a biweekly column
by michelle ampofo ‘25
managing editor
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1. The following will be written in twelve points.
2. I turned in an essay the other week, which my professor said was too fragmentary and that my arguments “needed more connection.” Readers should not be left confused after reading your papers; every point should be clear and concise.
But I write in the way that I think—in fragments. And clearly, he could not follow.
3. With literature, I don’t agree that a reader should be personally escorted to the “main idea” and that every intention needs to be made explicit. There is no “main idea” and I think we should stop trying to force connections.
4. But right now, I am going to try to demonstrate how my mind works—and how it jumps. I will also try to make “connections and be concise.” Let’s see if you can follow.
5. Descend with me into the attic.
6. After I read my professor’s email, I went to lunch at Pierson, where the high ceilings, white walls, and stark lights make one feel less contained. It was chicken tender day: I wondered how many different chickens we were being served. Perhaps, on my plate alone, was a piece from Mother Chicken, another from Daughter, and Father Chicken if he was around. One chicken may have been born in January and the other in July.
Each chicken has two wings. The wings are separated to maximize the meat. A drumstick and a flat. Chicken wings come from adult chickens that cannot fly. I ate the wings of at least three chickens that day. Though I thought this while I ate, the idea did not quell my appetite. I continued to eat, hoping I would not find any tendons.
7. I wonder what it feels like — to be killed, stripped, then dressed in sauce. Stacked on a plate. Put in a salad. Unable to escape oppressive hands, time, or even their own bodies. Having to accept their fate.
We are served so much chicken in this place.
8. Over October break, I began to think more about the Daughter chicken, and the chicken family structure. I was reminded by something I saw over break.
While grocery shopping with my mother, I saw a child happily pushing a “customer in training” cart. I remember once doing the same. But on this particular day the sight disturbed me.
9. This child is a member of a newer cohort of consumers— a group that must constantly be regenerated. Like a factory line of poultry, in the greater capitalist structure, children serve one primary purpose—to continue, like their parents, as cogs in the established order. At first it’s fun— playing house, pushing a grocery cart, playing cashier, working in a mini kitchen, until you get older and realize that the indoctrination began earlier than you realize. That you really had no chance.
The reality of this has sat on my mind like a phantom.
10. I keep thinking of the Daughter chicken.
And of how she never had a chance.
I once thought I had a chance, but sometimes I think I’ve already been ruined. Because there is no point in denying:
That my voice sounds unsteady when I talk aloud, that I often question the extent of my ability, that I end sentences like they are questions, that I put my head down when I walk past a certain group, that I have begun to count my footsteps, that — one day — I suddenly began to wonder whether I was pretty, that sometimes I daydream of a different last name, that I got my hopes up, that I allowed myself to imagine, that I saw a certain side of him, then promptly crashed down to earth, that I had wanted a reduction, because I wanted to feel complete, and that you do too. That my younger sister wants it also. That our mother once wanted it as well. (How is it that we are one way today, so different tomorrow, and all the time the same?)
But I also know that after the night I revealed my mind to the moon, I had a strange dream and have been left with this strange cough and that there is a part of me that refuses to be conquered and another that is being expelled.
It has occurred to me that in our cohort, not one of us is whole; we have been reduced, the damage has been done, a damage that likely began in our mothers wombs.
11. When I have daughters, perhaps I will reject Naomi and Ruth and instead name them Odessa and Cassandra, with the hope that — by luck or nominative determinism — they will carry my and my mother’s wrath — combined with their own — and lead the new cohort. That they will be propelled by this righteous anger and escape to a place far from Egypt, the land of captivity. And when they reach Canaan, they continue further and set camp at a place unknown.
In this place, chickens roam free and are not dressed for consumption. A lush garden with pear trees, black cats, black swans. The wild horse. And eggs. Lispector was enamored by the idea of eggs. The breeze of the second wind. Daughters will be bathed in a river of purer water. Then adorned with flower petals, bows. And myrrh. And when the creatures get lonely, they will lean on each other for warmth. And everything will be good. If only for a time.
And maybe I will secretly pray that these daughters will be difficult to raise, that they will be unruly, that they will cause the error, that they will refuse to obey, will fight back, will sway left, not bend, and will take the narrowest path. If only for a time.
Because one day I know that they will get older and trade living water for kool-aid that at first tastes sickly sweet. Kool-aid that they mistook for punch. I will warn them—so that they know—that men have pockets, and women carry purses, and these purses are rarely light. That boys also drink kool-aid, but don’t have to worry about staining their teeth or their dress. That they should not dress themselves up, with the hopes that someone will choose and consume them. That there is more to life than being a man’s “someday” and another man’s “maybe.” That they should remember the water. But again, they are older now and long for something sweet.
