"Identity Jazz"; Writing needs work

This review of Vijay Iyer's new CD in the Village Voice has what might be the worst sentence I've read all week:

This will have to remain a puzzle for now, because the most remarkable thing about Reimagining is its nine originals for trio or quartet--so strong in conception and performance it seems only a matter of time before the same sort of consensus Jason Moran inspired a few years ago begins to form around Iyer, who was born in Rochester, New York, in 1971, the son of upper-middle-class Indian immigrants (father a retired research chemist, mother a manager for Xerox).

So they don't have editors at the Voice? Not only is this a textbook run-on sentence, the individual parts of the sentence are pretty badly constructed. And do we really need a parenthetical telling us what Iyer's parents do for a living?

The reviewer saves the review with a quip at the end about "identity jazz":

A giveaway should have been the unusual number of Indian people who turned out, even if few of them wore kurtas or saris. My only argument with what I'm tempted to call identity jazz is the mistaken belief of some promoters that the way to lure more people to jazz is to convince audiences that it's about them. The Polish-speaking immigrants I see at Tomasz Stanko are no more likely to show up for David S. Ware than the lesbian reconstructionist rabbi I recognized at a performance of Stephen Bernstein's Diaspora Blues--and African American musicians are suddenly the ones left out in the cold. For all of that, the music itself can be pretty heady stuff, especially when driven by an honest desire to come to terms with a forgotten or long-taken-for-granted cultural heritage. In the Dakshina Ensemble, the two saxophonists found a common tongue in B-flat. That's a natural setting for the bluesy, speech-inflected Mahanthappa. But it's also Gopalnath's sruti, or favored key.

It's still a little muddled, and more than a little name-droppy (Voice writers can't seem to help themselves on this). But you get the idea.

Not that the idea makes any sense, of course. Arguably, African-American jazz has always been "identity jazz," only caucasian audiences have found ways to overlook it. What's new here is, it's a different "identity."

[I did an earlier post on Vijay Iyer here]

Shyam Benegal's Netaji

There is a controversy brewing around Shyam Benegal's new film on Netaji, Subhas Chandra Bose: The Forgotten Hero. A group of researchers have filed suit against the film, because they dispute whether Bose was in fact married to an Austrian woman he met in the 1930s, named Emilie Schenkl. Their primary evidence seems to be that Bose checked "single" when applying for a visa to visit China in 1939. But they overlook the fact that Bose apparently traveled widely under false names, including "Ziauddin," when in Afghanistan, and "Count Orlando Mazzota" (an Italian nobleman), when in Moscow! There are also 162 love letters Bose wrote to Schenkl as documentary evidence of the depth of the relationship -- though these are being questioned by the researchers.

Emilie Schenkl claimed that she had married Bose in 1937, in a secret ceremony in Vienna. She also had a child by Bose, whose name after marriage became Anita Pfaff. Anita Pfaff, now an Economics professor in Austria, also continues to claim Bose as her father.

I obviously don't know anything more than what Rediff tells me here. What is clear that Benegal isn't getting this out of nowhere, and it's also clear that there's a strong nativist emotional charge behind the drive to keep Bose's image free from the "contaminant" of a non-Indian wife.

Though obviously documentary evidence needs to be checked and cross-referenced, I think people need to get over this need to turn Netaji into the symbol of "authentic" nativist rebellion. He was a very skilled organizer and undoubtedly a charismatic leader, but he did spend a fair amount of time in Europe, and he did have some western education. Also, even before Bose went abroad, he attended Presidency College in Calcutta, one of the most elite (read: most Anglicized) institutions in the British Raj. Bose was, in short, no different in constitution from the Congress leaders of the day. And he was not a saint: as everyone knows, Bose went to Adolf Hitler for support for a military solution to British colonialism. His Indian National Army then fought with the Japanese against Anglo-Indian forces in Burma, 1943-1945. The Japanese said they were fighting to liberate people of color from colonialism, but they weren't exactly credible on this, even then.

The question of whether Subhas Chandra Bose married an Austrian woman is a relatively small thing, considering that he was most definitely sleeping with the devil militarily. After everything, it's his personal life that seems to matter most to people.

As a side-note, the film is getting good reviews, and has a soundtrack by A.R. Rahman as a plus; I'll probably go and see it.

