ED was kind enough to invite me to a reading up at Symphony Space the other night, on behalf of 826 Valencia, in Brooklyn. ED gets to be judgmental because well, hell, she's a teacher. And she bought the tickets. I'm not and I didn't, so I don't have too much to say, as way of criticism. Charming and doing-good and maybe a little too-sweatery-and-cutesy, and yes, maybe Park Slope didn't need it the most. But whatever, and whatever.
The evening featured Zadie Smith moderating, George Saunders (looking like the Civil War himself), Vendela Vida, and Maggie Gyllenhaal (foxy, but also sister of foxy, and dating foxy, so whatever, whatever) reading the story "Roy Spivey" by Miranda July (foxy). And not to stir up controversy, but I'm pretty sure Peter Sarsgaard beats up on Jake at family picnics and whatever. At least, I hope they fight. And Sarah Vowell introducing and Dimitri Martin in the crowd. He's funny, my impression from ladies I know in New York is that he makes ladies swoon. But he seemed goofy, and I've seen him in the bookstore on Prince, and his hair seems like it takes a lot of time to get it that helmet-like.
There's probably a lot to say about the reading, but only one notion of consequence caught my attention. Zadie Smith said that Miranda July wrote about what it felt like to be in a woman's body better than anybody she could think of (sic, right?) and that held my imagination. After staring at people on the subway, ED and I took up this idea, although ED seemed to think that it meant only that Miranda July did an exceptional job describing what it felt like to be inside a specific type of woman's body (the gangly, awkward, overly self-aware type), or perhaps, that only a certain type of woman would recognize themselves in Miranda July's characters (either the gangly, awkward types or the self-aware types, and, of course, the Venn diagram intersection of the two types). ED's argument, as she indicated by a fat woman sitting across from us, and a snub-nosed girl reading a novel (that ED recognized by cover alone), was that most women aren't reflective enough to see themselves in their own bodies. No, they'd rather read The Devil Wears Prada or The Nanny Diaries or whatever, because they delude themselves into thinking that they actually are like those girls. Or that's what I got.
Maybe so, but this isn't what caught my imagination, and I don't think it is what Zadie Smith was getting at. Put differently, I don't think I'd do a good job writing about what it felt like to be in a man's body, although I could probably do a great job writing about what it feels like to be in my body. But that's because I think my body probably doesn't work exactly like most men think their bodies work... by which I mean the sweat and the stench and, especially, the blue balls. But it's an interesting idea, and one that I don't know I have a great example of -- who writes what it feels like to be inside of your own body (in my case, a man's body) exceptionally well. What it feels like to hang on the bones, and feel the skin, and understand the muscles and the blood and the pulses, strains, awkward twangs, and heat of the muscles. That there's such a thing that you could writePublish Post that would be commonly recognizable -- that this is a man's body, different from a boy's body, and different from a woman's body. And a hell of a compliment for Zadie Smith to play Miranda July.
EDITOR'S NOTE: ED has informed me that I got everything wrong, so you can't hold it against her.
The evening featured Zadie Smith moderating, George Saunders (looking like the Civil War himself), Vendela Vida, and Maggie Gyllenhaal (foxy, but also sister of foxy, and dating foxy, so whatever, whatever) reading the story "Roy Spivey" by Miranda July (foxy). And not to stir up controversy, but I'm pretty sure Peter Sarsgaard beats up on Jake at family picnics and whatever. At least, I hope they fight. And Sarah Vowell introducing and Dimitri Martin in the crowd. He's funny, my impression from ladies I know in New York is that he makes ladies swoon. But he seemed goofy, and I've seen him in the bookstore on Prince, and his hair seems like it takes a lot of time to get it that helmet-like.
There's probably a lot to say about the reading, but only one notion of consequence caught my attention. Zadie Smith said that Miranda July wrote about what it felt like to be in a woman's body better than anybody she could think of (sic, right?) and that held my imagination. After staring at people on the subway, ED and I took up this idea, although ED seemed to think that it meant only that Miranda July did an exceptional job describing what it felt like to be inside a specific type of woman's body (the gangly, awkward, overly self-aware type), or perhaps, that only a certain type of woman would recognize themselves in Miranda July's characters (either the gangly, awkward types or the self-aware types, and, of course, the Venn diagram intersection of the two types). ED's argument, as she indicated by a fat woman sitting across from us, and a snub-nosed girl reading a novel (that ED recognized by cover alone), was that most women aren't reflective enough to see themselves in their own bodies. No, they'd rather read The Devil Wears Prada or The Nanny Diaries or whatever, because they delude themselves into thinking that they actually are like those girls. Or that's what I got.
Maybe so, but this isn't what caught my imagination, and I don't think it is what Zadie Smith was getting at. Put differently, I don't think I'd do a good job writing about what it felt like to be in a man's body, although I could probably do a great job writing about what it feels like to be in my body. But that's because I think my body probably doesn't work exactly like most men think their bodies work... by which I mean the sweat and the stench and, especially, the blue balls. But it's an interesting idea, and one that I don't know I have a great example of -- who writes what it feels like to be inside of your own body (in my case, a man's body) exceptionally well. What it feels like to hang on the bones, and feel the skin, and understand the muscles and the blood and the pulses, strains, awkward twangs, and heat of the muscles. That there's such a thing that you could writePublish Post that would be commonly recognizable -- that this is a man's body, different from a boy's body, and different from a woman's body. And a hell of a compliment for Zadie Smith to play Miranda July.
EDITOR'S NOTE: ED has informed me that I got everything wrong, so you can't hold it against her.
No comments:
Post a Comment