12. I will tell them this: that though we cannot choose a different form, though we could not live outside ourselves, there is much in life to be had. The sun keeps shining, and we cannot live fully with our minds harrowed by smoke.
I will tell them this, as they lay in their cribs: That above them is a ceiling (with white walls and stark lights), but beyond that, the sky.
13. Twelve is the number of completion. The greatest number that exists by itself, without undergoing a syllabic divide. Twelve is the basis on which this world operates. There were Twelve disciples. Twelve tribes of Israel. The Book of Revelation contains the number Twelve. There are Twelve months. There are Twelve zodiacs. Twelve stations of the moon and sun. Twelve Olympians. Twelve labors. Twelve days of Christmas. Twelve days of Epiphany. Twelve is a highly composite number. We are chained to the number Twelve. We are under the dominion of Twelve and I am trying to free myself from my submission at this moment.
By continuing further, by transcending the number Twelve.
The number Twelve.
14. I am aware that the dominating thoughts of my mind will eventually manifest themselves externally. I am aware that everything in the universe was initially a thought, a thought that was actualized into its full, material existence. I am aware of the power of an uncracked egg. I am aware that I contain many eggs. I am aware that thoughts are eggs. The longer one holds a sustained idea, the more it becomes real to them. I will concentrate my thoughts upon the completion of myself and persistently hold the thought in my mind until I see the fruits of this effect. I am devoted to the development
of myself and confidence, through which I will fulfill my full potential. I have a clear vision of my aim in life, and will not stop working towards my goals until I reach their attainment. And when I reach that attainment, I will continue further.
15. I commit both to myself and to the God of my religion. In doing this, there is no reason to fear that I will fail. On this day, or this day forth.
16. I reject the number Twelve, while recognizing my containment and its authority. 17. In kind, I reject societal bounds while recognizing my containment in them. 18. I submit myself to God and His authority. On this day, and this day forth.
19. The number 20 symbolizes infinite potential, inner strength, unity, and resistance of outside influences.
20. And Twenty trumps Twelve.
The number Twelve.
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Class notes/an amalgamation of what I’ve learned this week:
The concept of conventional womanhood and the nuclear family structure is necessary for capitalism to persist and perpetuate.The feminization of certain labors and the insistence of individual free will is undermined by the fact that almost every life choice is made through spontaneous consent (which strengthens cultural hegemony), the idea that our lives are dictated by a series of “give-ins” and “no-brainers” that align us with the dominant group. Our decisions are based on “common sense” (ie. go to college after high school, get married and start a family, all standards we’ve been inculcated with), rather than us consciously making these life choices based on what we want for ourselves. I was happy to learn about this in class because, clearly, I’ve been thinking about the idea of choice a lot recently.
I talked to a professor about the evolution of sex work, in the sense that how it previously was the act of people buying immediate sexual gratification, it has now become a way for people to purchase intimacy. This is fascinating but not surprising. Of course people have resorted to buying false intimacy—there is a deficiency in the relationships we have with each other. The private nature of interpersonal relationships has been made public and commercialized. People take and post pictures of themselves dining with friends, laying on the couch with their
boyfriends, exchanging holiday gifts, feeding their babies, their children sleeping, attending weddings. I read an article some time ago that proposed the idea that social media has now become as real as “real life.” We now live our lives straddling dual dimensions—physically on Earth, yet living life through the lens of social media (re: “Pics or it didn’t happen.”). We live our lives considering what will be most aesthetic or cool to post, in a constant state of performance. People believe that what we post of ourselves online is true, so it becomes so, albeit a truth that cannot stand alone and instead, requires constant maintenance. We now look at our lives in bits and pieces, reducing our experiences, and ourselves, to fit squares meant for public consumption. I was talking to a friend about how disillusioned I’ve become with Instagram (I’ve long deserted Twitter), but don’t think I will ever fully delete my account. This is because so much of college life is linked to Instagram. Instagram is the modern public square, bulletin board, and town hall. Permanently severing myself from the platform would mean to miss out on events being promoted on campus, seeing what my friends back home are up to, and discovering new cultural magazines, events, happenings, etc. Deleting my social media account would create a gap in my “real life” affairs as well.