Global Dimming and Bollywood Cinema

The Times had a piece on the phenomenon of "global dimming" last week. This is the amount of light which reaches the earth's surface, and it can be affected by clouds or pollution (or both, as you'll see if you read the article).

Apparently, it's either stopped, or begun to reverse. In India, however, it continues to worsen:

In some places, he said, the brightening has more than offset the dimming that was detected beginning in the late 1950's. In others, like Hong Kong, which lost more than a third of its sunlight, the dimming trend has leveled off, but previous levels of brightness have not yet returned. In a few places, like India, the dimming trend continues, he said.

It reminds me, as many things do, of the look of Bombay in old Bollywood films. If you watch 1970s classics like Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, which is largely filmed outdoors on the streets of Bombay, you see an image of the city with quite a bit more direct sunlight, and less smog/pollution, than you see now. It's particularly dramatic on the Marine Drive shots -- you actually see a sharp horizon.

If this were a Salman Rushdie novel, the disappearance of the horizon due to smog would be a metaphor for a kind of moral greyness amongst the populace. And "global dimming" would be fodder for a joke about the low attention-span youth of today.

Triumph of the 'Christianists' -- and other links on religion

It just so happens that today is a great day for posts and articles relating to religion online.

William Safire on the advent of the pejorative term "Christianist"/"Christianism" to describe members of America's religious right. Andrew Sullivan claims credit for it; Hendrik Hertzberg recently used it in The New Yorker.

I think this might be a pretty useful term to have, especially when discussing global religion politics with people who have an anti-Muslim bias. I still have my doubts as to whether it will take off in the mainstream media. If it does, it will probably start in Europe.

The blogger who calls himself Abdul-Walid has a brilliant post on belief. He is basically doing something like negative theology, except his goal is to distinguish religious belief ("I believe in God") from a more intellectual and secular conception of divinity. Ironically, the latter may take the idea of God more seriously than standard affirmations of religious belief do. (Read it...)

Chapati Mystery has a great post on Kingdom of Heaven, which refers to earlier representations of Salahuddin (aka Saladin and Salah ud Din) in Hollywood. Apparently Cecil B. DeMille's 1937 film The Crusades was very popular in Egypt back in the day. I'm a little torn about whether to bother with KoH. Paradoxically, I would be more likely to go see it if there were more controversy about the film's portrayal of Islam. Perhaps Ridley Scott should have thrown in some gratuitous anti-Islamic, anti-Eastern Orthodox Christian, and anti-Semitic sentiments? A Kingdom of Heaven without any semblance of political correctness would be both more historically accurate and -- in certain obvious ways -- more in touch with George W. Bush's America.

Moorish Girl links to a great interview with Tariq Ramadan in Egypt Today. The only odd thing is, they remove the interviewer's questions from the piece, so you have to speculate on what he's responding to (though it's not hard to guess). Ramadan comes off pretty well here. He seems to have a reasonable perspective on the Hijab ban in France ("France is still not a racist country"). I was also happy to see he is against the advent of Sharia courts in Canada for family law (along the lines of the differential civil codes in India). It was being discussed a fair amount last year (read this BBC article for more background)

Dilip D'Souza has an interesting piece in Tehelka on Kashmiri Pandits, exiled from Srinagar, who have ended up in permanent relief camps in places like Delhi. These folks don't get a lot of attention these days, partly because any sympathy for their plight runs the risk of being interpreted in political terms.

Visiting the new MoMA; Eating MozzArepas

We finally got over to the new MOMA, only seven months after it opened. I liked it, particularly the configuration of the space and the distinctive lighting. Here's a picture I took of the atrium.

Terry Teachout has a pretty good one-liner on the difference between the old and the new MoMA approaches to 20th century art:

Visitors to the old MoMA had only one way to experience the unfolding of modernism: in a sequence carefully controlled by the entrances and exits to the successive galleries. The new floor plan, by contrast, is much more open. MoMA still tells a highly idiosyncratic "story" about modern art, but you can read the chapters in whatever order you choose.

