty, the clearer it becomes to me that Batuman is right about the divide—especially when it comes to literature. In pop culture, the Gen X canon had been firmly established by the mid-Nineties: Nirvana’s Nevermind appeared in 1991, the movie Reality Bites in 1994, Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill in 1995. Douglas Coupland’s book Generation X, which popularized the term, was published in 1991. And the novel that defined the literary generation, Infinite Jest, was published in 1996, when David Foster Wallace was about to turn thirty-four—technically making him a baby boomer.

Batuman was a college sophomore in 1996, presumably experiencing many of the things that happen to Selin in Either/Or. But by the time she began to fictionalize those events twenty years later, she joined a group of writers who defined themselves, ethically and aesthetically, in opposition to the older representatives of Generation X. For all their literary and biographical differences, writers like Nicole Krauss, Teju Cole, Sheila Heti, Ben Lerner, and Tao Lin share some basic assumptions and aversions—including a deep skepticism toward anyone who claims to speak for a generation, or for any entity larger than the self.

That skepticism is apparent in the title of Zadie Smith’s new novel, The Fraud. Smith’s precocious success—her first book, White Teeth, was published in 2000, when she was twenty-four—can make it easy to think of her as a contemporary of Wallace and Wurtzel. In fact she was born in 1975, two years before Batuman, and her sensibility as a writer is connected to her generational predicament.

Smith’s latest book is, most obviously, a response to the paradoxical populism of the late 2010s, in which the grievances of “ordinary people” found champions in elite figures such as Donald Trump and Boris Johnson. Rather than write about current events, however, Smith has elected to refract them into a story about the Tichborne case, a now-forgotten episode that convulsed Victorian England in the 1870s.

In particular, Smith is interested in how the case challenges the views of her protagonist, Eliza Touchet. Eliza is a woman with the sharp judgment and keen perceptions of a novelist, though her era has deprived her of the opportunity to exercise those gifts. Her surname—pronounced in the French style, touché—evokes her taste for intellectual combat. But she has spent her life in a supportive role, serving variously as housekeeper and bedmate to her cousin William Harrison Ainsworth, a man of letters who churns out mediocre historical romances by the yard. (Like most of the novel’s characters, Ainsworth and Touchet are based on real-life historical figures.)

Now middle-aged, Eliza finds herself drawn into public life by the Tichborne saga, which has divided the nation and her household as bitterly as any of today’s political controversies. Like all good celebrity trials, the case had many supporting players and intricate subplots, but at heart it was a question of identity: Was the man known as “the Claimant” really Roger Tichborne, an aristocrat believed to have died in a shipwreck some fifteen years earlier? Or was he Arthur Orton, a cockney butcher who had emigrated to Australia, caught wind of the reward on offer from Roger’s grief-stricken mother, and seized the chance of a lifetime? In the end, a jury decided that he was Orton, and instead of inheriting a country estate he wound up in a jail cell. What fascinates Smith, though, is the way the Tichborne case became a political cause, energizing a movement that took justice for “Sir Roger” to be in some way related to justice for the common man.

Eliza is a right-minded progressive who was active in the abolitionist movement in the 1830s. Proud of her judgment, she sees many problems with the Claimant’s story and finds it incredible that anyone could believe him. To her dismay, however, she lives with someone who does. William’s new wife, Sarah, formerly his servant, sees the Claimant as a victim of the same establishment that lorded over her own working-class family. The more she is informed of the problems with the Claimant’s argument, the more obdurate she becomes: “HE AIN’T CALLED ARTHUR ORTON IS HE,” she yells, “THEM WHO SAY HE’S ORTON ARE LYING.”

What Smith is dramatizing, of course, is the experience of so many liberal intellectuals over the past decade who had believed themselves to be on the side of “the people” only to find that, whether the issue was Brexit or Trump or COVID-19 protocols, the people were unwilling to heed their guidance, and in fact loathed them for it. It is in order to get to the bottom of this phenomenon that Eliza keeps attending the Tichborne trial, in much the same spirit that many liberal journalists reported from Trump rallies. Things get even more complicated when she befriends a witness for the defense, Mr. Bogle, who is among the Claimant’s main supporters even though he began his life as a slave on a Jamaica plantation managed by Edward Tichborne, the Claimant’s supposed father.

Though much of the novel deals with the case and the history of slavery in Britain’s Caribbean colonies, it is first and foremost the story of Eliza Touchet, and how her exposure to the trial alters her sense of the world and of herself. “The purpose of life was to keep one’s mind open,” she reflects, and it is this ability to see things from another perspective that makes her a novelist manqué.

Open-mindedness, even to the point of moral ambiguity, is one of the chief values Smith shares with her literary contemporaries. These writers grew up during a period of heightened tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union, then took their first steps toward adult consciousness just as the Cold War concluded. They came of age in the brief period that Francis Fukuyama called “the end of history.”

Fukuyama’s description, famously premature though it was, still captures something crucial about the context in which the children of the Seventies began to think and write. While the fall of Communism in Eastern Europe is sometimes remembered as the “Revolutions of 1989,” the mood it created in the West was hardly revolutionary. After 1989, there was little of the “bliss was it in that dawn to be alive” sentiment that had animated Wordsworth during the French Revolution. Instead, the ambient sense that history was moving steadily in the right direction encouraged writers to see politics as less urgent, and less morally serious, than inward experience.

In the fiction that defined the pre-9/11 era, political phenomena tended to assume cartoon form. Wallace’s Infinite Jest features an organization of Quebecois separatists called Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents—that is, the Wheelchair Assassins. In Smith’s White Teeth, one of the main characters joins a militant group named KEVIN, for Keepers of the Eternal and Victorious Islamic Nation. The attacks on the Twin Towers and the war on terror would put an end to jokes like these, but for a decade or so it was possible to see ideological extremism as a relic fit for spoofing—as with KGB Bar, a popular New York literary venue that opened in 1993.