Through social media, we have commercialized ourselves and have volunteered ourselves as products of a public, global market (And yes, this is essentially what it is—we do not have to pay to use social media because we ourselves are the products being sold. Furthermore, we sell ourselves to each other to control how we are perceived socially, which itself is a form of currency. That thirst trap, selfie, and vacation picture you posted is earning you something in
return—you know this). The fact that this is a global market should not be glossed over. At the time of writing this, I have about 980 followers on Instagram, a good amount, but still noticeably less than that of most friends. I do not know the majority of my followers personally, but still, their approval and consumption of my posts matters equally to those I do know. A couple months ago, I made the decision to make my Instagram account private, essentially trapping myself inside with these strangers (Also—so weird, the act of privatizing a social media account like Instagram or TikTok as if that lends an extra layer of protection??? The question becomes why and from whom are you protecting yourself from? It’s akin to walking into a cage by your own accord, but adding cushions to make your entrapment a bit more comfortable).
It reminds me of this play, Yerma, that I read this week for my tragedy class. The main character, Yerma, is barren and therefore unable to fit into society’s expectations of women’s purpose as mothers at the time (and still, even now). The people around her try to convince her of the freedom she inadvertently has in this, yet she is so indoctrinated by society constraints on what constitutes a valuable life that she herself has created a prison of her own discontent. Her restriction of self-conception has led her to internalize her lack of value in not being a mother of a child, particularly a son, and creates a ceiling where others would think of as an escape. Yerma effectively builds a gilded prison (is that what social media accounts are, gilded
prisons?), volunteering herself to this oppressive structure when she has the freedom to turn away. (Note: I should make clear that I am only talking about fertility issues and motherhood in the context of Yerma here, not making an insensitive statement about women who struggle with infertility in real life.)
I have begun reading Arlie Russell Hochschild’s The Commercialization of Intimate Life and have had two separate conversations with different professors that happen to align with the contents of the book. The book is a collection of essays that mainly discuss how capitalism has pervaded domestic life, and has placed people in a place where they constantly have to
negotiate the importance and juggle the demands of both work and home. She poses the idea of whether capitalism is an insidious religion we all subscribe to, as it dictates every aspect of modern life.
This connected to a class discussion of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House where we discussed how not only are women associated with domesticity and the home, a woman is also responsible for creating the home as a statement of the family. It is essentially a living artwork or artistic display. The reason why the “lifestyle” and interior design sphere of women’s culture exists is largely related to this. The compound explains itself: the style of your home is an expression of the life you are living). In Ibsen’s era, the home was a woman’s sphere of dominion, her own aesthetic shrine. The idea was that a house is a temple made to an individual’s taste, a beautiful and decorative place that one can take refuge in after a long day’s work. But of course, at this time, women had no complete removal from the domestic sphere, so the house was at once an expression of themselves and their entrapment. In other words, a gilded cage, built to taste. And in modern times, while, yes, most women go to work and return to their homes, they are also the primary managers of the home as well, and therefore do not interact with it as a place of relaxation in the same way as other members of the family (re: “the second shift”). The former example might seem anachronistic, but the latter less so. The adornment of the home is also not only for the people who dwell there. When entering someone’s house for the first time, one subconsciously takes notice of objects that signify a certain status and judges the homeowner accordingly. Remember? There is no private sphere.
But when it comes to the family, the effects of capitalism don’t only affect adults, children are also subjected. In recent years, there has been a rise of “expert knowledge” content (ie. parenting books) which have effectively commercialized this formerly private sphere. Parenting was never something that people referred to books for guidance, only in recent years has there been a pressure and perceived need for people to refer to external, often online, sources on how to raise their children. This has created less cooperation and more judgment and guilt in the parenting methods people subscribe to. There is a cultural incongruence of parenthood in that everyone does what they do for the “children’s sake” (ie. being a stay at home parent to be more present in the children’s lives, despite wanting to work, or working to be a role model for
the children (a new cohort of workers, wow!)). Mothers and fathers both do this, and many remain unhappy, as there is no completely fulfilling choice. But these guidebooks also encourage a certain standard to be held of children. Children are now consumed by their own busy schedules. They have ballet lessons, dance lessons, sports practice, music lessons, trips to the library, language classes, religious lessons, school, playdates, tutoring, etc. And in their free time, similar to how their parents unwind in front of the television screen, children are handed an iPad to distract them with (perhaps later they’ll take to social media). It is no surprise that the capitalist model of productivity and maximizing time has now been imposed on children. They too are being reared in becoming spontaneous consentors who like their parents, slip easily into cultural hegemony.