Yes. It seems to me there is much more space for the Russians (Rochenko's "constructivism" and Malevich's "suprematism") as well as the German expressionists in the new scheme. There is a very memorable array of paintings by Egon Schiele, Ernst Kirchner, and Oscar Kokoschka, all next to one another. Klee and Beckmann are in different rooms. Somehow the Klee paintings in the MoMA aren't that exciting to me, though Beckmann's triptychs are pretty powerful.

Other random thoughts and links:

--When the new MoMA opened, what many people said was, what about _______ ? Many old favorites in the MoMA's collection, such as Larry Rivers' "Washington Crossing the Delaware," have been put in storage. Perhaps it's a reflection of critical fashion? Perhaps it's just for a change?

--I was impressed at how vibrant the restored Demoiselles d'Avignon looks. The pre-restored version was kind of dingy; it was hard to see what all the fuss over this breakthrough painting by Picasso was about.

--Also nice is this Kiki Smith piece (each metal jug has gothic lettering, with the name of a bodily fluid or ailment: mucus, diarrhea, semen, etc). I didn't know Kiki Smith before. (Here is my photo of one of the jugs on Flickr.)

--Some other artists who were new to me were Julie Mehretu, Charles LeDray ("Oasis"; the link points to a photo I posted on Flickr), and David Alfaro Siqueiros ("Collective Suicide").

* * * * *
We had a kind of messy, multicultural lunch at the annual Ninth Avenue Food Festival. In addition to (Polish) Pierogies and Indonesian veggie fritters, we enjoyed some Venezuelan Arepas. In New York, the Arepas you get come stuffed, predictably, with Mozzarella -- the "Mozzarepa."

Very simple -- and yet completely excessive.

Sound Sample Genealogy: Two Lectures

Soul Sides has a kind of collaboration with Michelangelo Matos, who recently gave a lecture at a conference in Seattle on the history of the guitar riff used in the song "Apache." The lecture was given without music; Soul Sides prints the lecture with Matos's permission, and provides links as well as the songs referenced in the paper. It's a brilliant way to use the MP3 blog format.

Here is the lecture, with links to the songs referenced in it (all downloadable -- you've heard many of them before, even if you don't recognize the artists or song titles).

Speaking of lectures on the genealogy of riffs and samples, check out Wayne Marshall's blog, Wayne & Wax. Marshall is, I believe, a professor of ethnomusicology at Brown, who writes about Reggae and Hip Hop sampling (I came across the blog while digging for information on Damian Marley for the previous post).

At the end of this post, you can listen to a streaming version of a lecture Marshall did at a conference, on the "Mad Mad" sample in reggae music. (See Reggae-Riddims website for more on "riddims"; it's the definitive website on the subject, it seems to me)

Marshall also links to the text of a similar (but not quite identical) paper he did at a conference in New Orleans here, if you'd rather read it.

Both lectures are about recovering the lost (or hidden) genealogies of sound samples. It's a very different way of listening to hip hop and reggae from the historically 'flat' way one tends to listen to the songs on the radio. It's also a little geeky, to be sure, but then Who Am I To Complain? (And: "How Am I Not Myself?")

Welcome to Jamrock

My favorite song on the radio right now is "Welcome to Jamrock," by Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley. He's Bob Marley's youngest son, but it doesn't sound at all like Bob. "Welcome to Jamrock" is much more a dancehall protest number than it is roots reggae.

It's a dark song -- references to gang wars and political murders (here are the lyrics). You can also watch or download the video (very, very small!) here.

Incidentally, people coming to this blog via Google (there seems to be lots of you) might find some of my other stuff on reggae. Like this post, for instance.

Guess I'll Have to Take the Major Deegan...

Henry Hudson Parkway Avalanche; just north of the George Washington Bridge

(Photo by James Estrin/The New York Times)

Hemingway's Gossip

I just read Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, and I'm feeling a bit nauseous.

I'm generally of the pro-Hemingway camp; his style is original, and many of his stories do stay in one's head. His famously clipped sentences are readily parodied, to be sure, but they do produce a sense of drama if you are willing to go along. Unfortunately, the sentences work much less well in this memoir of writerly Paris in the 1920s, partly because most of the episodes in the book lack the strong sense of tension or anxiety Hemingway was able to achieve in his best fiction. A Moveable Feast is therefore best read for the Paris gossip, though it does have some moments of stylistic ambition.