For the young writers of that era, the most important battles were not being fought abroad but at home, and within themselves. Their enemies were the forces of cynicism and indifference that Wallace depicted in Infinite Jest, set in a near-future America stupefied by consumerism, mass entertainment, and addictive substances. The great balancing act of Wallace’s fiction was to truthfully represent this stupor while holding open the possibility that one could recover from it, the way the residents of the novel’s Ennet House manage to recover from their addictions. This dialectical mission is responsible for the spiraling self-consciousness that is the most distinctive (and, to some readers, the most annoying) aspect of his writing.

Dave Eggers set himself an analogous challenge in his 2000 memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Writing about a childhood tragedy—the nearly simultaneous deaths from cancer of his mother and father, which left the young Eggers with custody of his eight-year-old brother—he aimed to do full justice to his despair while still insisting on the validity of hope. “This did not happen to us for naught, I can assure you,” he writes,

there is no logic to that, there is logic only in assuming that we suffered for a reason. Just give us our due. I am bursting with the hopes of a generation, their hopes surge through me, threaten to burst my hardened heart!

By the end of the millennium, this was the familiar voice of Generation X. Loquacious and self-involved, its ironic grandiosity barely concealed a sincere grandiosity about its moral mission, which was to defeat despair and foster genuine human connection. Jonathan Franzen, Wallace’s realist rival, titled a book of essays How to Be Alone, and for these writers, loneliness was the great problem that literature was created to solve. “If writing was the medium of communication within the community of childhood, it makes sense that when writers grow up they continue to find writing vital to their sense of connectedness,” Franzen wrote in his much-discussed essay “Perchance to Dream,” published in these pages in 1996. Eggers seems to have taken this idea literally, creating a nonprofit, 826 Valencia, that advertises writing mentorship for underserved students as a way of “building community” and rectifying inequality.

If sincerity and connection were the greatest virtues for these writers, the greatest sin was “snark.” That word gained literary currency thanks to a manifesto by Heidi Julavits in the first issue of The Believer, the magazine she co-founded in 2003 with the novelist Vendela Vida (Eggers’s wife) and the writer Ed Park. The title of the essay—“Rejoice! Believe! Be Strong and Read Hard!”—like the title of the magazine, insisted that literature was an essentially moral enterprise, a matter of goodness, courage, and love. To demur from this vision was to reveal a smallness of soul that Julavits called snark: “wit for wit’s sake—or, hostility for hostility’s sake,” a “hostile, knowing, bitter tone of contempt.” For Kafka, a book was an axe for the frozen sea within; for the older cohort of Gen X writers, it was more like a hacksaw to cut through the barred cell of cynicism.

This was the environment—quiescent in politics, self-consciously sincere in literature—in which Smith and her contemporaries came of age. Just as they started to publish their first books, however, the stopped clock of history resumed with a vengeance. It is unnecessary to list the series of political and geopolitical shocks that have occurred since 2000. For the millennial generation, adulthood has been defined by apocalyptic fears, political frenzy, and glimpses of utopia, whether in Chicago’s Grant Park on election night 2008 or in New York’s Zuccotti Park during Occupy Wall Street in 2011.

The children of the Seventies tend to feel out of place in this new world. It’s not that they naïvely looked forward to a future of peace and harmony and are offended to find that it has not materialized. It is rather that their literary gaze was fixed within at an early age, and they continue to believe that the most authentic way to write about history is as the deteriorating climate through which the self moves.

The self, meanwhile, they approach with mistrust—a reaction against the heart-on-sleeve sincerity of their elders. Many of them have turned to autofiction, a genre which is often criticized as narcissistic—a way of shrinking the world to fit into the four walls of the writer’s room. In fact, it has served these writers as an antidote to the grandiosity of memoir, which tends to falsify in the direction of self-flattery—as this generation learned from the spectacular implosion of James Frey’s 2003 bestseller, A Million Little Pieces. By admitting from the outset that it is not telling the truth about the author’s life, autofiction makes it possible to emphasize the moral ambiguities that memoir has to apologize for or hide. That makes it useful for writers who are not in search of goodness, neither within themselves nor in political movements.

For Sheila Heti, this resistance to goodness takes the form of artistic introspection, which busier people tend to judge as selfish and idle. In How Should a Person Be?, from 2010, a character named Sheila has dinner with a young theater director named Ben, who has just returned with a friend from South Africa. “It was just such a crushing awakening of the colossal injustice of the way our world works economically,” he says of their trip, that he now wonders whether his work as a theater director—“a very narcissistic activity”—is morally justifiable. Yet nothing could be more narcissistic, in Heti’s telling, than such moral preening, and Sheila instinctively resists it. “They are so serious. They lectured me about my lack of morality,” she complains. She loathes the idea of having “to wear on the outside one’s curiosity, one’s pity, one’s guilt,” when art is concerned with what happens inside, which can only be observed with effort and in private. “It’s time to stop asking questions of other people,” she tells herself. “It is time to just go into a cocoon and spin your soul.”

Teju Cole’s 2011 novel Open City offers a more ambivalent version of the same idea. Julius, the narrator, can’t justify his aesthetic self-absorption on the grounds that he is an artist, as Sheila does, since he is a psychiatrist. It’s an ironic choice of profession for a man we come to know as guarded and aloof. Cole builds a portrait of Julius through his daily interactions with other people, like the taxi driver whose cab he enters gruffly. “The way you came into my car without saying hello, that was bad,” the driver rebukes him. “Hey, I’m African just like you, why you do this?” Julius apologizes for this small breach of solidarity, but insincerely: “I wasn’t sorry at all. I was in no mood for people who tried to lay claims on me.”

Indeed, for most of the novel he is alone, meditating in Sebaldian fashion on the atrocities of history as he takes long walks through Manhattan. When, during a trip to Brussels, he meets a man who wants to intervene in history—Farouq, a young Moroccan intellectual who declares that “America is a version of Al-Qaeda”—Julius is decidedly unimpressed:

There was something powerful about him, a seething intelligence, something that wanted to believe itself indomitable. But he was one of the thwarted ones. His script would stay in proportion.

