Yesterday my friend Yakut emailed me the article “Federer as Religious Experience” by David Foster Wallace, which appeared in the New York Times’ Play Magazine on August 20, 2006 (available here). Wallace penned an immaculate piece on Roger Federer, who also happens to be my favorite tennis player these days. As per his custom, Wallace resorts to 17 footnotes, provides detailed accounts of what he terms “Federer Moments” from the Nadal v. Federer Wimbledon Final of 2006, comments – in a tongue-in-cheek fashion, of course – on the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum and the tournament’s rules. It is a great ode to Federer, and contains a healthy rebuke of Nadal – who happens to be my least favorite pro these days. If you’re a tennis – and DFW – fan, enjoyed his essays in Consider the Lobster, and do not have the guts to restart Infinite Jest just yet, but would like to continue reading some brilliant prose, you should definitely check it out.
Don't let the lame title fool you - James Ryerson's Times Magazine essay on David Foster Wallace's early philosophical writings is a valuable step toward understanding both the novelist and the intellectual situation in which he found himself. Most substantially, Ryerson's reading of Wallace's senior thesis reveals a writer concerned not with language qua language, but with the ostensibly discredited field of metaphysics - or rather, with the space between the two.Wallace was the kind of writer who could do anything with language, but seemed to see native gifts, including his own, as pitfalls rather than accomplishments. (Spare a thought for poor Orin Incandenza, trapped under glass.) His pyrotechnic prose style made it easy for some critics to miss, but even as an undergrad, Wallace was aiming higher than mere felicity.Characteristically (for anyone who made it through Everything and More), Wallace's thesis defends the possibility of metaphysics through a kind of reductio proof. He shows the insufficiency of other philosophical premises, including those of the philosophy of language, for addressing the basic experience of being in the world. This phenomenological move seems to me be about as far as anyone has gotten in the modernist project of clearing the field of philosophy; it echoes the struggles of Wittgenstein, which in turn echo through Wallace's two long novels. And it explains the sense of aesthetic aporia that hangs over discussions of contemporary fiction.At the same time, Wallace's ostensible shift from philosophy to fiction points toward an exit. Most of what philosophers have achieved since the modernist moment has come in some genre other than the propositional argument: manifesto, koan, literary criticism... and, yes, literary fiction. And so the end point of Wallace's thesis seems to mark the beginning of his career as a philosopher - a career he pursued by writing fiction. In literature, he found a "conceptual tool with which [to pursue] life's most desperate questions" that shortened the "distance from the connections he struggled to make." It will be the work of future critics to elucidate those connections, without neglecting or negating the singularity of their expression.
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In less than a fortnight, Orhan Pamuk, Turkey's Nobel Laureate in literature, made headlines in Turkish newspapers not once, but twice. It would have been an ordinary thing a few years ago when Pamuk, commonly perceived as one of Turkey's major political dissidents, would make news with his comments on the killings of Armenians in 1915 or the Turkish state's heavy handed treatment of its Kurdish minority. But this time newspapers seem to have discovered a new aspect of Turkey's most famous writer: his private life. When Pamuk, who has a daughter from his first marriage that ended a decade ago, started dating Indian novelist Kiran Desai in 2010, photographs of the couple walking on a Goa beach in India were published by a mainstream newspaper edited by one of Pamuk's old political enemies. Pamuk and Desai were quickly named as a power couple, one journalist calling them Mr. Nobel and Miss Booker. But after two books (Museum of Innocence and The Naive and the Sentimental Novelist, both containing Pamuk's words of gratitude to Desai for helping him with the final English texts) and numerous interviews accompanying the Turkish edition of Desai's Booker prize-winning Inheritance of Loss (all of them focusing on details of their relationship rather than Desai's novel), Turkish media seemed to have lost interest. That was until this December, when a young Turkish artist was photographed alongside Pamuk in New York's Columbus Circle mall. The following week, newspapers were covered with pictures of her paintings and a full page interview in the daily Sabah, whose American version first published the photographs, had the very Flaubertian headline: "I am Füsun from Museum of Innocence!" This was a reference to Pamuk's latest novel where the protagonist, engaged to be married, begins an affair with a younger girl, who journalists were now eager to identify as having been inspired by Pamuk's new girlfriend. Among readers of the interview were Pamuk's loyal fans who hoped to learn bits of information about his new novel which will reportedly be published in Turkish this year. It tells the story of a street vendor who sells "boza," a traditional Turkish beverage, and there was speculation as to whether the cover of the book would be produced by Pamuk's new girlfriend, who has painted portraits of boza sellers in the past. The latest piece of news, the most surprising to date, was published on the last day of the year. It alleged that Pamuk had an "illegitimate son" from a German professor specializing in Turkish literature. Pamuk is claimed to have never seen his son, who is now five years old. These dramatic claims were made by "an old girlfriend of Pamuk," whose name was carefully left out of the piece. Turkish newspapers made life very difficult for Pamuk in 2005 when he was turned into a hate figure by the ultra-nationalist Ergenekon gang which is claimed to include, alongside retired generals, solicitors, and politicians, a number of journalists who orchestrated campaigns against Turkey's dissident figures, labeling them as traitors and enemies of the country. During 1990s right-wing newspapers were notorious for their portrayal of Kurdish and socialist intellectuals: many artists, like the singer Ahmet Kaya, were forced to leave the country after editors made a habit of picking on them. Last year a Kurdish MP was forced to resign after photographs showing him with a girlfriend were published in the papers. With their newfound "private" methods, editors seem to have inflicted a deep wound as they turned the famously reserved Orhan Pamuk, whose political views continue to disturb the ultra nationalists, into a playboy figure in just a few weeks. It looks like an attempt by editors to exact revenge by hitting him below the belt. For Pamuk’s loyal readers, all this surely reads like one of Pamuk's own novels which always feature him as a character, but the serious point to be made here is that Turkish media’s attempts to trivialize dissidents by focusing on their private lives has a touch of the News of the World scandal about it, and this new tactic will probably be a new cause of concern for Turkey’s dissidents this year.
Most reviews of Andrew Keen's anti-blogger screed The Cult of the Amateur have been pretty unflattering; take for example James Marcus' assessment in the LA Times. But apparently Kakutani is a fan, "calling it a shrewdly argued jeremiad against the digerati effort to dethrone cultural and political gatekeepers and replace experts with the 'wisdom of the crowd.'"I haven't, and likely won't, read Keen's book, and I'm skeptical of the position that freely available tools allowing anyone anywhere to express themselves to the world are a bad thing. The intermet's (alleged) damage to highbrow culture is more than obviated by its contribution to democracy. For every 100 mindless bozos on YouTube, there's a whistle-blower revealing injustice somewhere or a witness to history offering up a first-hand account. To me, the trade-off is plenty worth it, and even if we are going to make the blanket claim that the internet is nothing but "superficial observations of the world around us rather than deep analysis, shrill opinion rather than considered judgment," there is value to be found in at least some of those superficial observations.It's hard to say where Kakutani is coming from here, but I suspect she'd back any philosophy that might staunch the flow of all those "amateurish" books she's forced to read and then summarily dismiss in the pages of the Times. (This is in keeping with my image of Kakutani as the ultimate harried reviewer, who long ago lost the ability to enjoy books and loathes on sight every tome that crosses her desk.)
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