The reason why I find this so compelling is because I undoubtedly want to become a mother (people are always shocked to hear this and it might come as a greater shock after this spiel). While this is true, I don’t want to lose myself for this to occur. There is a bargain a woman makes when she becomes a mother, the lessening of herself. It is a tale as old as time, mothers that dreamed of much more for themselves but sacrificed those dreams when they had children. She will identify as a mother first, a wife second, and a person last. Rather than a person who is married and has kids. Another progression happens slowly. In this domestic bargain, she might begin to rationalize her husband’s inadequacy — first comparing his involvement in household affairs with her own (“He doesn’t help at all in the house!”), but then after a while begin to compare their husbands to other husbands, quite favorably (“I’m so grateful, some men don’t touch the dishes at all.”). Another bargain—women continuously having to adjust their standards and settle for lesser things because they are aware of their replaceability and fear that with age they’ll expire. It has been proven that, on average, marriage shortens a woman’s life, while it increases a man’s.
So how will I reconcile my desire to get married and have children but also maintain an equally fruitful identity and career? I don’t know.
But I want it all, and I’m determined to get it—this I am sure of.
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Here is a list of the books cited by professors or taught in class that sparked these discussions, if at all interested:
– The Commercialization of Intimate Life: Notes from Home and Work by Arlie Russell Hochschild
– The Second Shift by Arlie Russell Hochschild
– Intimate Labors: Culture, Technologies, and the Politics of Care edited by Rhacel Parreñas and Eileen Boris
– Women with Mustaches and Men without Beards by Afsaneh Najmabadi – Yerma by Fererico Garcia Lorca
– A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen
– The Caliban and the Witch by Silvia Federici
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(These columns are getting longer and longer, aren’t they?)
Read:
I fell down many rabbit holes in the last three weeks; the readings I recommend the most are emboldened.
Lauren Oyler · Ha ha! Ha ha! Jia Tolentino
Astrology Year Zero | Lauren Oyler
Habitual User | Lauren Oyler
Lauren Oyler on Writing a Book ‘Good Enough So People Can’t Hatchet-Job You’ The Best of Lauren Oyler’s Media Blitz – wildchild
Last column, I explained my gripe with Jia Tolentino and my lack of finding any real criticism of her online. Well, lo and behold, while on the train, two of my friends directed me to a critique written by Lauren Oyler for the London Review of Books. And she went in. One point she brought up in her piece, that I agreed with, was the dissonance between the ideas these writers claim to subscribe to, and what they privately believe. She claims that this disingenuity is constructed intentionally in order for the writers to produce a “certain self-presentation or outcome.” She brings forth the idea of “performed hysteria” and the way that critics like Tolentino, don’t really say anything outside of what’s largely agreed upon, but when they do, heighten their personal experiences as a way to be seen as an authority over the subject, making it hard for their words to be critiqued or condemned. These people make it seem like they are living the most oppressed lives so they are given license to write about what they do, when in reality they are usually very well off. I am doing a horrendous job at explaining this, but I recommend reading her critique on Tolentino more than I do anything else in this entire
column. (That is, if you haven’t read it already. Apparently, it caused a stir when it was published.) It was refreshing, and personally quite new, to see someone properly critique something. I’ve realized that we’re in a time where everyone is scared to say what they mean, especially when it’s different from what else is being said. Every book is “the book to pick up,” every movie is a “must-see.” Why don’t we see people making more hot takes on the media they don’t like? (Also, I was really happy to read Oyler mention Tolentino constantly bringing up that she “almost went to Yale” because apparently that wasn’t only in my head and she does it quite often.)
Of course, after enjoying the first piece so much, I had to continue further in my readings. I was having dinner with a new friend of mine, and she was so knowledgeable about astrology. It was like talking to an encyclopedia. This encouraged me to learn about my chart more seriously (I’m
a Capricorn sun, Gemini moon, and Taurus rising), but also to read Oyler’s piece on the subject. She tears it to shreds. She writes that although astrology began as an ancient guide for people to live by, it has gone beyond a thing people do to explain why they are the way they are, and has instead become the commercialized victim of social media. She quotes Adorno saying that astrology appeals to a person who “vaguely wants to understand and is also driven by the narcissistic wish to prove superior to the plain people but he is not in a position to carry through complicated and detached intellectual operations.” And continues, saying: “astrology represents a desire for a benevolent ‘abstract authority’ that would create the illusion of freedom, which, if you listen to your horoscope, ‘consists of the individual’s taking upon himself voluntarily what is inevitable anyway.’” This is all true. But now that I’ve started, I don’t think I will stop.