Open City can’t be said to endorse Julius’s aesthetic solipsism. On the contrary, the last chapter finds him trapped on a fire escape outside Carnegie Hall in the rain, a striking symbol of a man isolated by culture. Just moments before, he had been united with the rest of the audience in Mahlerian rapture; now, he reflects, “my fellow concertgoers went about their lives oblivious to my plight,” as he tries to avoid slipping and falling to his death. The scene is Cole’s acknowledgment that aesthetic consciousness remains passive and solipsistic even when experienced in common, and that danger demands a different kind of solidarity—one that is active, ethical, even political. Yet Cole conjures Julius’s aristocratic fatalism in such intimate detail that the “Rejoice! Believe!” approach—to literature, and to life—can only appear childish.

Writers of this cohort do sometimes try to imagine a better world, but they tend to do so in terms that are metaphysical rather than political, moving at one bound from the fallen present to some kind of messianic future. In her 2022 novel Pure Colour, Heti tells the story of a woman named Mira whose grief over her father’s death prompts her to speculate about what Judaism calls the world to come. In Heti’s vision, this is not a place to which the soul repairs after death, nor is it some kind of revolutionary political arrangement; rather, it is an entirely new world that God will one day create to replace the one we live in, which she calls “the first draft of existence.”

The hardest thing to accept, for Heti’s protagonist, is that the end of our world will mean the disappearance of art. “Art would never leave us like a father dying,” Mira says. “In a way, it would always remain.” But over the course of Pure Colour, she comes to accept that even art is transitory. In a profoundly self-accusing passage, she concludes that a better world might even require the disappearance of art, since

art is preserved on hearts of ice. It is only those with icebox hearts and icebox hands who have the coldness of soul equal to the task of keeping art fresh for the centuries, preserved in the freezer of their hearts and minds.

Tao Lin’s unnerving, affectless autofiction leaves a rather different impression than Heti’s, and he has sometimes been identified as a voice from the next generation, the millennials. But his 2021 novel Leave Society shows him thinking along similar lines as the children of the Seventies. In Taipei, from 2013, Lin’s alter ego is named Paul, and he spends most of the novel joylessly eating in restaurants and taking mood-altering drugs. In Leave Society he is named Li, but he is recognizably the same person, perched on a knife-edge between extreme sensitivity and neurotic withdrawal. In the interim, he has decided that the cure for his troubles, and the world’s, lies in purging the body of the toxins that infiltrate it from every direction.

Like Heti, Lin anticipates a great erasure. All of recorded history, he writes, has been merely a “brief, fallible transition . . . from matter into the imagination.” Sometime soon we will emerge into a universe that bears no resemblance to the one we know. Writers, Lin concludes, participate in this process not by working for social change but by reforming the self. “Li disliked trying to change others,” Lin writes, and believed that “people who are concerned about evil and injustice in the world should begin the campaign against those things at their nearest source—themselves.”

One way or another, writers in this cohort all acknowledge the same injunction—even the ones who struggle against it. In his new book of poems, The Lights, Ben Lerner strives to elaborate an idea of redemption that is both private and social:

I don’t know any songs, but won’t withdraw. I am dreaming the pathetic dream of a pathos capable of redescription, so that corporate personhood becomes more than legal fiction. A dream in prose of poetry, a long dream of waking.

The dream of uniting the sophistication of art with the straightforwardness of justice also animates Lerner’s fiction, where it often takes the form of rueful comedy. In 10:04, the narrator cooks dinner for an Occupy Wall Street protester, but when asked how often he has been to Zuccotti Park, he dodges the question. His activism is limited to cooking, which he pompously describes as a way of being “a producer and not a consumer alone of those substances necessary for sustenance and growth within my immediate community.” That the dream never becomes more than a dream betrays Lerner’s similarity to Lin, Heti, and Cole, who frankly acknowledge the hiatus between art and justice, though without celebrating it.

Zadie Smith has always been too deeply rooted in the social comedy of the English novel to embrace autofiction, yet she also registers this disconnect, as can be seen in the way her influences have shifted over time. When it was first published, White Teeth was compared to Infinite Jest and Don DeLillo’s Underworld as a work of what James Wood called “hysterical realism.” The book’s arch humor, proliferating plot, and penchant for exaggeration owe much to the author Wood identified as the “parent” of that genre: Charles Dickens.

When Smith says that a woman “needed no bra—she was independent, even of gravity,” she is borrowing Dickens’s technique of making characters so intensely themselves that their essence saturates everything around them—as when he writes of the nouveau riche Veneerings, in Our Mutual Friend, that “their carriage was new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures were new, they themselves were new.” Dickens is a guest star in The Fraud, appearing at several of William Ainsworth’s dinner parties, and the news of his death prompts Eliza Touchet to offer an apt tribute: “She knew she lived in an age of things . . . and Charles had been the poet of things.”

But Dickens, who at another point in the novel is gently disparaged for his moralizing “sermons,” is no longer the presiding genius of Smith’s fiction. (Smith wrote in a recent essay that her first principle in taking up the historical novel was “no Dickens,” and she expressed a wry disappointment that he had forced his way into the proceedings.) Her 2005 novel, On Beauty, was a reimagining of E. M. Forster’s Howards End, and while her style has continued to evolve from book to book, Forster’s influence has been clear ever since, in everything from her preference for short chapters to her belief in “keep[ing] one’s mind open.”

Smith’s affinity for Forster owes something to their analogous historical situations. An Edwardian liberal who lived into the age of fascism and communism, Forster defended his values—“tolerance, good temper and sympathy,” as he put it in the 1939 essay “What I Believe”—with something of a guilty conscience, recognizing that the militant younger generation regarded them as “bourgeois luxuries.”

At the end of The Fraud, Eliza encounters Mr. Bogle’s son Henry, who has grown disgusted with his father’s quietism and become a political radical. He reproaches her for being more interested in understanding injustice than in doing something about it, proclaiming:

By God, don’t you see that what young men hunger for today is not “improvement” or “charity” or any of the watchwords of your Ladies’ Societies. They hunger for truth! For truth itself! For justice!

