Is the end nigh for the famed Rainbow Room? Well, if it is, it’ll live on through passages like this one from Alvin Levin’s Love Is Like Park Avenue.
The End of the Rainbow Room
Ghosts in the Stacks
A voracious reader named "Chuck Finley" was such a prolific library patron that he singlehandedly increased a Florida branch's circulation by 3.9%. But there's a problem: he's not real. (h/t Kirstin Butler.)
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How the Fulbright Started
“Whatever the [Fulbright] program became,” writes Boston Globe correspondent Sam Lebovic, “it was first conceived as a budget-priced megaphone to transmit American ideas to the world, rather than as a genuine international dialogue.” Indeed, one 1940s newspaper columnist dubbed the program “an ingenious piece of higher mathematics…[that] found a way to finance out of the sale of war junk a worldwide system of American scholarships.”
RIP Harry Crews
Dwight Garner, Maud Newton, and Jason Diamond are among the many to mourn the passing of Harry Crews this past week. "Few writers," Garner writes of Crews, "could touch his authority and muscle."
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Playboy and Madame Bovary
Macy Halford at Book Bench imagines Playboy as the Madame Bovary of the 1950s.
Jeff Sharlet Revisits The Fellowship
Several years ago, Jeff Sharlet closely investigated The Fellowship – a “self-described invisible network dedicated to a religion of power for the powerful” – in order to write a book about “how fundamentalism came to be interwoven with American power.” Now, Sharlet has followed up his initial report with an article about Westmont College, a “feeder school” for the religious movement. This is highly recommended reading for anybody interested in the intersections of power, influence, religious fundamentalism, and American politics.
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Saunders Meets DFW
Sometime Millions writer Frank Kovarik plumbs the connections between George Saunders' recent story in The New Yorker and David Foster Wallace's suicide.
#workingonmynovelaboutyournovel
Cory Arcangel's Working on My Novel is composed solely of tweets from people who (one is led to assume) are engaged in the singularly tragic enterprise of writing books that, unlike Working on My Novel, will take years to complete, yet won't be published by Penguin or noticed by The Paris Review. Oh, the meta-irony. And now I've just honored it with a Curiosities post.
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A Model of Quiet Dissent
“Born Guan Moye, he chose his pen name—“Don’t Talk”—to honor his mother’s caution against talking too much and in sardonic recognition of his failure to heed her warning. Yet I have been struck by his quiet and unassuming presence at literary conferences in Beijing, where he offered kind encouragement in private meetings but evinced a shy persona in public.” On the contradictions of last year’s Nobel laureate, Mo Yan.