(Oh, hi. I'm back. Life has dealt me a tough hand since I started this blog. I'm back nonetheless.)
I'm finishing up Lois Banner's Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox, and I'm of two different minds about it. My predominant opinion is that it does an elegant job at fusing details of Monroe's life together, yielding a really persuasive persona(lity). It leaps off the page for most of the book, whether the reader is peeking at the included photos or not, and no matter how many of Monroe's movies the reader has seen (this reader hasn't seen enough of them, despite her interest in the filmic and historical persona: hello, Netflix).
Some things bothered me, though, and they mostly center on Banner's own representation of the originality of her research. Maybe I'm too bound by some sort of scholarly modesty, but Banner's way of presenting her own innovations really grated on me: she peppers her text with "I have discovered"(s) and, even worse, generalizes about what "other biographers" do and do not show. Even though I can only, grudgingly admit to having read just the Mailer and the Oates interpretations of Monroe's life, I can't imagine that all biographies have done any one thing as a unified group. A little more care in this would have benefited Banner's scholarly credibility - and I know she has it! I just wish she'd written it in a little more gracefully. On the other hand, I might be selling my own work too short.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Fiurther? Fiore
I don't like to think of myself as a nitpicker. I do, however, cringe every time I see an easily avoided typo or misspelling in a reputable publication. I also like to ponder why it was missed - which is easier to determine in some cases than in others.
Today's installment comes from the Guardian, which has long been my paper of choice, with the New York Times a close second (and that sometimes more out of liberal loyalty than belief in its journalistic quality)
The headline is an interesting beast: "Ben Bernanke won't commit to fiurther Fed stimulus – US politics live." The simplest explanation for the mistake is that the letters I and U are right next to each other on a standard QWERTY keyboard, so whoever typed the headline accidentally added an extra vowel. Then, of course, no copy-editor caught the error.
Punctuation is worth another post, but I did want to share the below gem that I came across not five minutes after finding the "fiurther" fiasco. The subheading on an article about China's economic power in the supermarket reads as follows: "Within a generation China, is likely to replace the US as the biggest market in the world. We report from the heart of the consumer revolution []" (brackets mine). The missing period at the end of the second sentence is bad; the misplaced comma incorrectly dividing the first sentence's clauses is even worse.
What's most interesting to me as I revise my post is that, two days after I came across the articles and many days after their respective publication dates, nobody at the Guardian has gone in to correct the error. Is the culprit (lack of) attention, time, or money? Is it proofreading a casualty of our fast-paced new media environment? Do staffers need to be paid more, or worked harder?In our fast-paced world of mutable media, I would have expected someone to pounce on it right away and fix it, with or without reference to the original mistake. Our mutable media makes it easy to cover over mistakes - so in the spirit of historical accuracy, maybe overlooked errors like these are actually good things.
In any case, I wonder if the Guardian is looking for web copy editors?
Today's installment comes from the Guardian, which has long been my paper of choice, with the New York Times a close second (and that sometimes more out of liberal loyalty than belief in its journalistic quality)
The headline is an interesting beast: "Ben Bernanke won't commit to fiurther Fed stimulus – US politics live." The simplest explanation for the mistake is that the letters I and U are right next to each other on a standard QWERTY keyboard, so whoever typed the headline accidentally added an extra vowel. Then, of course, no copy-editor caught the error.
Punctuation is worth another post, but I did want to share the below gem that I came across not five minutes after finding the "fiurther" fiasco. The subheading on an article about China's economic power in the supermarket reads as follows: "Within a generation China, is likely to replace the US as the biggest market in the world. We report from the heart of the consumer revolution []" (brackets mine). The missing period at the end of the second sentence is bad; the misplaced comma incorrectly dividing the first sentence's clauses is even worse.
What's most interesting to me as I revise my post is that, two days after I came across the articles and many days after their respective publication dates, nobody at the Guardian has gone in to correct the error. Is the culprit (lack of) attention, time, or money? Is it proofreading a casualty of our fast-paced new media environment? Do staffers need to be paid more, or worked harder?In our fast-paced world of mutable media, I would have expected someone to pounce on it right away and fix it, with or without reference to the original mistake. Our mutable media makes it easy to cover over mistakes - so in the spirit of historical accuracy, maybe overlooked errors like these are actually good things.
In any case, I wonder if the Guardian is looking for web copy editors?
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Mourning & Wishes for Rest
Two of my childhood heroes passed away this past week: Adam "MCA" Yauch of the Beastie Boys and children's book creator extraordinaire Maurice Sendak. (Sidenote: I didn't know until today that Sendak was from Brooklyn. This means that both men were born in the borough in which I now live, which helps me a little with my mourning.) Others have written far more eloquently than I on how important both men are to arts and letters, so I won't attempt that today. What I'm thinking through is how and why we mourn, especially when we don't personally know the person who has passed away.