This certainty and urgency is the opposite of keeping one’s mind open, and while Mrs. Touchet—and Smith—aren’t prepared to say that it is wrong, they are certain that it’s not for them: “This essential and daily battle of life he had described was one she could no more envisage living herself than she could imagine crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a hot air balloon.”

Whether they style themselves as humanists or aesthetes, realists or visionaries, the most powerful writers who were born in the Seventies share this basic aloofness. To the next generation, the millennials, their disengagement from the collective struggle may seem reprehensible. For me, as I suspect is the case for many readers my age, it is part of what makes them such reliable guides to understanding, if not the times we live in, then at least the disjunction between the times and the self that must try to negotiate them.

#zadie smith #writing #books

[gathersroses]

HELENE LAUTMANN.

GENERAL.

NAME.   helene lautmann (nee krauss)

ALIASES.   n/a

AGE.   thirty-nine

BIRTHDATE.   october 23

GENDER.   female 

SEXUALITY.   bisexual

STATUS.   married (unhappily)

ETHNICITY.   white

NATIONALITY.   german

BIRTHPLACE.   berlin, germany

RESIDENCE.   new york city, new york

OCCUPATION.   factory worker

PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT.   5’8”

WEIGHT.   149 lbs

BODY TYPE.   mesomorph

SKIN TONE.   fair

HAIRSTYLE.   straight

HAIR COLOR.   brown

EYE COLOR.   blue

SCARS.   several

FACECLAIM.   elizabeth mcgovren

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS.   manipulative, sharp, cruel, cunning

HABITS.   holding grudges

HOBBIES.   doesn't indulge in any real hobbies aside from the crossword occasionally. her lifestyle doesn't really permit it.

FEARS   loosing control

FAMILY.

FATHER.   hans krauss

MOTHER.   frida krauss

SISTER.   martina krauss

BROTHER.   none

SIGNIFICANT OTHER.   wilhelm lautmann

SON.   rolf lautmann (@soldwrecked)

DAUGHTER.   none

EXTRA.

MBTI.   tba.

ENNEAGRAM.   tba.

ALIGNMENT.   tba.

HISTORY.

she was born into a life of poverty. world war one thrust germany into a great depression. her family could hardly get by.

her first betrayal came when her beloved sister left her family to run off with her boyfriend. her sister brought in one of the largest incomes in their family, which caused thekrauss to struggle even more than before.

she met and married wilhelm when she was about nineteen years old. they married a month after they met.

as germany started to close it's boarders, they were struggling to find a way out of their life of poverty. helene just found out she was pregnant. their marriage was on the fritz with that news. while she didn't care too much for being a mother or the idea of having a child, she wanted to have a better life.

in order to get out, helene seduced and slept with a high ranking officer. she ended up falling for him, but took the opportunity to get out of germany. his wife couldn't find out about them anyway.

helene nearly died giving birth to their son, rolf. he was named after wilhelm's father which also happened to be the name of the man she seduced and fell for to get to america.

she resents her son, putting all the blame on him for anything that's gone wrong in her life. she was incredibly abusive to him and didn't stop her husband from hurting their child either.

her life is spent between work, drinking, drug use, and sex as a coping mechanism.

rolf ran away when he was twelve. he was returned at a time she was surprisingly sober, but couldn't bring herself to care enough to fret over or scold him. he ran away again when both of his parents were out.

while part of her wonders what happened to her son after he ran away, she doesn't care enough to look for him. he's the cause of all the hurt in her life, isn't he?

#interaction: h. lautmann #headcanon: h. lautmann #aesthetic: h. lautmann #visage: h. lautmann #study: h. lautmann

[kammartinez]

by Adam Kirsch

In Elif Batuman’s 2022 novel Either/Or, the narrator, Selin, goes to her college library to look for Prozac Nation, the 1994 memoir by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Both of Harvard’s copies are checked out, so instead she reads reviews of the book, including Michiko Kakutani’s in the New York Times, which Batuman quotes:

“Ms. Wurtzel’s self-important whining” made Ms. Kakutani “want to shake the author, and remind her that there are far worse fates than growing up during the 70’s in New York and going to Harvard.”

It’s a typically canny moment in a novel that strives to seem artless. Batuman clearly recognizes that every criticism of Wurtzel’s bestseller—narcissism, privilege, triviality—could be applied to Either/Or and its predecessor, The Idiot, right down to the authors’ shared Harvard pedigree. Yet her protagonist resists the identification, in large part because she doesn’t see herself as Wurtzel’s contemporary. Wurtzel was born in 1967 and Batuman in 1977. This makes both of them members of Generation X, which includes those born between 1965 and 1980. But Selin insists that the ten-year gap matters: “Generation X: that was the people who were going around being alternative when I was in middle school.”

I was born in 1976, and the closer we products of the Seventies get to fifty, the clearer it becomes to me that Batuman is right about the divide—especially when it comes to literature. In pop culture, the Gen X canon had been firmly established by the mid-Nineties: Nirvana’s Nevermind appeared in 1991, the movie Reality Bites in 1994, Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill in 1995. Douglas Coupland’s book Generation X, which popularized the term, was published in 1991. And the novel that defined the literary generation, Infinite Jest, was published in 1996, when David Foster Wallace was about to turn thirty-four—technically making him a baby boomer.

Batuman was a college sophomore in 1996, presumably experiencing many of the things that happen to Selin in Either/Or. But by the time she began to fictionalize those events twenty years later, she joined a group of writers who defined themselves, ethically and aesthetically, in opposition to the older representatives of Generation X. For all their literary and biographical differences, writers like Nicole Krauss, Teju Cole, Sheila Heti, Ben Lerner, and Tao Lin share some basic assumptions and aversions—including a deep skepticism toward anyone who claims to speak for a generation, or for any entity larger than the self.

That skepticism is apparent in the title of Zadie Smith’s new novel, The Fraud. Smith’s precocious success—her first book, White Teeth, was published in 2000, when she was twenty-four—can make it easy to think of her as a contemporary of Wallace and Wurtzel. In fact she was born in 1975, two years before Batuman, and her sensibility as a writer is connected to her generational predicament.