Gertrude Stein fans and critics have a special hostility to A Moveable Feast because Hemingway says some mean-spirited things about Stein and her partner, Alice B. Toklas. Those were the sections I read in graduate school, in too much of a hurry to get a Gertrude Stein seminar paper together to actually read the rest of Hemingway's little book. It was enough for me at the time to note the hypocrisy in Hemingway's emulation of Stein's radical sentence design, in light of his ungracious (and homophobic) dismissal of her as a person.

There's a good deal of other interesting gossip to look for: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ford Maddox Ford, Ezra Pound, Wyndham Lewis, Joyce, Picasso, and Sylvia Beach. Scott Fitzgerald comes across as nuts, but likeable in some measure. Ezra Pound is, improbably, a "saint." Wyndham Lewis is grotesque (Hemingway quotes Stein as referring to Lewis as "a measuring worm": he measures the great art he sees, and copies it badly). Ford comes across as a snob, and a liar. Joyce, Picasso, and Sylvia Beach come across as basically harmless, benevolent presences.

There is one section of the book, "Hunger was good discipline," which exemplifies Hemingway at his writerly best and worst. Here is what I think of as the best:

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you saw and smelled nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cezanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry.

Perhaps he goes a little off the rails into uninteresting idiosyncrasy with the bit about Cezanne forgetting to eat, as opposed to being just flat-out broke and hungry. But the rest seems true. Hemingway is into intense mental states, in which one becomes other to oneself, but not in an ephemeral or feverish way. If anything, the difference is quantum (physics metaphor!); the altered state may be temporary, but it is static and describable. (Altered states are also especially important in For Whom The Bell Tolls, I think).

That for me is Hemingway at his best, at least as far as the rather slim pickings of A Moveable Feast go. He's at his worst at the end of the same section I quoted from above, when he poses the following sentence as a stand-alone paragraph:

All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head and until morning when I would start to work again.

Can anyone rescue this sentence, with its disparate and incompatible verb tenses? Can it be anything other than ugly and kind of ridiculous? Somehow it seems much worse than Hemingway's general use of parataxis, which can create a kind of rhythm, or the omission of punctuation, which creates immediacy. Both of those are evident in the first paragraph I quoted (see for instance the first sentence), and they do no harm.

[Cross-posted at The Valve]

Amit Chaudhuri on audiences and exoticism

Via Kitabkhana, I caught links to a series Amit Chaudhuri is doing in the Calcutta Telegraph, on Indian writers and their audiences. It's a three part series, of which parts one and two have been published so far.

In part one, Chaudhuri argues that it's a vulgarized version of Said's concept of "orientalism" that drives the common suspicion that some English-language South Asian fiction is written for a western audience. I think there may be some link between the questions about English and the appearance of Said's argument, but it's probably more coincidental than causative.

Part two is more interesting to me, because there Chaudhuri questions whether there can ever be an organic connection between the characters in novels, the writers of those novels, and readers. He points out that many high modernist texts in Europe (he cites Ulysses particularly) definitely heightened the potential gap between the three groups -- Leopold Bloom isn't the sort of person who would read the book in which he is the protagonist. Secondly, Chaudhuri questions whether writing in languages other than English is really free of the problems of connection to the "real" India that one sometimes sees in Anglophone Indian writing.

I think he's right on both counts, though Chaudhuri doesn't take the next logical step, which would link the two gaps he's describing in terms of class. Joyce's invention of a protagonist who is in a sense too much of an ordinary guy to actually read the book that is about him is a way of challenging the expectations of his readers. And class is at play again in the example of Anantha Murthy's story about an urban bourgeois who returns to the village for a visit. Serious novels and short stories, whether in Kannada or English, are almost by definition an urban, bourgeois preoccupation. The divide in both cases is not between two economic class groups, not so much the "real India" vs. some deracinated, westernized, English-speaking fantasy of it.

[I must admit I have had Amit Chaudhuri's Freedom Song on my shelf for a couple of years, but have never had the chance to crack it. Anyone read it? However, I have made good use of his anthology, The Vintage Book of Modern Literature, which I think is probably the finest in its genre -- it's much better than Rushdie's Mirrorwork.]

"Mutiny" Benefit screening

Is anyone going to this thing next week? This documentary has been in the works for more than a decade, and I can't quite understand why they haven't just released the thing already. Perfectionism?