I deliberately chose "non-traditional" obituaries for the links, in part because the Internet is scattered with hundreds of remembrances of both Yauch and Sendak, but also because I've been thinking a lot about what it means to memorialize (and mourn) someone. Derrida is useful here (on Levinas), and even Dylan Thomas.The obituaries to which people often seem to draw much of their information tend to be from "official" news sources like the New York Times - or perhaps the drawing is more internal, given that I used to think of that paper as more of an arbiter of influence than I currently do.
The other thing about memorials, as my post title indicates, is the invocation of a peaceful rest, and what that says about the mourner and the mourned. It is a beautiful thought, no matter one's religious (or non-religious) tradition. Lately, though, it's been occurring to me that the peaceful rest is in stark contrast to a survivor's roiling sadness and pain. I haven't yet decided how much I'll infuse my personal life into this blog, but suffice it to say that one of the closest people to me has received a cancer diagnosis, so Yauch's death, especially, is hitting me harder as I deal with my own loved one's pain. I keep thinking of his daughter and the pain, confusion, and rage that she is probably feeling. As much as I love the Beasties' music and Yauch's activism and humor, this is his daughter's tragedy, and his wife's, and the other Adam's and Mike D's, not mine.
Rest in peace, Adam Yauch and Maurice Sendak.
I deliberately chose "non-traditional" obituaries for the links, in part because the Internet is scattered with hundreds of remembrances of both Yauch and Sendak, but also because I've been thinking a lot about what it means to memorialize (and mourn) someone. Derrida is useful here (on Levinas), and even Dylan Thomas.The obituaries to which people often seem to draw much of their information tend to be from "official" news sources like the New York Times - or perhaps the drawing is more internal, given that I used to think of that paper as more of an arbiter of influence than I currently do.
The other thing about memorials, as my post title indicates, is the invocation of a peaceful rest, and what that says about the mourner and the mourned. It is a beautiful thought, no matter one's religious (or non-religious) tradition. Lately, though, it's been occurring to me that the peaceful rest is in stark contrast to a survivor's roiling sadness and pain. I haven't yet decided how much I'll infuse my personal life into this blog, but suffice it to say that one of the closest people to me has received a cancer diagnosis, so Yauch's death, especially, is hitting me harder as I deal with my own loved one's pain. I keep thinking of his daughter and the pain, confusion, and rage that she is probably feeling. As much as I love the Beasties' music and Yauch's activism and humor, this is his daughter's tragedy, and his wife's, and the other Adam's and Mike D's, not mine.
Rest in peace, Adam Yauch and Maurice Sendak.
Monday, April 9, 2012
A Book of One's Own
Happy Monday!
I was recently struck by a small phrase in Michael Dirda's Washington Post review of Fiona MacCarthy's The Last Pre-Raphaelite: Edward Burne-Jones and the Victorian Imagination. Dirda calls the book (which I haven't yet read) "one of those books one can happily live in for a week." I love the idea of inhabiting a book - in part because it really speaks to what readers often feel when they encounter an engrossing text, and also because the phrase itself shifts our perceptions about what is and isn't possible to do, both with words and with books. To expand a bit on this latter point, I guess I'm more broadly interested in the poetic use of words to describe what one might consider an everyday experience.
I was recently struck by a small phrase in Michael Dirda's Washington Post review of Fiona MacCarthy's The Last Pre-Raphaelite: Edward Burne-Jones and the Victorian Imagination. Dirda calls the book (which I haven't yet read) "one of those books one can happily live in for a week." I love the idea of inhabiting a book - in part because it really speaks to what readers often feel when they encounter an engrossing text, and also because the phrase itself shifts our perceptions about what is and isn't possible to do, both with words and with books. To expand a bit on this latter point, I guess I'm more broadly interested in the poetic use of words to describe what one might consider an everyday experience.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Happy Birthday, Kurt
We miss you.
Among many other things, thanks for the best acoustic performance I've ever heard (and my favorite Nirvana song).
Among many other things, thanks for the best acoustic performance I've ever heard (and my favorite Nirvana song).
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Public Service Announcement
Not bad, actually.
(This show is my most recent guilty pleasure. That Damon Wayans, Jr. is quite a looker.)
(This show is my most recent guilty pleasure. That Damon Wayans, Jr. is quite a looker.)
Friday, February 10, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Great Bridge, History, and Hipsters.
I guess I've never really been one for reading history books. They're pretty popular in my family and among my friends, but I've always gravitated much more toward fiction and criticism. I was recently handed a copy of David McCullough's The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge and told that as a recent and fervent Brooklynite, I had to read it.