Smith’s latest book is, most obviously, a response to the paradoxical populism of the late 2010s, in which the grievances of “ordinary people” found champions in elite figures such as Donald Trump and Boris Johnson. Rather than write about current events, however, Smith has elected to refract them into a story about the Tichborne case, a now-forgotten episode that convulsed Victorian England in the 1870s.

In particular, Smith is interested in how the case challenges the views of her protagonist, Eliza Touchet. Eliza is a woman with the sharp judgment and keen perceptions of a novelist, though her era has deprived her of the opportunity to exercise those gifts. Her surname—pronounced in the French style, touché—evokes her taste for intellectual combat. But she has spent her life in a supportive role, serving variously as housekeeper and bedmate to her cousin William Harrison Ainsworth, a man of letters who churns out mediocre historical romances by the yard. (Like most of the novel’s characters, Ainsworth and Touchet are based on real-life historical figures.)

Now middle-aged, Eliza finds herself drawn into public life by the Tichborne saga, which has divided the nation and her household as bitterly as any of today’s political controversies. Like all good celebrity trials, the case had many supporting players and intricate subplots, but at heart it was a question of identity: Was the man known as “the Claimant” really Roger Tichborne, an aristocrat believed to have died in a shipwreck some fifteen years earlier? Or was he Arthur Orton, a cockney butcher who had emigrated to Australia, caught wind of the reward on offer from Roger’s grief-stricken mother, and seized the chance of a lifetime? In the end, a jury decided that he was Orton, and instead of inheriting a country estate he wound up in a jail cell. What fascinates Smith, though, is the way the Tichborne case became a political cause, energizing a movement that took justice for “Sir Roger” to be in some way related to justice for the common man.

Eliza is a right-minded progressive who was active in the abolitionist movement in the 1830s. Proud of her judgment, she sees many problems with the Claimant’s story and finds it incredible that anyone could believe him. To her dismay, however, she lives with someone who does. William’s new wife, Sarah, formerly his servant, sees the Claimant as a victim of the same establishment that lorded over her own working-class family. The more she is informed of the problems with the Claimant’s argument, the more obdurate she becomes: “HE AIN’T CALLED ARTHUR ORTON IS HE,” she yells, “THEM WHO SAY HE’S ORTON ARE LYING.”

What Smith is dramatizing, of course, is the experience of so many liberal intellectuals over the past decade who had believed themselves to be on the side of “the people” only to find that, whether the issue was Brexit or Trump or COVID-19 protocols, the people were unwilling to heed their guidance, and in fact loathed them for it. It is in order to get to the bottom of this phenomenon that Eliza keeps attending the Tichborne trial, in much the same spirit that many liberal journalists reported from Trump rallies. Things get even more complicated when she befriends a witness for the defense, Mr. Bogle, who is among the Claimant’s main supporters even though he began his life as a slave on a Jamaica plantation managed by Edward Tichborne, the Claimant’s supposed father.

Though much of the novel deals with the case and the history of slavery in Britain’s Caribbean colonies, it is first and foremost the story of Eliza Touchet, and how her exposure to the trial alters her sense of the world and of herself. “The purpose of life was to keep one’s mind open,” she reflects, and it is this ability to see things from another perspective that makes her a novelist manqué.

Open-mindedness, even to the point of moral ambiguity, is one of the chief values Smith shares with her literary contemporaries. These writers grew up during a period of heightened tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union, then took their first steps toward adult consciousness just as the Cold War concluded. They came of age in the brief period that Francis Fukuyama called “the end of history.”

Fukuyama’s description, famously premature though it was, still captures something crucial about the context in which the children of the Seventies began to think and write. While the fall of Communism in Eastern Europe is sometimes remembered as the “Revolutions of 1989,” the mood it created in the West was hardly revolutionary. After 1989, there was little of the “bliss was it in that dawn to be alive” sentiment that had animated Wordsworth during the French Revolution. Instead, the ambient sense that history was moving steadily in the right direction encouraged writers to see politics as less urgent, and less morally serious, than inward experience.

In the fiction that defined the pre-9/11 era, political phenomena tended to assume cartoon form. Wallace’s Infinite Jest features an organization of Quebecois separatists called Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents—that is, the Wheelchair Assassins. In Smith’s White Teeth, one of the main characters joins a militant group named KEVIN, for Keepers of the Eternal and Victorious Islamic Nation. The attacks on the Twin Towers and the war on terror would put an end to jokes like these, but for a decade or so it was possible to see ideological extremism as a relic fit for spoofing—as with KGB Bar, a popular New York literary venue that opened in 1993.

For the young writers of that era, the most important battles were not being fought abroad but at home, and within themselves. Their enemies were the forces of cynicism and indifference that Wallace depicted in Infinite Jest, set in a near-future America stupefied by consumerism, mass entertainment, and addictive substances. The great balancing act of Wallace’s fiction was to truthfully represent this stupor while holding open the possibility that one could recover from it, the way the residents of the novel’s Ennet House manage to recover from their addictions. This dialectical mission is responsible for the spiraling self-consciousness that is the most distinctive (and, to some readers, the most annoying) aspect of his writing.

Dave Eggers set himself an analogous challenge in his 2000 memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Writing about a childhood tragedy—the nearly simultaneous deaths from cancer of his mother and father, which left the young Eggers with custody of his eight-year-old brother—he aimed to do full justice to his despair while still insisting on the validity of hope. “This did not happen to us for naught, I can assure you,” he writes,

there is no logic to that, there is logic only in assuming that we suffered for a reason. Just give us our due. I am bursting with the hopes of a generation, their hopes surge through me, threaten to burst my hardened heart!

By the end of the millennium, this was the familiar voice of Generation X. Loquacious and self-involved, its ironic grandiosity barely concealed a sincere grandiosity about its moral mission, which was to defeat despair and foster genuine human connection. Jonathan Franzen, Wallace’s realist rival, titled a book of essays How to Be Alone, and for these writers, loneliness was the great problem that literature was created to solve. “If writing was the medium of communication within the community of childhood, it makes sense that when writers grow up they continue to find writing vital to their sense of connectedness,” Franzen wrote in his much-discussed essay “Perchance to Dream,” published in these pages in 1996. Eggers seems to have taken this idea literally, creating a nonprofit, 826 Valencia, that advertises writing mentorship for underserved students as a way of “building community” and rectifying inequality.

