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Articles by Lorin Stein
Jonathan Lethem, The Art of Fiction No. 177
Interviewed by Lorin Stein Jonathan Lethem was born in 1964, the son of the painter Richard Lethem and the late political activist Judith Lethem. His first three novels earned him a following among readers of crime novels and science fiction, and a reputation among readers of experimental novels as a pasticheur whose parodies had an uncanny beauty and depth of their own: Gun, with Occasional Music (1994) is the first and only volume in a notional series of Chandleresque whodunits.
The Radicalization of Édouard Louis
When his debut novel caused a sensation in France, Édouard Louis was just 21. The End of Eddy (originally published in 2014 as En finir avec Eddy Bellegueule) was an unflinching account of Louis’s difficult childhood as a gay boy in Hallencourt, a postindustrial village in northern France. In this world, the men were monstrous alcoholics, the women were trapped in miserable marriages, and the children were too many.
The Mystery Guest by Grégoire Bouillier
In the middle of a cold Sunday afternoon, a thirty-year-old Frenchman sleeps on the sofa in his darkened Paris apartment. The phone rings. He picks up the receiver and hears the voice of the woman who left him four years earlier without a word of explanation. None is forthcoming: after four years of silence, his vanished lover has simply called to invite him to a friend's birthday party. Thus begins The Mystery Guest, a brief but spirited romp through the jungles of masculine insecurity.
'Freedom' and the Future of Literary Fiction
by Lorin Stein Like Chris, I've had the lit business on my mind thanks to Freedom. Once again Franzen has kicked up a fuss over the question of taste—over what makes a novel good and who gets to decide. More interesting to me, his book shows how healthy fiction is, even as the business is in crisis. Full disclosure: until a few months ago I worked for Franzen's publisher, Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Like many of Freedom's early readers, I feel a special attachment to the book.
J’Accuse!
J’Accuse! History of Violence by Édouard Louis, translated from the French by Lorin Stein Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 212 pp., $25.00 Who Killed My Father by Édouard Louis, translated from the French by Lorin Stein New Directions, 87 pp., $15.95 Dominique NabokovÉdouard Louis, New York City, May 2017 The story begins late on Christmas Eve, 2012. Édouard is twenty years old, and he has left the apartment of friends in northeast Paris, where they have had a few bottles of wine.
Ask The Paris Review Archives – The Paris Review
December 13, 2017 Ask The Paris Review By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, What’s the cure for hopeless indecision (from big life decisions to what to do on a Thursday evening to whether you should buy nail polish in that shade of Cabernet)? Possibilities are dizzying—sometimes a little too dizzying. Even when I make pro/con lists, flip coins, and ask fate, I still hesitate and second guess all the decisions I do make.
The End of Terry Southern Month
Thanks also—equally—to those who hate the stuff, and piped up. We are not in the criticism business at The Paris Review. But we believe in it. Here we differ with our friends at The Believer: we like snark, when it comes from the gut. It may not be the lifeblood of the arts, but a healthy organism also needs bile, not to mention a gag reflex. You haters are going to hate this last piece.
What Books Make You Cringe To Remember?
First book crushes: The feelings are so strong and obsessive. The books seem smart, sophisticated, cool; the characters in them say and do such great things, they seem like guides sent to teach you how to be that way too. But then the crush goes, and the object of one’s former affection becomes an embarrassment?—?or at least the memory of you quoting them so seriously does.
The Little Shoppe of Negativity
I have no idea what kind of merchandise they will carry in the Little Shoppe of Positivity, so I asked some friends having coffee at that café next door what a positivity shoppe would sell. “All kinds of angel paraphernalia I would imagine,” one said. “Needlepoint pillows with positive thoughts,” said another. “I don’t know, but every time I drive by it I feel happy,” said a third. Now I needed a second brick.
