I haven’t yet had the opportunity to determine what the Vollmann fan base is like here in New York. (Regrettably, most of the Vollmann enthusiasts I knew were back in California. But don’t worry. I’ve only been here one month and I will almost certainly create a few converts.)
But for those who might be interested, the good folks at the Whitney have informed me that Vollmann will be there next week, in a conversation with photographer Richard Drew. The two will address “where images of brutality meet the limits of representation.” All this is tied in with a two-part series pertaining to the 40th anniversary of the Summer of Love. It all goes down on Thursday, July 12, 2007, at 7:00 PM. Tickets are $8; students and senior citizens get in for $6.
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. (
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. (
Hi,
Whatever Vollmann may have done, he’s no longer doing it. I saw Vollmann read in Seattle last year. He was the most artless and dull person I had ever seen read.
And he looks like a right-wing extremist.
Great observations. They say a lot about his writing.
If you are an ADD-afflicted reader uninterested in poverty, history, economics, and the often forgotten regular people in history (just some of what Vollmann specializes in), then I can see how your lack of interest or imagination might lead you to dismiss Vollmann as “artless and dull.”
So you do agree that he’s boring?