Then again, I've never seen it, and this might be a good opportunity.

FUNDRAISER SCREENING - NYC Thurs May 19, 2005

Asian Cinevision, 3rd I-NY, The Singh Foundation, and
Shobak.org present a special fundraiser screening of:

MUTINY: ASIANS STORM BRITISH MUSIC
(2003; 77 min.; color & b/w)
Directed by Vivek Bald; Produced by Claire Shanley & Vivek Bald
Featuring Asian Dub Foundation, State of Bengal, Fun^Da^Mental,
and many others....

Including post-screening discussion
and Q&A with very special guest
SAM ZAMAN aka State of Bengal
and Mutiny director VIVEK BALD


All attendees will also receive a copy
of an exclusive mix CD by DJ SPOOKY

7pm @ The ImaginAsian Theater
239 East 59th Street (btw 2nd & 3rd Ave.)
Subway: 4,5,6 to 59th St,/Lexington;
or F to Lexington Avenue / 63 St.

$20 per ticket - Tickets are available at the ImaginAsian Box Office at 239 E. 59th St. or online at: http://www.theimaginasian.com/nowplaying/index.php?cid=900&date=20050519

The Butcher of Amritsar (the first one)

A review of a new biography of the infamous General Dyer, by Nigel Collett. It looks like he was flat-out insane and sadistic. The book looks like a thorough survey of the historical sources.

Via A&L Daily (from more than a week ago!)

Paris Notes

So why Paris, why now? Well, there is a long-ish story there, having to do with in-laws in Bombay, which I will spare you because it ended up being irrelevant to the trip. Suffice it to say, a six day trip to Paris near the end of a grueling academic semester wasn't my choice, but once it was decided I happily went along. And had a lovely time.

Indeed, it's shocking that this was my first trip; from a literary and linguistic perspective I should have gone when I was 19, and studying both the French language and modernist literature in college. I remember being often embarrassed in graduate school that I had travelled so little outside of visiting India (and at that time I hadn't even seen very much of India).

Were we there to make a statement? No. We certainly got some looks, but then I get some looks even here in New Jersey. We did nothing political while we were there, and didn't really talk politics with anyone. We just went around and looked at Paris. That might be political in the very small sense that many of the South Asians one sees in Paris are very recent immigrants, who don't speak any French, and who are primarily in service positions. We are not that.

My favorite thing about Paris had to be the sidewalks, and the ubiquitous outdoor cafes, brasseries, restaurants, and bars. This is a relatively uncommon thing in New York, and even in San Francisco -- where the weather is generally nice but just a little on the nippy side in the evenings. The wide, Georges Haussmann sidewalks are no doubt what enables it all.


* * * * *
Van Gogh
After a slightly groggy first day, we went to Auvers Sur Oise, where Vincent Van Gogh did paintings like this. (Or try these.) It's also the place where he committed suicide, and where both he and his brother Theo are buried.

From reading several of Vincent's letters to Theo from this period, one gets the strong sense that he didn't love Auvers the way he loved Arles (specifically the colors of Arles -- and color was everything to Van Gogh). Still, it seems like the painter was in relatively good spirits at this spot. He did nearly a painting a day while he was there:

But anyway I am living one day at a time, the weather is so beautiful. And Iam well. I go to bed at nine o'clock, but get up at five most of the time. I hope that it will not be unpleasant to meet oneself again after a long absence. And I also hope that this feeling I have of being more master of my brush than before I went to Arles will last. And M. Gachet [Van Gogh's doctor and host] says that he thinks it most improbable that it will return, and that things are going on quite well.

The weather was superlative for our visit too, though I must say that all of the beautiful paintings Van Gogh did during his stay in Auvers are somewhat tainted by the fact that, after two months there, he suddenly committed suicide.

Because of that terrible act, going to this site is going into a mystery. On the surface there is all sun and the rustic pleasures of fields, a small town, and quiet. Underneath, for Van Gogh at least, there was something much darker. You can walk by the places where Van Gogh did his paintings: this church, this former corn-field. And you can only imagine, and dread, the emotional and psychological turbulence that once stood where you now stand.

I find Van Gogh's letters to be indispensible to understanding what was happening in his paintings. Both he and Theo were very smart and trusting letter writers.