If sincerity and connection were the greatest virtues for these writers, the greatest sin was “snark.” That word gained literary currency thanks to a manifesto by Heidi Julavits in the first issue of The Believer, the magazine she co-founded in 2003 with the novelist Vendela Vida (Eggers’s wife) and the writer Ed Park. The title of the essay—“Rejoice! Believe! Be Strong and Read Hard!”—like the title of the magazine, insisted that literature was an essentially moral enterprise, a matter of goodness, courage, and love. To demur from this vision was to reveal a smallness of soul that Julavits called snark: “wit for wit’s sake—or, hostility for hostility’s sake,” a “hostile, knowing, bitter tone of contempt.” For Kafka, a book was an axe for the frozen sea within; for the older cohort of Gen X writers, it was more like a hacksaw to cut through the barred cell of cynicism.

This was the environment—quiescent in politics, self-consciously sincere in literature—in which Smith and her contemporaries came of age. Just as they started to publish their first books, however, the stopped clock of history resumed with a vengeance. It is unnecessary to list the series of political and geopolitical shocks that have occurred since 2000. For the millennial generation, adulthood has been defined by apocalyptic fears, political frenzy, and glimpses of utopia, whether in Chicago’s Grant Park on election night 2008 or in New York’s Zuccotti Park during Occupy Wall Street in 2011.

The children of the Seventies tend to feel out of place in this new world. It’s not that they naïvely looked forward to a future of peace and harmony and are offended to find that it has not materialized. It is rather that their literary gaze was fixed within at an early age, and they continue to believe that the most authentic way to write about history is as the deteriorating climate through which the self moves.

The self, meanwhile, they approach with mistrust—a reaction against the heart-on-sleeve sincerity of their elders. Many of them have turned to autofiction, a genre which is often criticized as narcissistic—a way of shrinking the world to fit into the four walls of the writer’s room. In fact, it has served these writers as an antidote to the grandiosity of memoir, which tends to falsify in the direction of self-flattery—as this generation learned from the spectacular implosion of James Frey’s 2003 bestseller, A Million Little Pieces. By admitting from the outset that it is not telling the truth about the author’s life, autofiction makes it possible to emphasize the moral ambiguities that memoir has to apologize for or hide. That makes it useful for writers who are not in search of goodness, neither within themselves nor in political movements.

For Sheila Heti, this resistance to goodness takes the form of artistic introspection, which busier people tend to judge as selfish and idle. In How Should a Person Be?, from 2010, a character named Sheila has dinner with a young theater director named Ben, who has just returned with a friend from South Africa. “It was just such a crushing awakening of the colossal injustice of the way our world works economically,” he says of their trip, that he now wonders whether his work as a theater director—“a very narcissistic activity”—is morally justifiable. Yet nothing could be more narcissistic, in Heti’s telling, than such moral preening, and Sheila instinctively resists it. “They are so serious. They lectured me about my lack of morality,” she complains. She loathes the idea of having “to wear on the outside one’s curiosity, one’s pity, one’s guilt,” when art is concerned with what happens inside, which can only be observed with effort and in private. “It’s time to stop asking questions of other people,” she tells herself. “It is time to just go into a cocoon and spin your soul.”

Teju Cole’s 2011 novel Open City offers a more ambivalent version of the same idea. Julius, the narrator, can’t justify his aesthetic self-absorption on the grounds that he is an artist, as Sheila does, since he is a psychiatrist. It’s an ironic choice of profession for a man we come to know as guarded and aloof. Cole builds a portrait of Julius through his daily interactions with other people, like the taxi driver whose cab he enters gruffly. “The way you came into my car without saying hello, that was bad,” the driver rebukes him. “Hey, I’m African just like you, why you do this?” Julius apologizes for this small breach of solidarity, but insincerely: “I wasn’t sorry at all. I was in no mood for people who tried to lay claims on me.”

Indeed, for most of the novel he is alone, meditating in Sebaldian fashion on the atrocities of history as he takes long walks through Manhattan. When, during a trip to Brussels, he meets a man who wants to intervene in history—Farouq, a young Moroccan intellectual who declares that “America is a version of Al-Qaeda”—Julius is decidedly unimpressed:

There was something powerful about him, a seething intelligence, something that wanted to believe itself indomitable. But he was one of the thwarted ones. His script would stay in proportion.

Open City can’t be said to endorse Julius’s aesthetic solipsism. On the contrary, the last chapter finds him trapped on a fire escape outside Carnegie Hall in the rain, a striking symbol of a man isolated by culture. Just moments before, he had been united with the rest of the audience in Mahlerian rapture; now, he reflects, “my fellow concertgoers went about their lives oblivious to my plight,” as he tries to avoid slipping and falling to his death. The scene is Cole’s acknowledgment that aesthetic consciousness remains passive and solipsistic even when experienced in common, and that danger demands a different kind of solidarity—one that is active, ethical, even political. Yet Cole conjures Julius’s aristocratic fatalism in such intimate detail that the “Rejoice! Believe!” approach—to literature, and to life—can only appear childish.

Writers of this cohort do sometimes try to imagine a better world, but they tend to do so in terms that are metaphysical rather than political, moving at one bound from the fallen present to some kind of messianic future. In her 2022 novel Pure Colour, Heti tells the story of a woman named Mira whose grief over her father’s death prompts her to speculate about what Judaism calls the world to come. In Heti’s vision, this is not a place to which the soul repairs after death, nor is it some kind of revolutionary political arrangement; rather, it is an entirely new world that God will one day create to replace the one we live in, which she calls “the first draft of existence.”

The hardest thing to accept, for Heti’s protagonist, is that the end of our world will mean the disappearance of art. “Art would never leave us like a father dying,” Mira says. “In a way, it would always remain.” But over the course of Pure Colour, she comes to accept that even art is transitory. In a profoundly self-accusing passage, she concludes that a better world might even require the disappearance of art, since

art is preserved on hearts of ice. It is only those with icebox hearts and icebox hands who have the coldness of soul equal to the task of keeping art fresh for the centuries, preserved in the freezer of their hearts and minds.

