Book Review: MAN RAY IN PARIS by Erin C. Garcia

Some people get all the luck, and no one's a better example of that maxim than Man Ray. An American painter, he hung out with 291 crowd and paid the bills with fashion photography. He met Marcel Duchamp in New York City after the Armory Show and the two quickly became besties. They couldn't talk, since Ray didn't speak French and I guess Duchamp refused to speak English (?); so they communicated through games like chess. Which quite frankly, is ADORKABLE. When Duchamp decided to return to Paris, Man Ray followed, and immediately found the perfect community of artists and intellectuals to hang with. Within a matter of weeks, he had his first gallery showing, was fluent in French, owned the perfect apartment and studio in Montparnasse, invented his own photographic process, and was flooded with commissions for photographic portraits and other projects.


Rrose Selavy, Marcel Duchamp's feminine alter-ego. Photograph by Man Ray, 1921.

So basically Man Ray is pretty kick-ass and interesting. As for this book about him, well, it wasn't what I was expecting. I thought I would get a lot more out of it.

It's super-short and literally took me less than half an hour to read. For someone completely unfamiliar with Man Ray's work, this would be a good introduction, but for everyone else I think it's pretty sparse. It covers a very short biography of Ray, then dives right into his photographs, which are very interesting. But there isn't much information about them. And there's absolutely nothing about his interest in alchemy or how some of his photographs are homages to other paintings, or about the short films he made with the surrealists, or anything really.

It is cool to look at all the different processes Ray experimented with during his years in Paris, especially solarization and Rayographs. But really I think you could find a more informative book just about anywhere.

If you do want to check out Man Ray in Paris, I'd recommend getting it from the library.

I read this book as part of Paris In July, a challenge hosted by Book Bath and Thyme for Tea. Click on the button for more details.

Fun link of the day: l'Etoile de Mer, one of the many movies Man Ray directed in collaboration with the surrealists.

Harry Potter and the Ungrieved-For Dead

One of the things that's always struck me about the Harry Potter films is that the scenes of Tom Riddle's childhood are so clearly stylized as being circa WWII, from the clothes to the sets and cinematography. To be honest, it's bothered me. Yes, I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense, if Harry is of my generation and Voldemort is of my grandparents' generation, that Tom Riddle would be going to school in 1930s/1940s Britain. But is that kind of time scale really reliable when it comes to wizards? Dumbledore was supposed to have been born in 1881 (although I've always pictured him growing up in late Georgian/early Regency England, mostly thanks to the illustrations in the US editions), and who knows how long Voldemort was alive before he was killed the first time. Furthermore, if the war against Voldemort was the wizarding equivalent of WWII--and Rowling definitely intimates that's the case throughout the books--then wouldn't Harry's parents be part of the "war generation," not Voldemort?



I've never really known what to make of this issue. It seems logical to say that WWII is so embedded in our cultural memory that Rowling naturally drew parallels between it and a world-changing war between wizards, but then why would the filmmakers design the Young Tom Riddle scenes the way they did? A lot of hands go into making movies, but interviews with Stuart Craig, in charge of production design, suggest that JK Rowling was very involved in the look of the film. But to what extent?

In any case, I put this question aside as one of those things I would never resolve, until last week when I was watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. During the ending when Harry faces off against Voldemort, I was suddenly reminded of something Anne Roiphe had written in her memoir of 1960s New York, Art and Madness--that post-War America was suffocated by the memory of "the ungrieved-for dead," which she intimates contributed to the zeitgeist of the '50s and '60s, and the Babyboomer generation's sense that their parents were hypocrites.

Are those who died in Voldemort's war, such as Harry's parents, ungrieved? All through the Harry Potter series, memories of the dead are present and affect the actions of the living. Many characters have friends and loved ones who died fighting Voldemort--including of course, Harry himself. But have these dead been put to rest? From nearly the very start of the series, one gets the sense that people are holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. They may have moved on with their lives, but they still live in fear of Voldemort, refusing to say his name and slightly fearful that he may one day return. Of course, this serves to foreshadow Voldemort's actual return for the reader, and may simply be a useful narrative device.

At least as far as Harry is concerned, he spends most of the books grieving for his parents. I do think there are ungrieved-for dead in Harry Potter, but I don't think they're people like Harry's parents who fought against Voldemort. Instead, I would argue that the ungrieved are those murdered for horcruxes. Tom Riddle certainly didn't grieve for them, and their deaths literally tether his soul to the world, ensuring that he can never die and will always be able to return.

Several people are killed on and off-page during the Harry Potter series, but the ones used to create the horcruxes are different. They're not killed in self-defense or the heat of the moment; it's cold-blooded and self-serving. If just killing someone created a horcrux, wouldn't Snape have a horcrux from killing Dumbledore? Or Bellatrix Lestrange from killing Sirius? Voldemort would also have many more horcruxes than he did if every person he killed became a horcrux. The horcrux spell traps the soul because the horror of that death reverberates with neither justice nor guilt. Instead, said people's lives are nothing but a tool to be used for the wizard's own survival.