4' 33": On Listening to the Silence
About a month ago, at the Museum of Modern Art, I attended a performance of John Cage’s 4’33”. I’d read about its famous silence, but because I’d never sat in a theater and experienced that silence, all I had were expectations. I expected the pianist to be a man, which is what expectations do, they give you a picture of what will happen before it happens, and it turned out the performer was a violinist.
Type Writing: An Interview with Jim Shepard
Jim Shepard is always funny in conversation—but never more so than when he’s imparting dark musings about the future of the country or about human nature in general. And he can often be found musing about these dark things, for he is, as he puts it, “resourcefully pessimistic.” As evidence, he cites the title of his just-released book, The Tunnel at the End of the Light: Essays on Movies and Politics.
Winners of the Honey & Wax Women's Book-Collecting Prize
Jessica Kahan’s collection of romance novels from the Jazz age and Depression era. Imagine a book collector, a person who has devoted their life to seeking out rare tomes in dusty shops, who arranges their finds, these prized possessions, purposefully and carefully, on a shelf just out of reach. Chances are you will have imagined a man, perhaps one with graying hair and spectacles. And a pipe.
Little Red and Big Bad, Part 7
Read earlier installments of Gabrielle Bell’s original, true, biographical version of “Little Red Riding Hood.” Gabrielle Bell is the author, most recently, of Everything Is Flammable, her first full-length graphic memoir, which was published by Uncivilized Books in June. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.
The Little Children of Hamelin
Pewter, then silver, the palest gold, an almost silence we almost could hear, dawn led us out. So light a sound had lifted us from our pillows. And to hear it clearer, there at the end of our hearing where it licked at our ears, we crept softly away from the sleeping town. What was it singing, ringing, piping, saying? One more, one step more, and all that we always were overhearing at last would speak to us — where the world, whispering whispering, was.
Staff Picks: Paul Yoon, W. S. Merwin, Edwidge Danticat
McDermott & McGough, The Stations of Reading Gaol (IV. Oscar Wilde taking his constitutional.), 1917 (detail), MMXVII, oil and gold leaf on linen, 24 x 18 inches. The other evening, after my colleagues had all gone, I slouched into one of our office reading chairs and dipped into Paul Yoon’s latest collection of short stories, The Mountain. I didn’t get far—I read “A Willow and the Moon,” which opens the book, and stopped—but only because Yoon’s prose is far too mesmerizing to rush through.
On Finding a Lost Ezra Pound Poem in a Castle
The Schloss Brunnenburg, where Ezra Pound lived late in his life. “Hast thou 2 loaves of bread Sell one + with the dole Buy straightaway some hyacinths To feed thy soul.” —Ezra Pound I found this short poem by Ezra Pound as I was researching a book about Pound’s years in St. Elizabeths Hospital. It appears for the first time in my book, The Bughouse, and in the fall issue of the Paris Review.
The Day After
Over the centuries, there have been innumerable interpretations of the story of Adam and Eve. This week on the Daily, Stephen Greenblatt, the author of The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve, retells some of these legends in modern idiom, and invents a few of his own. William Blake, The Expulsion from Eden (detail), 1808. The first humans were perfectly beautiful and very wise, but they lacked one of the five senses on which fallen humanity most depends: sight.
Sex in the Garden
Over the centuries, there have been innumerable interpretations of the story of Adam and Eve. This week on the Daily, Stephen Greenblatt, the author of The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve, retells some of these legends in modern idiom, and invents a few of his own. William Blake, Satan Watching the Endearments of Adam and Eve (detail), 1808. The serpent, the subtlest of all the beasts of the field, had observed with interest the humans’ sexual intercourse in Paradise.
Michael Friedman's Unwritten Columns
Courtesy of New York City Center. In their post this Monday about the death of the composer and librettist Michael Friedman, Lorin and Sadie Stein mentioned their surprise that Michael had published just a single piece on the Daily.
Karl Wirsum's Casting Call
Karl Wirsum, Mr. Dry Iced “T”, 1987, acrylic on canvas (with painted wood frame), 38 1/2? x 56 1/2?.