Tao Lin’s unnerving, affectless autofiction leaves a rather different impression than Heti’s, and he has sometimes been identified as a voice from the next generation, the millennials. But his 2021 novel Leave Society shows him thinking along similar lines as the children of the Seventies. In Taipei, from 2013, Lin’s alter ego is named Paul, and he spends most of the novel joylessly eating in restaurants and taking mood-altering drugs. In Leave Society he is named Li, but he is recognizably the same person, perched on a knife-edge between extreme sensitivity and neurotic withdrawal. In the interim, he has decided that the cure for his troubles, and the world’s, lies in purging the body of the toxins that infiltrate it from every direction.

Like Heti, Lin anticipates a great erasure. All of recorded history, he writes, has been merely a “brief, fallible transition . . . from matter into the imagination.” Sometime soon we will emerge into a universe that bears no resemblance to the one we know. Writers, Lin concludes, participate in this process not by working for social change but by reforming the self. “Li disliked trying to change others,” Lin writes, and believed that “people who are concerned about evil and injustice in the world should begin the campaign against those things at their nearest source—themselves.”

One way or another, writers in this cohort all acknowledge the same injunction—even the ones who struggle against it. In his new book of poems, The Lights, Ben Lerner strives to elaborate an idea of redemption that is both private and social:

I don’t know any songs, but won’t withdraw. I am dreaming the pathetic dream of a pathos capable of redescription, so that corporate personhood becomes more than legal fiction. A dream in prose of poetry, a long dream of waking.

The dream of uniting the sophistication of art with the straightforwardness of justice also animates Lerner’s fiction, where it often takes the form of rueful comedy. In 10:04, the narrator cooks dinner for an Occupy Wall Street protester, but when asked how often he has been to Zuccotti Park, he dodges the question. His activism is limited to cooking, which he pompously describes as a way of being “a producer and not a consumer alone of those substances necessary for sustenance and growth within my immediate community.” That the dream never becomes more than a dream betrays Lerner’s similarity to Lin, Heti, and Cole, who frankly acknowledge the hiatus between art and justice, though without celebrating it.

Zadie Smith has always been too deeply rooted in the social comedy of the English novel to embrace autofiction, yet she also registers this disconnect, as can be seen in the way her influences have shifted over time. When it was first published, White Teeth was compared to Infinite Jest and Don DeLillo’s Underworld as a work of what James Wood called “hysterical realism.” The book’s arch humor, proliferating plot, and penchant for exaggeration owe much to the author Wood identified as the “parent” of that genre: Charles Dickens.

When Smith says that a woman “needed no bra—she was independent, even of gravity,” she is borrowing Dickens’s technique of making characters so intensely themselves that their essence saturates everything around them—as when he writes of the nouveau riche Veneerings, in Our Mutual Friend, that “their carriage was new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures were new, they themselves were new.” Dickens is a guest star in The Fraud, appearing at several of William Ainsworth’s dinner parties, and the news of his death prompts Eliza Touchet to offer an apt tribute: “She knew she lived in an age of things . . . and Charles had been the poet of things.”

But Dickens, who at another point in the novel is gently disparaged for his moralizing “sermons,” is no longer the presiding genius of Smith’s fiction. (Smith wrote in a recent essay that her first principle in taking up the historical novel was “no Dickens,” and she expressed a wry disappointment that he had forced his way into the proceedings.) Her 2005 novel, On Beauty, was a reimagining of E. M. Forster’s Howards End, and while her style has continued to evolve from book to book, Forster’s influence has been clear ever since, in everything from her preference for short chapters to her belief in “keep[ing] one’s mind open.”

Smith’s affinity for Forster owes something to their analogous historical situations. An Edwardian liberal who lived into the age of fascism and communism, Forster defended his values—“tolerance, good temper and sympathy,” as he put it in the 1939 essay “What I Believe”—with something of a guilty conscience, recognizing that the militant younger generation regarded them as “bourgeois luxuries.”

At the end of The Fraud, Eliza encounters Mr. Bogle’s son Henry, who has grown disgusted with his father’s quietism and become a political radical. He reproaches her for being more interested in understanding injustice than in doing something about it, proclaiming:

By God, don’t you see that what young men hunger for today is not “improvement” or “charity” or any of the watchwords of your Ladies’ Societies. They hunger for truth! For truth itself! For justice!

This certainty and urgency is the opposite of keeping one’s mind open, and while Mrs. Touchet—and Smith—aren’t prepared to say that it is wrong, they are certain that it’s not for them: “This essential and daily battle of life he had described was one she could no more envisage living herself than she could imagine crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a hot air balloon.”

Whether they style themselves as humanists or aesthetes, realists or visionaries, the most powerful writers who were born in the Seventies share this basic aloofness. To the next generation, the millennials, their disengagement from the collective struggle may seem reprehensible. For me, as I suspect is the case for many readers my age, it is part of what makes them such reliable guides to understanding, if not the times we live in, then at least the disjunction between the times and the self that must try to negotiate them.