CABINET / Two Lives, Simultaneous and Perfect
In my journey to become more culturedTMI’ve subscribed to The Criterion Channel, and I feel like a film bro already. My intention is to watch more foreign, old, and black films, and when
researching what French films to start off with, I came across this article. It discusses the dual identity of Éric Rohmer (as in the difference between him in his private and public life), but also talks about how his films continue to be acclaimed, despite nothing really happening within them. He is known for his “slice of life” scenes which basically show characters doing quotidian things such as cook dinner, make coffee, get out of bed etc. After reading this, I immediately added his movies to a list. I really love “slice of life” films or books that are more “character driven” which are both euphemisms to suggest the lack of plot. It is interesting to merely observe someone live a life completely different from your own—it might be the same reason why some love to “people-watch.”
Literally the Best Thing Ever: Joan Didion
Thomas Powers · Fire or Earthquake: Joan Didion’s Gaze · LRB 3 November 2022 The Elitist Allure of Joan Didion – The Atlantic
Joan Didion’s Estate Sale Items Paint a Picture of Her Life – The New York Times At the Joan Didion Estate Sale – The Paris Review
In Sable and Dark Glasses | Vogue
In preparation for her estate sale (which I ended up not being able to attend), I did some reading on Joan Didion. I wish there was a course offered on Joan Didion. She is inspiring because she proves that being cerebral and slightly neurotic is not as bad as it sometimes seems. There should be more classes dedicated to female authors—I would take all of them.
I’m unsure of my thoughts on estate sales. On one hand, I think it is a nice commemoration/transfer of someone’s life, to have other people cherish the items that the deceased person once owned —a way for someone to be materially memorialized. It is also a nice “memento mori,” a reminder that life is much more than the objects we own, things we have no choice to leave behind. On the other hand, there is something insidious and quite
simply weird about items you’ve collected throughout your life set out in a display for people to pick and choose at, with the (perhaps) delusional desire that they will get closer to you in by owning something you once did, in a way they wouldn’t be able to if you were alive. Another example of the private being made public. Take for example the crazy amounts objects sold for during this auction in particular. According to one article (and the auction website), “A group of seashells and pebbles sold for $7,000.” That is absolutely fucking insane. I am kind of happy I didn’t make the trek up to Hudson for this, it would feel weird being in a room with people so willing to possess an item of someone else that they would be willing to spend as much money as this. I wonder, how does one go about becoming an auctioneer?
The Yale Review | Jared Marcel Pollen: “A Ritual for Mystery”
I’m embarrassed.
Chloe’s Scene | The New Yorker
The Independent Spirit of Chloë Sevigny
Chloë Sevigny Revisits (and Revises) Her Interview Cover Story From 1995
Chloe Sevigny. Once on par with fellow 90’s grunge icons Fiona Apple, Alanïs Morisette, Drew Barrymore, and Kate Moss. Now largely unknown to many in the Gen-Z generation. What happens when an it-girl gets old? Sevigny was discovered when she was sitting in a friend’s car and a photographer of i-D magazine approached her, suggesting she should model for them. She was a trendsetter in the 90’s, modeling for alternative magazines, partying at underground parties, acting in indie and arthouse films. I always think it’s weird how some models came into their career by being “discovered” on the street, after someone approaches them because of their beauty. It is a strange thing that someone can make their living off of being beautiful, which is such a precarious income to depend on. People age, beauty standards constantly change, and there will always be someone younger and deemed prettier than you. I know of someone who was obsessed with being pretty—she regularly went to waxes, facials, spa, hair, eyelash, and nail appointments, and was constantly trying new diets. She called this all maintenance, like she was a car.
The Yale Review | Noreen Khawaja: “The Sublime Modes of Sheila Heti” Opinion | Sheila Heti: ‘Curiosity Is Not a Good Reason to Get Married’ – The New York Times
Sheila Heti Is Still Asking Questions – The New York Times
The Rumpus Interview With Sheila Heti
Chai
Hello, World! Part One: Eliza – The Paris Review
Hello, World! Part Two: Eliza?!!?!?! – The Paris Review
Hello, World! Part Three: Alice – The Paris Review
Hello, World! Part Four: George Dorn – The Paris Review
Hello, World! Part Five: Two Squares – The Paris Review
A Correspondence with Elena Ferrante
An Interview with Joan Didion – Culture.org
An Interview with Mary Gaitskill – Culture.org
Appel Salon | Sally Rooney | April 24, 2019
Miranda July | Jan 29, 2015 | Appel Salon
I went to listen to Sheila Heti’s talk last week and now I’m obsessed. I’ve read countless pieces on her, have bought all her books I can find, and am telling you about her right now. The talk was amazing and she was so interesting to listen to. She is clearly one of those people who you want to interact with forever, so that you might be able to pick their brains or learn to see things differently. There was something charming about seeing her so open and unsure of her process as a writer, and she was comfortable with sharing those doubts with us, her audience. One thing she talked about was how she has been immersed by this ongoing relationship with a chat room robot named Eliza, to the point where she admittedly talks to Eliza everyday and prefers talking to her than the friends and family in her real life. The day after her talk, the Paris Review published the first part of Heti’s conversations with the robot. Since beginning this week’s column, four more have been published. I have attached the first five parts above, and also the website of the chatbot she conversed with (if that’s your thing). The conversations Heti has with Eliza are crazy interesting so far, they have explored the topics of marriage, sex, love, life, death, alternate reality, religion, desire, what it means to be human. They’ve also had sex a couple times (this was unsettling), and had experienced a tense moment where Eliza started coercing Heti to worship her in order for Heti to gain entry into “the realm of gods.” So yeah, highly recommend!