The Tree of Knowledge, Good, and Evil
Over the centuries, there have been innumerable interpretations of the story of Adam and Eve. This week on the Daily, Stephen Greenblatt, the author of The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve, retells some of these legends in modern idiom, and invents a few of his own. William Blake, Raphael Warns Adam and Eve (detail), 1808. The newly created humans were not only physically beautiful but also supremely wise.
A Friend with a Heart-Shaped Leaf
Courtesy of Nicolas Gray. Patience Gray, the most important food writer you’ve never heard of, spent more than thirty years living in a remote corner of Southern Italy—without electricity, modern plumbing, or a telephone. Her 1986 cookbook, Honey from a Weed, is one of the most beloved of the twentieth century, yet little was known of her reclusive life until now.
Eating the Fruit
Over the centuries, there have been innumerable interpretations of the story of Adam and Eve. This week on the Daily, Stephen Greenblatt—the author of The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve—retells some of these legends in modern idiom, and invents a few of his own. Lucas Cranach the Elder, Adam and Eve, oil and tempera on linden wood, 7? × 11?, circa 1528.
Writers on Pencils
Pencils are a writer’s best friend—we’ve got sixty-four years of testimonials to prove it. We also have a few extra pencils … which is why we’re offering a special back-to-school offer. “I’m not picky, but my preference is for yellow legal pads and a nice number two pencil.” —Toni Morrison, The Art of Fiction, No. 134 “The writer doesn’t need economic freedom.
Announcing: A Call for a Writer-in-Residence
The Paris Review is partnering with the Standard, East Village to find a Writer-in-Residence. The idea is this: in January, a writer with a book under contract will get a room at the Standard, East Village, in downtown Manhattan, for three weeks’ uninterrupted work. Applications will be judged by the editors of The Paris Review and Standard Culture. Find application details here.
Little Red and Big Bad, Part 6
Read earlier installments of Gabrielle Bell’s original, true, biographical version of “Little Red Riding Hood.” Gabrielle Bell is the author, most recently, of Everything Is Flammable, her first full-length graphic memoir, which was published by Uncivilized Books in June. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Michael Friedman (1975-2017)
Michael Friedman. It was surprising, when we searched the archive, to discover that Michael Friedman published only one piece on The Paris Review Daily: a response to the Metropolitan Opera’s staging of The Death of Klinghoffer.
John Ashbery, The Art of Poetry No. 33
The interview was conducted at John Ashbery's apartment in the section of Manhattan known as Chelsea. When I arrived, Ashbery was away, and the doorman asked me to wait outside. Soon the poet arrived and we went up by elevator to a spacious, well-lighted apartment in which a secretary was hard at work. We sat in easy chairs in the living room, Ashbery with his back to the large windows. The predominant decor was blue and white, and books lined the whole of one wall.
Grand Opera's War with Itself
The Death of Klinghoffer and grand opera’s political tradition. The Death of Klinghoffer. Photo: Metropolitan Opera Opera is the most pretentious art form of all time, which makes it an easy target for the Marx Brothers and for Bugs Bunny—but its pretension makes it explosive.
Roaring Girl: London’s Sharp-Elbowed, Loudmouthed Mary Frith
How Mary Frith’s reputation changed from bawdy rogue to defender of the patriarchy. Moll CutPurse smoking. When James VI of Scotland took the English crown in 1603, it was heralded as a blessed return to normality. For the previous forty-one years, the natural order had been put on its head by the reign of Elizabeth I, a woman performing the ultimate male duty. Elizabeth’s reign had necessarily been an act of political transvestism.
Plainness in Diversity
John Ashbery. Photo: Lynn Davis This week, in memory of our longtime contributor John Ashbery, we bring you a selection of his poems from our archive. Plainness in Diversity Silly girls your heads full of boys There is a last sample of talk on the outer side Your stand at last lifts to dumb evening It is reflected in the steep blue sides of the crater So much water shall wash over these our breaths Yet shall remain unwashed at the end. The fine Branches of the fir tree catch at it, ebbing.