* * * * *
The Louvre. What to say about the Louvre? A dreary day, but a necessary visit. My favorite Louvre photo is not one I took. It's by a Flickr member named "Funkyj," and it's here.

You nailed it, Funkyj.
* * * * *
Nightlife, and Pochoirtistes

At night, we wandered around Paris. We spent the most time in the area north of Place de la Bastille, along Rue de la Rocquette, and in Le Marais, where we had two very good dinners (one from a cheapo falafel place, one at a fancy-ish restaurant). We also spent an evening in the Latin Quarter, where we watched buskers and then a dixieland jazz trio at a wine bar. It was all very convivial and not too crowded. We never had to make a reservation for dinner, and we never met a rude waiter.

On one stroll through Le Marais, we came across a graffiti artist who was rapidly spray painting rather beautiful figures onto open spaces in a rather narrow lane off Rue Saint Antoine. A small band of groupies stood nearby, taking pictures, and gabbing -- so we decided to tag along.

A man came out of a nearby restaurant and started arguing with the artist about whether he was allowed to do what he was doing. I couldn't make it all out, but when a middle-aged woman among the bystanders told the man, "C'est un artiste!" I pretty much figured it out. The man went back inside the restaurant.

Two minutes later, there were police cars in the lane. The artists disappeared, and the crowd scattered. S. and I just stood there, eating our falafel sandwiches.

I learned the name of the artist the next day, when I was randomly watching the French news in our hotel room, and there was a story on the controversial graffiti artist Jerome Mesnager and the installation project underway at the Section Urbaine. Mesnager is part of a moment that calls itself tha "Paris Pochoirtistes."

There is also a great blog post on this installation here.

Going to the Louvre: 10 Euros ($15 at the current exchange rate). Watching high-concept graffiti artists who are well-known in the Paris arts scene be chased by cops: priceless.

* * * * *
"Let Them Eat Extremely Overpriced Little Sandwiches, and Let Them Stand in Long Lines"

We also went to Versailles. Unlike the Louvre, this was actually fun. We made sure to spend a good 45 minutes in the "Mus&?acute;e de Parlement" that is at Versailles, just to balance the extreme Monarchialist bent of the place. I now know more about the history of the French Republic than I think is strictly necessary.

And we saw Marie Antoinette's actual toilet. Worth the price of admission. (Well, almost -- entry fees are pretty exorbitant.)

The rude irony about Versailles is that some of its most famous residents had their heads chopped off.

* * * * *
Impressionists and Pointillists

Also fun was the Musée d'Orsay, which is an Impressionists' paradise. They had a nice exhibit on post-Impressionism, and I learned a few things I didn't know about the advances in optics underlying Pointillism -- optical mixing, divisionism, and basic color theory.

And I didn't know that Seurat took a decidedly anti-Romantic, scientistic approach to his method (see these lecture notes). I suppose I was sleeping during that day in art history class in college.

It's interesting, because this aspect of optics is exactly what enables our televisions to produce the illusion of color even today. If the Impressionists were reconceiving the meaning of painting in an era of photography, the Pointillists were pre-conceiving painting for the era of television.
* * * * *
Don't mess with young Irish writers who idolize Yeats

I had a pleasant argument about Yeats with the Irish dude working the counter at Shakespeare & Co. He seemed to think of Yeats as a "desperate optimist." I can't bring myself to agree. But then Yeats is rather complicated, isn't he? How to manage the Occultism, the Elitism (and bad politics generally), the brilliant poetry, and the long and tumultuous life? No simple formula contains it all.

It's actually a nice bookstore, in case you were wondering. Best of all: open late. They have prominent displays of Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation on display there, as well as, of course, Ulysses. I was too embarrassed to buy the book on Beach; I'm buying it now on Amazon.

* * * * *
Chatting with artists

On the last day we were in Paris, we stumbled into something called the Grand-Marché d'Art Contemporain, mainly because it was three blocks from our hotel. This is a huge open fair, where artists bring their works to display and sell.

The cool thing is, the artists are actually there, and you can talk to them. Unlike many Parisians, who get annoyed by people (like me) who speak bad French, or who just speak English, the artists seemed quite excited that we took an interest in their work. I told one guy, who was doing a very precise kind of photo-realist painting, that his work resembled Gerhard Richter's, and he was positively beaming.