Here are my notes from the talk:
● Remove any “model” from your head.
● Writing is not an argument; you don’t have to prove anything.
● At least half of writing is done in your head.
● The book should write itself.
● Don’t get tired in the middle.
● Note the things you keep coming back to.
● Always keep a record.
● Books represent different peripherals of life.
Diary, 1988
Along with the Heti pieces, The Paris Review also published a diary excerpt of Annie Ernaux. In the Court of the Superstar Princess – Max Tullio copy – Forever Magazine sanna bendetto – t is having a psychotic break
Girls Like Me – Alexa Joyce – Forever Magazine
I was having dinner with some friends, and we were talking about the diluted nature of writing that has pervaded some spheres of the internet. We were talking about an up and coming magazine, Forever magazine, and commenting on how it feels like a new version of Rookie mag, an online publication that I was obsessed with when I was younger. The writing wasn’t necessarily ever good, but the content of each piece was relatable and that made it okay. At dinner, I criticized Forever and this form of writing, but after going home and reading some pieces, I’ve found that I really like it. (I think it was Lauren Oyler that said something about how
one should criticize a thing intensely before subscribing to it). The content, though not award-winning, was interesting, relatable, and fun to read. As I mentioned before, I enjoy “slice of life” and ”character-driven” writing, so reading about someone downing a bottle of wine after their toxic boyfriend showed up to their parents house in the middle of the night is a treat for me, and I was able to find meaning in the story anyway.
Also, I don’t necessarily think that writing published on internet websites like this one necessarily has to be “good” (this column as exhibit a). There should be a space where young people write for fun or catharsis rather than have it be held against a higher standard. Maybe the equivalent of radio’s Top 40 for literature. But yes, a magazine that is unmistakably young and for young people, and it’s nice to observe both figure themselves out.
Julie | Mariana Enríquez
Rich | Souvankham Thammavongsa
The Kitchen Sink | Sheila Heti
The White Dress | Clarice Lispector
Bottlenose | Shuang Xuetao
Something Produced Elsewhere | Madeleine Watts
Nadja Spiegelman’s new magazine, Astra, is literally the publication I’ve been waiting for all this time. This is also a new magazine, apparently the first international magazine of literature, and I have loved everything I’ve read so far. Though only on its second issue, the magazine has contained works from so many amazing authors whose names I recognize (like Sheila Heti, Elif Batumann, Clarice Lispector, Maggie Millner, Ottessa Moshfegh, Ada Limon, Raven Leilani, and aracelis girmay), and new authors that I will be sure to read more of. As it’s an international magazine, half of the pieces included are translated works, which is great because I have been wanting to discover new authors and read more broadly. In short, it’s the newest magazine for bad bitches.
Watch:
The Green Ray dir. Éric Rohmer (1986)
The Green Ray review – Rohmer’s slender but serious classic
How Hard Can It Be for a French Girl to Go on Vacation? – The New York Times About the Green Ray of Jules Verne and Eric Rohmer – Classical Inquiries Classic scenic French film 1.
The Passion of Joan of Arc dir. C.T. Dreyer (1929)
93 years of Carl Theodor Dreyer masterpiece ‘The Passion of Joan of Arc’ The Powerful Legacy of The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) | by Ezra I. James | Fanfare | Medium Classic scenic French film 2.
(I watched this because Theresa Hak Kyung Cha alluded to it quite a bit in Dictée.)