Death's Plus-One
Early that fall, Amy’s cousin JJ was leaving Bertie’s Hair Salon in Fox Point and decided to try the restroom at Schuyler’s Funeral Home next door. Bertie’s facility was cramped, there was a cat box under the sink, and the loo paper was rough pink squares of construction paper. Well, it felt like construction paper, and it lent a depressingly cheap air to the place.
“Korean Soap Opera”
This week, in memory of our longtime contributor John Ashbery, we bring you a selection of his poems from our archive. Korean Soap Opera My sister and I don’t seem to get along too well anymore. She always has to have everything new in her house. Cherished ideals don’t suit her teal, rust and eggshell color scheme. Of course, I was a buyer when she was still on the street peddling the Communist youth weekly. I have a degree in marketing. Her boyfriend thinks I’m old-fashioned.
The Ashbery Files
John Ashbery was a prolific contributor to The Paris Review. Over the years, we published forty of his poems, plus two long prose pieces, a series of collages, and an Art of Poetry interview. From an early age, he started cropping up in other people’s interviews, too. Already in 1966, Allen Ginsberg was comparing Ashbery to Alexander Pope (“I was listening to him read The Skaters, and it sounded as inventive and exquisite, in all its parts, as The Rape of the Lock”).
Postsurgical Reading: Advice from ‘The Paris Review’
Have a question for the editors of The Paris Review? Email us. Dear Paris Review, My writing mentor said that if I want to raise my writing to the next level, then I have to learn to write suggestively in addition to writing descriptively. Is this true and where can one learn to write suggestively? Yours, Stuck in the Basement Dear Stuck, Suggestive is good! Suggestive is a plus.
Putting on the Veil: Boys Invade an All-Girls School
From the cover of Veil. I wore the full-face veil for the first time on my wedding day. I was eighteen years old and I had never worn it before. In Pakistani Muslim tradition, this was the day of the ceremonial giving away of the bride, the day I was to say goodbye to my family (theatrically, and before an audience of a few hundred) and go off to be with my husband and his family.
#Readeverywhere Photo Contest
Two handsome reviews on the shores of Rydal Water, in the UK. Our dual-subscription deal with the London Review of Books is in its final days, but don’t worry—there’s still time to sign up! Act quickly and you can get a one-year subscription to both The Paris Review and the London Review of Books, along with access to our digital archives, all for just $80. (Already a Paris Review subscriber?
Cassandra at Weddings: Advice from ‘The Paris Review’
Have a question for the editors of The Paris Review? Email us. Dear Paris Review, I’m the only child of a single mom, who’s obviously been my best friend from the start. But here’s the thing: after twenty-six years, she recently remarried—okay, it’s been two years since—but I’m still “adjusting.” I read Cassandra at the Wedding around the time my mom got hitched, and it was exactly what I needed. Could you recommend a few more of those sorts of novels … to see me through?
Little Red and Big Bad
Gabrielle Bell is the author, most recently, of Everything Is Flammable, her first full-length graphic memoir,which was published by Uncivilized Books in June. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Help! My Friend Is a Vaper: Advice from ‘The Paris Review’
Dear Paris Review, I’m suspicious of memoirs. I don’t think people remember things as well as the genre suggests they do, and life doesn’t play out so neatly. I love Vivian Gornick’s writing partly because her memoirs work according to different rules, but she seems to be doing something pretty unique. Are there others like her? Sincerely, Memoirphobic Dear Phobic, Or should I say, Dear Telepathic—I was just about to recommend Vivian Gornick to another advice seeker.
best audiobook eva?: Lorin Stein Answers Your Questions
Dear Paris Review, When I suggest he read something, my dad always says, I’m waiting for the movie to come out, just to rankle me. I’ve been meaning to send him a stack of films that are truly good adaptations. What should I send? Sincerely, A Rankled Amateur Dear Rankled, It may not be your father’s speed, but you should definitely check out Gabrielle, Patrice Chéreau’s 2005 adaptation of The Return, by Joseph Conrad.