I couldn't put it down. Now that I'm finished with it, I actually miss it. I wish there was more. My fuzzy memories of McCullough's work from high school history - and his more recent appearance on Colbert - don't do justice to his talent. (My fuzzy memories of reading history textbooks are even less useful, although I was proud of myself for recognizing the Taft-Hartley Act.)
I've been thinking about why I had such an enchanting time reading this particular book. I think part of it is McCullough's open, empathetic prose, and his scrupulous attention to detail. (As a literary critic who does no archival research to speak of, the hours he must have spent gathering his material boggle my mind.) He vividly brought an era to life, and several important figures in my city's history jumped off the page (in particular, John, Washington, and Emily Roebling, and Boss Tweed). Permit me to channel Captain Obvious for a second, and say this: history is magical.
And then there's Brooklyn, with which, to be honest, I am a little obsessed. (I should have moved here years ago, and I think about that on a daily basis.) I am still well into the discovery phase when it comes to my own neighborhood, and now I want to gather all the information I can about its history.
And then there are hipsters.* When they** bike over that bridge, its history is almost invisible. Heck, it often is for me too, or at least was until I read the book, and I see it every day. But that confluence of modernity and history in one of the most (arguably) trail-blazing cities in the world is a force in which I'm really interested. I keep coming back to cities in a lot of my writing - in fact, I'm doing it right now in an abstract I'm working up right at this very moment. McCullough's book makes me want to keep doing it.
Perhaps I shall.
*Maybe a tenuous connection. You have to admit that the alliteration with history is nice, and maybe also admit that it made you think.
**Or anyone, really.
I couldn't put it down. Now that I'm finished with it, I actually miss it. I wish there was more. My fuzzy memories of McCullough's work from high school history - and his more recent appearance on Colbert - don't do justice to his talent. (My fuzzy memories of reading history textbooks are even less useful, although I was proud of myself for recognizing the Taft-Hartley Act.)
I've been thinking about why I had such an enchanting time reading this particular book. I think part of it is McCullough's open, empathetic prose, and his scrupulous attention to detail. (As a literary critic who does no archival research to speak of, the hours he must have spent gathering his material boggle my mind.) He vividly brought an era to life, and several important figures in my city's history jumped off the page (in particular, John, Washington, and Emily Roebling, and Boss Tweed). Permit me to channel Captain Obvious for a second, and say this: history is magical.
And then there's Brooklyn, with which, to be honest, I am a little obsessed. (I should have moved here years ago, and I think about that on a daily basis.) I am still well into the discovery phase when it comes to my own neighborhood, and now I want to gather all the information I can about its history.
And then there are hipsters.* When they** bike over that bridge, its history is almost invisible. Heck, it often is for me too, or at least was until I read the book, and I see it every day. But that confluence of modernity and history in one of the most (arguably) trail-blazing cities in the world is a force in which I'm really interested. I keep coming back to cities in a lot of my writing - in fact, I'm doing it right now in an abstract I'm working up right at this very moment. McCullough's book makes me want to keep doing it.
Perhaps I shall.
*Maybe a tenuous connection. You have to admit that the alliteration with history is nice, and maybe also admit that it made you think.
**Or anyone, really.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Wow
"In another time and in what would seem another world, on a day when two young men were walking on the moon, a very old woman on Long Island would tell reporters that the public excitement over the feat was not so much compared to what she had seen 'on the day they opened the Brooklyn Bridge.'"
-- David McCullough, The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge
-- David McCullough, The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Hello, Internet.
Perfection is the enemy of the good, or so they say. Perfection is the reason I've been meaning to start this blog for longer than I care to admit, and doing little more than meaning. I've been hoarding ideas for posts, and agonizing over a name, rather than actually posting. No more. Here I am!
Hi. I'm Axldemic, and I'm starting a blog. It's nice to meet you, 2006.
As you might have surmised from the name, I'm a lover of rock music (particularly the early to mid-nineties variety) and all things academic (I have a master's in lit and want to get my PhD). My main impetus for starting the blog is to work through ideas pertaining to literary and cultural criticism.
I'll also share thoughts and questions on higher ed administration, data, and other cool topics. I love Brooklyn and yoga, and I have trouble shutting up about them in person, so I'll likely run my yap on those topics, too. Feel free to (nicely, intelligently) run your yap back at me!
That's it for now.
Hi. I'm Axldemic, and I'm starting a blog. It's nice to meet you, 2006.
As you might have surmised from the name, I'm a lover of rock music (particularly the early to mid-nineties variety) and all things academic (I have a master's in lit and want to get my PhD). My main impetus for starting the blog is to work through ideas pertaining to literary and cultural criticism.
I'll also share thoughts and questions on higher ed administration, data, and other cool topics. I love Brooklyn and yoga, and I have trouble shutting up about them in person, so I'll likely run my yap on those topics, too. Feel free to (nicely, intelligently) run your yap back at me!
That's it for now.
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