Song of a Reformed Headhunter

I read the novel quickly in two sittings, even though it is not terribly well written. The plot is only serviceable, the characters are cardboard thin, and the writing is merely functional. I kept reading to the end, even though the ending was disappointing, because, as I discovered on reflection, that the novel appealed to some of my own worst instincts. I like reading about success, especially literary success, and how it is not truly merited; it sates my envy of others. I also like having my biases confirmed—biases against the publishing industry, against white people, against wealthy and good-looking people; I like to be right. This is not to say that my biases are unfounded; they are an outgrowth of my interactions with a racist, classist and superficial society. However, the angel of my reading self likes to think that great literature challenges our preconceptions and enlarges our understanding, but that was not what happened with my encounter with YELLOWFACE.

 An acute account of Morocco's transition to modernity and independence as depicted through a well-to-do family living in the ancient capital of Fez. The earlier chapters, which establish the seemingly static world of the past, were too leisurely paced for me, although they offer pleasurable descriptions of the old medina and its physical and social environments. The story quickens with the entry of the second son Abd al-Rahman to a "secular academy," where he learns to question authority and, ultimately, to fight for national independence. The daughter Aisha is mainly used as an illustration of the intellectual and social restrictions confronting upper-class Moroccan women; her story does not become integral to the main political plot. The third and youngest son merely hovers at the periphery of the novel. Most interesting is the dark-skinned son from the patriarch's concubine and enslaved servant, whose understanding of his status leads him to become a judge, a cog ...

 A really enjoyable read. I especially appreciate the weaving of the writings of Moroccans into the fascinating story of Matisse in the country, so we get to see not only Matisse's view of the country, but also the country's view, so to speak, of Matisse. The autonomy, dignity, respect, and equality that Matisse gave to his Moroccan human subjects, such as Zorah and the Riffian, is beautifully drawn out from his diaries, interviews, and, most importantly, paintings. I've always loved the mysterious painting "The Moroccans" in MoMA, and this biography makes beautifully clear the history of Matisse's engagement with Islamic art and North Africa that led up to its climactic finish in the painting. Morocco gave Matisse his resoundingly original answer to Cubism. 

 Compulsively readable. Some of the links are highly speculative, but the dots are connected in a pleasing pattern.

There are lyrical poems in James Fenton's Out of Danger, and then there are poems that are very nearly song lyrics. Both give pleasure, though arguably pleasure of different kinds. The book has keen observation, social conscience, and musical intelligence in abundance. Are the rhymes worn-out in places, like tires losing their treads? Maybe, but the Philippines and other South Pacific islands provide new rhymes and treads. Pádraig Ó Tuama is a genial, acute, and personable guide to these 50 poems about a range of outward-looking subjects. It is a good snapshot of contemporary Anglo-American verse, with a few oldies thrown in. I did not think that all the poems were as good as Ó Tuama said, but it would be a big surprise if I did. 

 Elaine Castillo's book of essays How to Read Now features a lit bomb on its cover. By its devastating critique of Nobel prize-winner Peter Handke's fascist sympathies and beloved Californian writer Joan Didion's settler-colonialist views, the book is necessarily blowing up Castillo's relations with certain influential parts of the literary establishment. If you have enough of coddling book reviews that read more like publishing blurbs than literary criticism, you will keenly appreciate Castillo's take-no-prisoners, and razor-sharp, approach to reading these and other white authors. The courage and honesty is undeniable.  More than attacks on individual authors, however, How to Read Now wants to destroy the harmful ways in which readers are expected by authors and publishers to center white experience: to treat it uncritically as "universal," "existential," and free of political taint, whereas the work of BIPOC writers is treated as mere ethnog...