I think this why Voldemort's war in the books, and scenes of his childhood in the movies, have such a WWII sensibility. It's not just the fact that many died fighting Tom Riddle, but the fact that one person was able to inspire so much destruction and death, that both the movies and the books want to underscore. It would be enough to tear apart the wizarding world completely if it weren't for one thing--the Boy Who Lived. Harry represents everything Voldemort, and others like him, can never kill: love, hope, the human spirit. Even faced with the worst the world has to offer, Harry keeps on fighting.

Schnauzer Saturdays!

 

Pearly is a superhero!

The Demon Bookshelves of TBFB

For a while now, I feel like my shelves have been neglected. Not necessarily my TBR pile, but my bookshelves--where I keep all those books I was sure I wanted to reread at some point. As Tony from Tony's Reading List said, "If I'm only going to read new books... then what is the point of my buying any books at all?!" And in fact I haven't really been buying books--not because I'm poor (well, not just because of that) but because I haven't been rereading books. And really, what is the point of keeping books around if you're not going to reread them? Not that I need a point for keeping junk around, of course.

ANYway, this has led me to a new resolution! Namely, to intersperse my new reads with rereads. One new read, one reread--except for when I really really want to read a new book. And also excepting non-fiction books, because yeahs. I probably had no intention of reading them anyway.

Bookshelf tour time! Let's take a quick survey to see exactly how much of a challenge this is actually going to be.



Bookshelf One contains mainly romances and YA novels (feel free to click on any of these photos if you want to stalk ma shelves). Unfortunately, Bookshelf One has spread into Stacks On The Floor 1 and 2, and this random drafting table I couldn't fit into my apartment (I haven't read the ones on the floor or the drafting table yet, though). Anyone want a drafting table?



Bookshelf Two is mostly books I haven't read yet, plus old VHS tapes on the bottom because yeah, I'm that much of a packrat. This one has spread into Stacks 3, 4, and 5 (not pictured).



Finally we have Bookshelf Three, which is hidden behind a chair. This contains mostly sci-fi and fantasy novels, plus most of my mysteries and some YA and romance novels (apparently I read a lot of that). It has spread to Stacks 6 and 7.

Keep in mind that all of these bookshelves have two rows of books on every shelf, so they're really twice as big as they look. Oh! And did I mention I have books in storage? IN OTHER WORDS, this is going to take forever, which is why I'm not setting a time limit to it. I'm just going to keep it up until I get bored or I finish, whichever comes first.



To reread or not to reread, that is the question. Your opinion?

Book Review: GLAMOUR--WOMEN, HISTORY, FEMINISM by Carol Dyhouse

Say the word glamor, and immediately images spring to mind of Hollywood starlets in black and white photographs, wearing furs and gowns of silk and satin, with dark eyes and even more darkly painted lips. But glamour was a Scots word originally meaning magic; and the photographers and cinematographers of early Hollywood intuited the link between the magic of movies and the fashion and lifestyle of their stars so well, that eventually the two became inextricably linked in the American mind. Magazines like Glamor (US) started out selling sewing patterns based on the clothes seen in movies, and quickly moved to presenting the entire Hollywood lifestyle in its pages: fashion, cosmetics, hair, potions and lotions.


Jean Harlow. Photograph by George Hurrell.

As Dyhouse points out in this excellent book, glamor isn't always fashionable, and sometimes is quite unfashionable; but it and the start of beauty consumer culture are inextricably linked. For numerous reasons, but mostly thanks to old-timey Hollywood. Does this quest for beauty and glamor represent female empowerment, or the patriarchy of the male gaze? Are the women who actively participate in it laboring to achieve an unhealthy ideal of feminine perfection? Dyhouse addresses these complex questions through a study of glamor's visual and material culture from the early 1900s to the twenty-first century.


Princess Ira von Furstenberg. Photograph by Cecil Beaton.

Although I focused on American glamor in the paragraph above, the majority of this book discusses British glamour. While both countries were influenced by Hollywood, in the UK glamour was regarded with more suspicion than in the US. The upper-classes had a long tradition of favoring reserve and conservatism in fashion, and the middle- and lower-classes likewise were partial to dressing with respectability and modesty (this explains so much about British fashion). Glamour was seen as lurid, the stuff of pin-up girls and pulpy romance magazines, and the complete opposite of English respectability--though luxurious and attractive, nonetheless. Think of the film Rebecca--British in all but its producer--and how the elusive title character is seen as a glamorous, ideal woman by the insecure and young protagonist. "I wish I were a woman of 36, dressed in black satin with a string of pearls!" she says at one point. But by the end of the film, Rebecca's glamor and beauty are revealed to contain only a heart of stone and the morals of an alley cat.


Judy Garland. Photograph by George Hurrell.