We fell in love with some of the work we saw, and were even tempted a couple of times to buy something, though buying original art is something one thinks of as a hobby for people who are a) rich, and b) actually grown up. We are far from (a), and still resisting (b).

I think my taste is moving away from the conceptual art that I was into in college, and towards a more technical kind of expressionist painting and sculpture. I find I really like a rather non-ideological kind of beauty in painting. Is that reactionary?

(The previous paragraph sounds pretentious. Forgive me; I'm still a little jet-lagged.)

We made friends with one painter who called herself CAB. And we're still thinking of calling up Katia Neboit-Croze to buy this painting, though the money it costs (not so very much) would be much better spent on other things -- like paying our bills.

* * * * *
Parisian Paneer

Our best meal in Paris was, ironically, at the Indo-Pak restaurant called Le Zaiqa, right across from our hotel near the Gare de Lyon. We were a little tripped out to find something that looked and, yes, smelled of home (meaning, New Jersey, not India) in Paris that for the first four days we studiously avoided going there.

But we were glad we did. They were so happy to have Punjabi-speaking patrons that they treated us very lavishly, giving us free dessert, masala chai, and after-dinner brandy.

The interesting thing was their paneer -- it didn't taste like paneer at all. It was sweeter and much softer. Is it possible they're using some kind of French cheese instead? And is this commmon in the Indian restaurants in Paris? We didn't find out. Whatever the case may be, that was some of the best mattar paneer I've ever had.

* * * * *
French Multiculturalism

On the last night, also, I watched a televised debate about Multiculturalism in France on one of the French news channels.

It's odd, because my French isn't great, but I pretty much understood the whole thing, despite the fact that they were speaking very fast and about something quite technical and complex.

On the pro-multiculturalism side were Tariq Ramadan (of course), an Afro-French novelist and scholar named Calixthe Beyala, and a character named Olivier le Cour Grandmaisoon. On the anti-multicultural, "Republican" (in the French sense) side there were three people, but only one of them seemed to be making really coherent arguments, and that was Alain Finkielkraut, who has written a book called Au Nom de l'Autre: Reflections sur l'anti-semitism qui vient (In the Name of the Other: Reflections on the Anti-Semitism to Come).

Finkielkraut was the main intellectual "conservative" in the debate, which tells you something about the intellectual scene in France, especially given that his earlier book, In the Name of Humanity (tranlated by Judith Friedlander, on Columbia University Press), made arguments with which many on the cultural left might be sympathetic.

Still, Finkielkraut arguments in favor of a kind of assimilationist Republican in this new book and in this debate are fluid and formidable, and at times Ramadan, Beyala, and Grandmaison had to move quickly to counter them. At other times, the guy just wouldn't shut up, and the moderator did rather a poor job of handling him. He talked a lot about human rights, citizenship, the rule of law, and the "foulard" of Islamism.

Here is an interesting summary and analysis (in English) of another of Finkielkraut's books, An Imaginary Jew. Both this article and the synopsis of Finielkraut's In the Name of Humanity suggest a person rather more liberal than the one I saw on television, who was extremely antagonistic to any expression of Arab/Muslim political solidarity in France. Perhaps in recent years he's taken a sharper turn to the right?

On the left, Tariq Ramadan was the clear leader, though he was much more reserved than Finkielkraut on the other side of the table. Beyala was sharp and well-spoken, though slightly off-topic in my view (she kept bringing up the slave trade, which seems irrelevant to race-relations issues in France today). Olivier Le Cour Grandmaison was closer to the mark in his arguments on France's failure to really face up to the damage done during the colonial era in Algeria. I'll be curious to check out his book Coloniser Exterminer if/when it is translated, though I suspect I will find it to be rather strong medicine.

Back from Paris

I'm working on a detailed trip narrative -- maybe later today. For now, I'll just leave you with the above photo of the Seine near Notre Dame.

I've been uploading this and other pictures to Flickr. You can see them here. They're a little randomly ordered, though many of them have comments.

I've kept the pictures of S. and me under "Friends and Family." If you wanted to be added as a "friend," email me and I will do so.

Off somewhere

Ok, we're taking off for a few days. More about it when I come back!