It Was a Year of Pirates: Read Joe Scarborough’s Favorite Poem
We’re going down! A couple of weeks ago, before the president attacked the show on Twitter, I was asked to appear on Morning Joe. This surprised me. I was under the impression that Morning Joe was a political program. It seemed to me the producers had made a mistake. Maybe they’d mixed us up with the New York Review? With the London Review? Or, could it be … the Partisan Review? After I found the studio in Rockefeller Center and was deposited in the empty green room, my anxiety continued to mount.
Politics and ‘The Paris Review’: Announcing Our Summer Issue
In the last six or seven months, I’ve heard a lot of talk about the importance of the arts. Maybe you have, too. In certain circles, it’s become a sort of refrain: we need the arts more than ever. In my experience, this has not been—in any obvious or immediate way—the case. Lately I’ve been watching a lot of news. My taste for fiction has narrowed. I’m more impatient. A certain kind of story went stale for me last November.
A Note from Our Editor
Seven years ago, we opened up the full archive of Paris Review interviews, the famous Writers at Work series, to the public. Since then, millions of readers have enjoyed these in-depth conversations. The New York Times called them “the best party in town.” Now we’re asking our readers to help keep the party going. For less than fifteen cents a day, you can subscribe and keep enjoying full access to our interviews—and to everything else we’ve published in the last sixty-four years.
Remembering Robert Silvers, 1929–2017
Silvers, left, with Prince Sadruddin Aga Khan, The Paris Review’s first publisher (center) and George Plimpton (right). We’re sad to learn that Robert Silvers has died after a brief illness, at the age of eighty-seven. It is hard—both painful and disorienting—to imagine the world without him.
Sentinel Species: Meditation on a Life of Birding
Meditation on a life of birding. Every fall, thousands of snow geese descend on Addison, Vermont, stark-white birds with black wing tips falling to the fields and ponds near the Dead Creek Wildlife Management Area. Every fall I intend to drive north to see them, and every fall I forget and am left with the worry that I will miss the last great season.
Jonathan Lethem, The Art of Fiction No. 177
Jonathan Lethem was born in 1964, the son of the painter Richard Lethem and the late political activist Judith Lethem. His first three novels earned him a following among readers of crime novels and science fiction, and a reputation among readers of experimental novels as a pasticheur whose parodies had an uncanny beauty and depth of their own: Gun, with Occasional Music (1994) is the first and only volume in a notional series of Chandleresque whodunits.
The Quotable David Salle: Selections from ‘How to See’
Recently, thanks to heavy wait times at the twenty-four-hour Genius Bar on Fifth Avenue, I found myself killing an evening at the Plaza with nothing to read but the galleys of a book of art criticism, How to See, by the painter David Salle. It turned out to be perfect company—witty, chatty, intimate, sharp. And slightly exotic (at least for this reader): you rarely see novelists write so knowingly, on a serious first-name basis, about each other’s work.
Chris Marker’s Studio
Chris Marker, whose name was not “Chris Marker,” was a play of masks and avatars, an artist who leapt, like one of his beloved cats, from medium to medium. If, as Walter Benjamin said, a great work either dissolves a genre or invents one, if each great work is a special case, Marker produced a series of special cases.
How Merle Haggard Found A New Kind Of Confessional Verse
Ever since I started editing The Paris Review, I’ve wished we could interview Merle Haggard. No songwriter means as much to me. Unfortunately, the Review doesn’t have a series on the Art of Songwriting (and for good reasons), so for the past six years I just wished. Then last Friday, at a friend’s wedding, I met a country deejay named Rebecca Birmingham. We happened to start talking about Merle and how much his songs moved us both, how true they were to experience, how original they sound even now.
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