In fact, it's surprising how unorthodox and non-conformist glamor's consistently been portrayed in the last century. In the '50s and '40s, it was associated with open--one might even say aggressive--sexuality; in the '60s, the decade of youth culture, it was seen as middle-aged; in the '80s, nostalgic. It's always been associated with beauty and fashion, but is much more abstract than either, and therefore can be more broadly applied. Whereas concepts of the former often exclude minorities and lead to "white washing," glamour tends to apply to women of all national and ethnic associations. It also seems to go hand-in-hand with feminism, although this is a problematic relationship--Dyhouse describes one Suffragette who wanted women to be less focused on their looks, but believed that in gaining legal and social autonomy they had become more so. There are also many modern feminist scholars who think glamor debases women.


Marilyn Monroe. Photograph by Cecil Beaton.

This study as a whole is really fascinating and well-written. Dyhouse takes a complex subject and analyzes it in a very clear, logical tone. Although it is super-repetitive, I didn't really get bored, possibly because the subject itself is so interesting and very pertinent to women today. How important should beauty and conforming to society's definition of an ideal woman be? This is something every woman must struggle with on a daily basis, as we grow up and as we get older. Dyhouse, however, concludes that whatever body or identity issues women have, glamor is not to blame. It is, first and foremost, about aspiration. Luxury, escape, and perfection can all exist within the enchantment of glamor, something many working-class women appreciate. It's all a temporary illusion, but an illusion that allows a woman to manipulate the world so that it sees her as she wants to be seen. In the end, glamor--even of the pedestrian cosmetic type--is still a kind of magic.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the subject of 20th century visual culture or women's history! Thanks to Inbooks, Zed Books, and Three Pipe Problem for sending me a copy to review.


Musical Notes: "Which?" by Jeri Southern

Remembering Harry Potter

After Tobacco Wars, I think this blog needs a palate cleanser. How about a short and sweet Harry Potter meme from Tif Talks Books?

When and Where (when you first discovered the series): I first heard about it on Oprah. I think I managed to convince my mom to buy the first two books after that (that was before the third one had even come out!) and I read the first one to my brother. But it seemed too young for me, so I didn't start reading the rest of the series until after the second movie was released and my friends bullied convinced me to give it another shot.

Favorite Character: Snape. Obvs.

Most Hated Character: Probably Delores Umbridge. She is reeeeeally annoying.

Favorite Book: Order of the Phoenix. It's so sexy.

Favorite Movie: Probably Half-Blood Prince because of the Snape element (I love how he swooshes around), but I pretty much like them all equally except for the third one, which I hate. With a passion.

Rank the Books (1 = favorite, 7 = least favorite):

1. Order of the Phoenix
2. Chamber of Secrets
3. Goblet of Fire
4. Deathly Hallows
5. Half-Blood Prince
   
6. Prisoner of Azkaban
7. Sorcerer's Stone
   

Most Memorable Scene: The Weasely twins interrupting OWL exams to explode havoc on Delores Umbridge before leaving Hogwarts for good. I was like, "I heart you guys so hard right now!"

What You Will Miss the Most: Release parties

What You Are Looking Forward To (even despite the end): Pottermore and the class on Harry Potter: Image and Media that no one will let me teach. Sadface.

Book Review: TOBACCO WARS by Paul Seesequasis

In this novella, Pocahontas marries John Rolfe and they sail to England, only he dies on the voyage there, and she remains alive to flit about London in the company of characters like Ben Johnson and Inigo Jones. And they're all really lecherous and gross, and Pocahontas turns into la Malinche; and Ben Johnson meets Mary Read and Anne Bonny, and writes the most incredibly awful play, and is sexed up. And there's also a bear.

So. This is what I think of as a dick waving book. You know in middle school or high school, how there was always a guy[s] who was really insecure about his masculinity, so he worked extra-hard at being crude and sexually objectifying women to make up for it? Yeah. I'm not saying dick waving books are necessarily awful--practically all of Ernest Hemingway's novels are dick wavers, let's face it--it just annoys me, purely as a female person. And Seesequasis is no Ernest Hemingway, not in this novella anyway. At least with Hemingway, you get a sense of the author, of the emotions and life experiences that he knows, first-hand. With Tobacco Wars, I felt like author was hiding behind a front of ridiculousness and crudity, and almost afraid to be honest with the reader.

I can see where Seesequasis was going with this novella (tobacco, Indian woman marrying an English dude, bears peeing rivers--it doesn't take a genius), and it's not as if the whole book is a farce--he does make oblique references to boarding schools and poverty, for example--but what he's trying to say in this book has been said before, in much more effective ways. When I wasn't grimacing at some mind-boggling turns of phrase ("the life-giving fountain of her voluptuous vulva," seriously? Please do not ever alliterate vulva with anything ever again, I beg of you) I was bored because there wasn't really anything to latch onto to carry me through the story. No emotion, believable characters, or even anything of intellectual interest; just really sophomoric sex. Yawnz.

Obviously this book wasn't what I was expecting at all. But if phrases like "voluptuous vulva" and "Do those embedded trading post beads make you come," don't make you want to call for a writer's intervention... well, then it won't bother you as much as it did me. Thank you to TLC Booktours for giving me the opportunity to review it, though!