Light

M. John Harrison’s new SF novel Light is a brilliant metaphysical space opera, mixing paranoia and sexual dysfunction in the present with disaffection and alienation in the future, all to a backdrop of quantum strangeness. The novel is dark, brooding, and bitter for the most part–which I loved–although it has an affirmative, almost Nietzschean conclusion. The technologies involved, which include quantum mechanical jumps in space, advanced bioengineering, and various techniques of simulation, are not so much foregrounded as they are taken for granted in the future parts of the novel. The disorientation one feels reading the book has as much to do with this taken-for-grantedness as with anything else. Metamorphosis and discovery are all the more terrifying for being, as it were, domesticated. Harrison is a wonderful writer whom I only recently discovered, thanks to China Mieville.

M. John Harrison’s new SF novel Light is a brilliant metaphysical space opera, mixing paranoia and sexual dysfunction in the present with disaffection and alienation in the future, all to a backdrop of quantum strangeness. Something truly weird happens when existential angst gets mixed up with quantum mechanics. The novel is dark, brooding, and bitter for the most part–which I loved–although it has an affirmative, almost Nietzschean conclusion, which I am not sure I entirely buy. The technologies involved, which include quantum jumps in space, advanced bioengineering, and various techniques of simulation, are not so much foregrounded as they are taken for granted in the future parts of the novel. The disorientation one feels reading the book has as much to do with this taken-for-grantedness as with anything else. Metamorphosis and discovery are all the more terrifying for being, as it were, domesticated. Harrison is a wonderful writer whom I only recently discovered, thanks to China Mieville.

Ljubljana

I just spent three days in Ljubljana, which is one of the most delightful cities in Europe. It’s a small city (population about 300,000), but a beautiful one, with a mixture of Austrian and Mediterranean influences. The weather was gorgeous, and everyone was hanging out in the cafes that run along the river. And Ljubljana is also quite alive and exciting culturally–with innovative artists of various generations, as well as the philosophers of the Zizek school. I wish I could spend a week here every year….

I just spent three days in Ljubljana, which is one of the most delightful cities in Europe. It’s a small city (population about 300,000), but a beautiful one, with a mixture of Austrian and Mediterranean influences. The weather was gorgeous, and everyone was hanging out in the cafes that run along the river. And Ljubljana is also quite alive and exciting culturally–with innovative artists of various generations, as well as the philosophers of the Zizek school. I wish I could spend a week here every year….

Chantal Michel

Here, in Graz, as part of the Masochism conference/festivl, a performance by Chantal Michel. She’s on a thin ledge outside the building, one story up, wearing only a white nightgown. Her hair hangs over her face, which therefore we cannot see. (Can she see us?). She is nearly motionless, at most there are slight movements over her arms. She must be cold, she must be in a position that is hard to keep stable–as I write this she’s been up there for more than an hour. An incredible force of will, then, at the service of expressing an image of total vulnerability. She does nothing, just stands there–waiting for what? Will the police come and take her away? (They were called, but left). Will she come back inside of her own free will? Will she have to be forced and cajoled? She probably wouldn’t die from a one-story fall, but she certainly would be injured–if I didn’t know this was a performance, would I think someone was trying to commit suicide? We, in the street, cannot help relating in some way to her mute otherness, though we cannot actually reach it. She demonstrates for us the falsity of our positions, as people in the world, going about our ordinary business.

Here, in Graz, as part of the Masochism conference/festivl, a performance by Chantal Michel. She’s on a thin ledge outside the building, one story up, wearing only a white nightgown. Her hair hangs over her face, which therefore we cannot see. (Can she see us?). She is nearly motionless, at most there are slight movements over her arms. She must be cold, she must be in a position that is hard to keep stable–as I write this she’s been up there for more than an hour. An incredible force of will, then, at the service of expressing an image of total vulnerability. She does nothing, just stands there–waiting for what? Will the police come and take her away? (They were called, but left). Will she come back inside of her own free will? Will she have to be forced and cajoled? She probably wouldn’t die from a one-story fall, but she certainly would be injured–if I didn’t know this was a performance, would I think someone was trying to commit suicide? We, in the street, cannot help relating in some way to her mute otherness, though we cannot actually reach it. She demonstrates for us the falsity of our positions, as people in the world, going about our ordinary business.

Graz, Austria

So here I am in Graz, Austria, on the main square. It’s a pretty little town; the core has the big squares and winding small streets that one finds in many of the older cities and towns of Europe. It is not exactly a cosmopolitan place, but the people here seem friendly, at least to me. That’s about all I can say, really.

So here I am in Graz, Austria, on the main square. It’s a pretty little town; the core has the big squares and winding small streets that one finds in many of the older cities and towns of Europe. It is not exactly a cosmopolitan place, but the people here seem friendly, at least to me. That’s about all I can say, really.

Amsterdam

Here I am in Amsterdam… I’m having a good time here, though the city seems to me to be much more quaint and bourgeois than its transgressive reputation in the United States would suggest. Both the prostitutes on display in the Red Light district, and the marijuana cafes, seem pretty sad to me–ridiculous tourist displays for frat boys on spring break or holiday–rather than anything that has much to do with the everyday life of the city.

Here I am in Amsterdam… I’m having a good time here, though the city seems to me to be much more quaint and bourgeois than its transgressive reputation in the United States would suggest. Both the prostitutes on display in the Red Light district, and the marijuana cafes, seem pretty sad to me–ridiculous tourist displays for frat boys on spring break or holiday–rather than anything that has much to do with the everyday life of the city.

Summer Sun

Summer Sun, the new album by Yo La Tengo, is genial and relaxed. Their overall musical strategy is the same as it has long been: varied textures and dynamics on top of driving rhythms. The scope of these textures has even broadened a bit, compared to their earlier work–the extra instrumentation on a number of the songs contributes to this. The tempo varies from rave-ups to slow and reflective (but even the slow and reflective songs have a good degree of forward, rock ‘n’ roll drive). What makes this album different from the last several ones, above all, is the mood–it is more upbeat, less tinged with the melancholy that has colored all of Yo La Tengo’s music. There are frequent suggestions of 60s surf music, and one song is even a mambo. I am a devotee of melancholia myself, and this has been the biggest reason why I have long loved Yo La Tengo, but (somewhat to my surprise) I find the new album’s lightness of spirit quite compelling: the edge is still there, but they are on the upward slope of it this time (if that isn’t too strained a metaphor).

Summer Sun, the new album by Yo La Tengo, is genial and relaxed. Their overall musical strategy is the same as it has long been: varied textures and dynamics on top of driving rhythms. The scope of these textures has even broadened a bit, compared to their earlier work–the extra instrumentation on a number of the songs contributes to this. The tempo varies from rave-ups to slow and reflective (but even the slow and reflective songs have a good degree of forward, rock ‘n’ roll drive). What makes this album different from the last several ones, above all, is the mood–it is more upbeat, less tinged with the melancholy that has colored all of Yo La Tengo’s music. There are frequent suggestions of 60s surf music, and one song is even a mambo. I am a devotee of melancholia myself, and this has been the biggest reason why I have long loved Yo La Tengo, but (somewhat to my surprise) I find the new album’s lightness of spirit quite compelling: the edge is still there, but they are on the upward slope of it this time (if that isn’t too strained a metaphor).