#zadie smith #books #writing

[coghive]

World Renowned Music Duo Keith & Kristyn Getty Nominated for 2023 Grammy® Award for Confessio - Irish American Roots

Keith & Kristyn Getty Earn First GRAMMY® Nomination for Confessio - Irish American Roots, Best Roots Gospel Album. Confessio – Irish American Roots traces the Gettys’ journey back to their native homeland to explore the connection between Ireland’s enduring faith music heritage and its legacy in America. The album was recorded on the North Coast of Ireland during the lockdowns and showcases 15 modern and timeless hymns, highlighting traditional Irish melodies and instrumentation, while also featuring performances by a musically diverse array of stellar guests including multiple GRAMMY-winning artists such as Alison Krauss, Kirk Whalum and bluegrass icon Ricky Skaggs. The Getty’s songs are sung by an estimated 100 million+ people each year. As ambassadors of hymn writing, the Gettys have performed for presidents and prime ministers, and their annual national hymn tour and Christmas tour regularly sell out venues such as The Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall. In 2017, Keith was honored as an Officer of the Order of the British Empire by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. “We made this album when we were home with our daughters in Northern Ireland during Covid,” said Keith and Kristyn Getty. “It was our love letter to the land of our birth: the place that gave the origins and the meaning to why we write hymns, from its first hymn writer St. Patrick and his ‘Confession,’ to many beloved modern hymns. We are honored by this GRAMMY® nomination and we hope the project shines a greater light on the Christian heritage of the West, the importance of hymn singing, and the irresistible beauty of the Lord Jesus.” The 65th GRAMMY® Awards, will air live on Sunday, Feb. 5, from Los Angeles' Crypto.com Arena, and it will broadcast live on the CBS Television Network and stream live and on-demand on Paramount+ at 8-11:30 p.m. ET / 5-8:30 p.m. PT+. The Best Roots Gospel Album category is for albums containing greater than 50% playing time of newly recorded, vocal, traditional/roots gospel music, including country, Southern gospel, bluegrass, and Americana recordings. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLPUYk1W1AE&list=PL0ONU3wVC9D0hGrooLAEKK0-BH2_fONuM For more information on Keith & Kristyn Getty please visit: www.gettymusic.com About Keith & Kristyn Getty Keith and Kristyn Getty have been called the “preeminent” hymn writers of this generation who have “changed the way evangelicals worship.” Their hymn “In Christ Alone,” written with Stuart Townend, is one of the most-sung hymns in the world, estimated to be sung by over 100 million people each year. As ambassadors of hymn writing, the Gettys have performed for presidents and prime ministers, and their annual national hymn tour and Christmas tour regularly sell out venues such as The Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall. In 2017, Keith was honored as an Officer of the Order of the British Empire by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, marking the first time the award has been given to an individual in the world of contemporary church music. Since its founding, Getty Music, has expanded to include a publishing company of modern hymn writers, a record label, touring company, online learning company, charitable foundation and an annual “Sing” Conference & Festival which welcomes over 15,000 people to Nashville. Keith & Kristyn live between Nashville and Northern Ireland with their four daughters. Read the full article

#Keith&KristynGetty

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Americana Music Association Announces 2013 Awards Nominees

(Nashville, TN) May 14, 2013 – The Americana Music Association announced nominees today for the 2013 Honors & Awards in Los Angeles at the Grammy Museum®.  The ceremony featured performances by now nominated artists Buddy Miller and Jim Lauderdale, T Bone Burnett with Lisa Marie Presley, Elizabeth Cook and The Milk Carton Kids.  The program was broadcast live on AXS TV, who will present a special encore presentation of the event later this evening at 9PM ET/6PM PT.

Shovels & Rope, with four nominations, followed by Emmylou Harris and Miller, with three each, lead the nominee slate while many other notable artists were recognized including:  Rodney Crowell, John Fullbright, Lauderdale, The Lumineers, JD McPherson, the aforementioned Milk Carton Kids, Bruce Robison & Kelly Willis, Richard Thompson, and Dwight Yoakam.  Winners will be announced live at the annual Americana Honors and Awards, presented by Nissan, on September 18th live on AXS TV from the historic Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, TN.

Today’s celebration in Los Angeles kicked off with an Americana tribute to George Jones featuring Buddy Miller and Jim Lauderdale leading their all-star band comprised of Fats Kaplin, Brian Owings and Jay Weaver.  The music continued with performances by Lisa Marie Presley with special guest T Bone Burnett, Elizabeth Cook and the Milk Carton Kids.

Burnett, who produced Americana masterpieces ranging from “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” to the Americana and Grammy award winning “Raising Sand” by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant, spoke to the Clive Davis Theatre audience about the genre that honors the roots of American music that has grown to prominence in recent years.

This year the nominees reflect the diverse and artistic breadth of the genre, where legends and the next generation of stars share the stage.

2013 AMERICANA HONORS & AWARDS NOMINEES

ALBUM OF THE YEAR Buddy & Jim, Buddy Miller & Jim Lauderdale Cheater’s Game, Kelly Willis & Bruce Robison From The Ground Up, John Fullbright O’ Be Joyful, Shovels & Rope Old Yellow Moon, Emmylou Harris/Rodney Crowell

SONG OF THE YEAR Birmingham - Shovels & Rope Good Things Happen to Bad People - Richard Thompson Ho Hey - The Lumineers North Side Gal - JD McPherson

ARTIST OF THE YEAR Buddy Miller Dwight Yoakam Emmylou Harris Richard Thompson

EMERGING ARTIST OF THE YEAR JD McPherson John Fullbright Milk Carton Kids Shovels & Rope

DUO/GROUP OF THE YEAR  Buddy Miller and Jim Lauderdale Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell

Kelly Willis and Bruce Robison

Shovels & Rope

INSTRUMENTALIST OF THE YEAR Doug Lancio Larry Campbell Greg Leisz Jay Bellerose Mike Bub

The Americana Honors & Awards, presented by Nissan, returns to the historically cool Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, TN on September 18, 2013 (as part of the Americana Music Festival - September 18-22, 2013 at venues throughout Music City). The iconic Jim Lauderdale will once again host the Honors & Awards, while the phenomenal Buddy Miller will lead the All-Star Band. Described by Paste Magazine as “…the worlds best awards show…,” the Americana Honors & Awards have featured once-in-a-lifetime moments, unforgettable performances and legendary collaborations.  Tickets for the Honors & Awards show come with the purchase of Americana Music Festival & Conference Registrations. 

About the Americana Music Association

The Americana Music Association is a not for profit professional trade organization whose mission is to advocate for the authentic voice of American roots music

#americana music association

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Companion // A Soft Scarlet Witch/ Vision Playlist

Featuring songs from Nikki Lane, Sam Philips, Alison Krauss, and Hozier, to name a few. Based on Vision and Wanda’s ‘Love Actually’-level life in Edinburgh in Avengers: Infinity War. [Listen]

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