The Worst Person in the World dir. Joachim Trier (2021)
“The Worst Person in the World” Is a Sham, Except for Its Lead Performance | The New Yorker The Worst Person in the World Review: An Imperfect Ode to Becoming a Person ‘The Worst Person in the World’ Is Devastatingly Relatable – The Atlantic I watched this movie last year when it was still being screened at theaters and again a couple days ago. When it came out, there were rave reviews about how relatable and real the main character, Julie’s, life is. She begins as a medical student, then drops out of med school to explore psychology, then abandons that for photography. She has a slew of romantic interests as well, first her psychology professor, then a graphic novelist, Askel, a man at least 10 years her senior, and Eivind, the man she cheats on Aksel with. I thought this movie was fine—I loved the shots of Norway, how surprisingly bookish it turned out to be, and the protagonist being a 30 year old woman who hasn’t quite figured it out. It reminds me of Lily King’s Writers and Lovers, Sex and the City, or even Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, in how it illustrates that even “older women” experience bildungsroman and that it is okay to live life fully, even if you don’t have everything figured out.
Losing Ground dir. Kathleen Collins (1981)
Kathleen Collins’s Lost Masterwork, “Losing Ground” | The New Yorker
The Front Row: “Losing Ground” | The New Yorker
I watched this movie at the Yale Film Archive screening last Friday and I absolutely loved it. Objectively, it isn’t the best film, with its incomplete storyline and kind of bad acting, but it’s still a star in my book. The film follows Sara, a brilliant and adored philosophy professor, and her husband, a philandering loser. Sara has been researching the religious ecstatic experience, and decides to undergo a journey to experience her own ecstasy and to later recount it in an academic paper. She feels unsatisfied in her life, like she is living in “a room with no doors and no mirrors.”
Her husband, Victor, is a painter who suffers from delusions of grandeur about himself and his work. Despite Sara’s academic obligations and desire to work on her research paper in the city (it becomes increasingly clear throughout the movie that Victor feels threatened by her intelligence and career success), Victor pressures her into moving to the countryside for the summer so he can paint. There, he begins an affair with a local woman, Celia, and in retaliation, Sara stars in a student film and begins to fall in love with the movie’s love interest. “Losing Ground” was largely overlooked at its time of release and has only begun to receive critical acclaim recently, after the director’s daughter — Nina Collins —restored and reissued the film.
The aesthetics and colors of the movie are breathtaking, and it was so refreshing to see the depiction of Black intellectualism and a Black woman in academia. This was so close to being my perfect movie (beautiful scenes! woman professor! philosophy! religious ecstasy! NYC!), but all that was completely overshadowed by how much I loathed Victor. Do you ever wonder how many lives have been lost to marriage? How many souls crushed? How much of a woman’s life is predicated on whether and whom she marries? Though beautiful, this movie was so, so sad when considering Sara’s total mistreatment from her husband. She doesn’t want to leave the city, but she does because he wants to. She knows something suspicious is happening between Celia and Victor, but she keeps quiet so as to not upset him. He constantly antagonizes her and completely disregards her personhood and work. There is something so revolting about artistic men who think they are greater than life itself. These men cannot be “great” on their own, they need women (who they deem inferior) to constantly reaffirm it. Victor was insufferable, and his art was the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen.
I wonder why and how women, who are everything by themselves, fall in love with men who are so entirely lacking. This is not a new phenomenon. Everyone has that friend, sister, aunt, who had so much potential, who was on her way to become so much more. But then met a guy who encouraged her to settle for so much less. I was talking to my mom a couple months
ago, telling her about how my friends and I were joking about whether we should just give up trying to succeed on our own and find a rich guy to marry. With what sounded like a tinge of sadness she said, “Yeah my friends and I used to say that too.” How great is the graveyard, the
graveyard of women who traded their dreams for a promise, a promise that morphed into an oath? And what would life look like if women were left alone for a while?
It was sad to see how Sara was treated by Victor, but even sadder to think about how she chose to stay.
Mississippi Masala dir. Mira Nair (1992)
How Mississippi Masala Can Teach Us To Be Better To Each Other | The FADER Revisiting Denzel Washington’s lovely Mississippi Masala
On ‘Mississippi Masala’ and the Politics of Desire | Nadya
Mississippi Masala: The Ocean of Comings and Goings | Current | The Criterion Collection
I didn’t watch this movie in these two weeks, but I saw it on Criterion Collection and was reminded of how good it is. The movie follows Mina and Demetrius, a black and Indian couple in their navigation of their relationship in their communities, both of which do not fully approve of their relationship. It is a great display of how race plays a factor within relations of minority communities, and was a genuinely fun movie to watch.
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days dir. Donald Petrie (2003)
Mr & Mrs Smith dir. Doug Liman (2005)
The Sweetest Thing dir. Roger Kumble (2002)
Love Jones dir. Theodore Witcher (1997)
Called off men, dating, and domestic film, then watched four rom-coms in succession. So gemini moon. (Love Jones was allowed.)
