That inarticulate imbecile is at it again. Deborah Solomon apparently didn’t get the news that graphic novels have been around for some time — possibly, since the 1920s — and is racist enough to assume that Marjane Satrapi, by way of having brown skin and writing about fundamentalism, must be a Muslim. I guess all that supposed research that Solomon puts into these “questions” doesn’t involve basic fact checking.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (Bat Segundo interview with Murphy)
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (Bat Segundo interview with McClear)
Satrapi came off as the coolest person on earth, though.
I thought she came off only slightly less inane than Solomon. It’s a toss-up between equating the Western beauty myth with Iranian subjugation of women (especially when there are so many instances of honest-to-God misogyny in Western culture she might have chosen from) and that oh-so-tired lament for the demise of that last hallmark of freedom, the cancer stick.
I always think Solomon’s columns are more about Deborah Solomon than about the interviewee. Of course, we can’t be sure that Solomon asked Satrapi any of those questions — or that Satrapi gave those answers.
“Racist” is taking to the next level of bloggy nastiness. I didn’t see it.
Solomon; presumptive, lazy journalism, combative (love the ‘I disagree’ bit, so, I-Know-it-all);
Abigail– why is it that you take such a harsh line on smoking–what’s happening around this country is Moral Legislation; it’s just that smoking is the 1st easy target– What’s next? And, if smoking is such a problem, why not just ban it outright? and what about Alcohol? I’m a drinker, not a smoker, but it’s a slippery slope to take the high ground on that argument.
Satrapi probably did the interview via email (easiest method I’m assuming) and probably realized who Solomon was, and how much she knew about comics, and decided to mess with her head. Ultimately it’s not an pre-interview for the Nobel, or more importantly, the Eisner…
Satrapi is a goddess. We need more of her.