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Good Art, Good Grief, Part 2
Thursday March 27, 2008
“Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our own behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense.” —Marilynne Robinson, Gilead
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Maligned, in the Middle
Wednesday March 26, 2008
There is something wrong with the bourgeoisie, at least in American film, and there are no small or large charms that can possibly redeem the fault—discreet or otherwise. The middle class is caught in a maelstrom of pettiness, trapped in an imagined propriety, and made heir to a grubby little enterprise meant to stuff its maw and line its bed. Its members, of all the three classes, are the most contemptible in film; the poor have their champions and the rich have their tragedies, but the middle class have neither style nor squalor to speak for them.
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The Philanthropist
Tuesday March 25, 2008
When NBC announces their prime-time schedule for the fall next month, the lineup may or may not include a show called “The Philanthropist,” on which I will be a writer if it airs. The character in question is a fortysomething Wall Street billionaire who, dissatisfied with checkbook charity, initiates his own one-man humanitarian missions from Africa to Asia and Middle America. He also happens to be a Dionysian adventure addict....
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Ears to Hear
Monday March 24, 2008
Sometimes my worlds collide. I attended a concert this past weekend...a suburban orchestra conducted by a friend of mine. We hadn’t gotten together in a while and it was decided that we’d meet up after the concert for some drinks to catch up. I hadn’t realized that it was a pops concert (not my thing generally)....
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Obama, Faulkner, and the Open Wound
Friday March 21, 2008
For some weeks now, I’ve been saying that I would finally get around to discussing Jonathan Lethem’s 2003 novel Fortress of Solitude and describe why I found this novel (among others) ultimately characteristic of the disappointments of contemporary fiction. Today, though, all I can think about is how much there is in this haunting novel about race and class in 1970s Brooklyn that Lethem did get right.
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