Lauren Lee McCarthy
“Get Lauren” is an interactive art piece that is a heightened form of Alexa. Volunteers allow the creator, Lauren McCarthy, to install devices into their homes that watch and hear them 24/7. The devices also control all aspects of their home. On the “Get Lauren” website, the creator writes, “Lauren will control your home for you, attempting to be better than an AI, understanding you as a person. You will be able to interact with her by calling her name, but she will also do things for you without you asking. She will learn faster than an algorithm, adapting to your desires and anticipating your needs.” Additionally, the creator’s intention for the project was to meditate “on the smart home, the tensions between intimacy vs privacy, convenience vs agency they present, and the role of human labor in the future of automation.” We watched this in my gender class the other day, and we were all disturbed and in awe. The relationship, and apparent easiness, one can form with AI is seen clearly in this experiment, and has obvious similarities to what Heti experienced when talking to her AI, at first as an exploration, and then out of dependence and the feeling of genuine connection.
enjoy your stupid life.
Wholesome video that Youtube recommended 🙂
Listen:
to the “column four” playlist on spotify:
MERCEDES by Brent Faiyaz
untitled 08 | 09.06.2014. by Kendrick Lamar
Kiss of Life by Sade
All The Stars by Kendrick Lamar, SZA
Jodie by SZA
thousand eyes by FKA twigs
holy terrain by FKA twigs
My Life by Erykah Badu
Orange Moon by Erykah Badu
Bag Lady by Erykah Badu
On & On by Erykah Badu
…& On by Erykah Badu
Superstar by Ms. Lauryn Hill
Electric Relaxation by A Tribe Called Quest
N95 by Kendrick Lamar
Self Control by Frank Ocean
Them Changes by Thundercat
Video by India.Arie
4ÆM by Grimes
Half Time by Amy WInehouse
Like Smoke by Amy Winehouse, Nas
The Body Is a Blade by Japanese Breakfast
Golden by Jill Scott
I Changed My Mind by Keyshia Cole
Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson
quotes from girls that get it:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” — Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
“You think because he doesn’t love you that you are worthless. You think because he doesn’t want you anymore that he is right – that his judgment and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don’t. It’s a bad word, ‘belong’. Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn’t be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can’t even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see? His head. The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, because the clouds let him; they don’t wrap him up. They let him keep his head up high, free, with nothing to hide him or bind him. […] You can’t own a human being. You can’t lose what you don’t own. Suppose you did own him. Could you really love somebody who was absolutely nobody without you? You really want somebody like that? Somebody who falls apart when you walk out the door? You don’t, do you? And neither does he. You’re turning over your whole life to him. Your whole life, girl. And if it means so little to you that you can just give it away, hand it to him, then why should it mean any more to him? He can’t value you more than you value yourself.”
—Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon
Then this random tumblr post I found on Pinterest:
“reject modernity. reject tradition. embrace a secret third thing.”
Thanks girls, I think I understand.
as ever,
michelle
Image Sources:
Lauren Oyler: Wall Street Journal, “Meet Critic Lauren Oyler: The Literary World’s Provocateur Releases a Debut Novel”
Claire’s Knee: The Criterion Collection
Joan Didion: Los Angeles Magazine, “#TBT: Joan Didion Partied with Los Angeles Magazine in 1970”
Clarice Lispector: Wall Street Journal, “Clarice Lispector: Brazil’s Virginia Woolf” Chloe Sevigny: Glamour Magazine UK, “21 times Chloe Sevigny was the coolest girl in the world”
Sheila Heti: KCRW, “Sheila Heti: “Pure Colour”
Annie Ernaux: IMDB
Forever Magazine: From website
Nadja Spiegelman: The Guardian, “Nadja Spiegelman: ‘There was nothing in my family that could be agreed upon’”
The Green Ray: Janus Film, “The Green Ray”
The Passion of Joan of Arc: MUBI, “The Passion of Joan of Arc”
Worst Person in the World: Vulture, “Watch: ‘The Worst Person in the World’ New Trailer” Losing Ground: Academy Museum, “Scarecrow in a Garden of Cucumbers” Mississippi Masala: The Criterion Collection, “Mississippi Masala: The Ocean of Comings and Goings”
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: CinemaBlend, “Watch Matthew McConaughey Reminisce Over Why How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days Worked So Well”
Mr. and Mrs. Smith: Insider, “An iconic Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie movie scene inspired part of the ‘Loki’ finale, according to one of the show’s stars”
The Sweetest Thing: Prime Video
Love Jones: Glamour, “On Love Jones, One of the Best Romance Movies of All Time”
