Your candidate won, congratulations. It remains to be seen what kind of neoliberal/populist/progressive confection will characterize the Biden restoration.
I do feel that the corona zeitgeist is exemplified by your advice that ordinary parents should let their businesses fail, and sell everything they own, rather than go to work and risk orphaning their kids by dying of Covid (a very low-probability event); while you and your friends forge ahead with a new cosmopolitan, globalist venture.
This is the real Great Reset. Not exactly a plot to enslave humanity; but rather, the privileged stratum of information society enjoying and extending their privileges, while the masses are told to sacrifice.
From a truly global perspective, “current events” should be viewed in close proximity to culture and the arts.
Many/most of the people who would be interested in your newsletter are probably either bilingual or multilingual. Why not present the culture and arts articles written in various languages?
For example, If I were putting together a global newsletter, I might be inclined to have ALL poetry reviews written in French. I would post regular commentary on poetry by some brilliant French-speaker who is eminently qualified to comment on poetry. It seems to me that formal French academic style— enhanced by the vocabulary and phraseology of the language— is a suitable tongue to discuss the subtle and complex ideas associated with poetry.
That’s the general idea, at least. Consider including commentary on contemporary dance written in Russian. Or, German to comment on architecture. Italian can be used to discuss film... and the list goes on.
If you want to (primarily) offer the English-speaking world a global perspective, doing so using an array of important contemporary languages would seem to make sense.
It would have snob appeal. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But, most importantly, you could have a lot of fun doing this! You could keep the whole thing lighthearted, but insightful.
Set your sights high. And don’t patronize your readers by talking down to them. Those of us who have always respected/loved your writing and your opinions are representative of your “target market,” as it were.
The folks who are going to really like your newsletter are not poorly-educated bourgeois simpletons. Instead, your readers are probably people who are unusually bright, lively, very intelligent, and very well-educated.
I’m sure some of your devotees are duller than this ideal/idealized picture of your target market. And some of your readers are probably just stray or random people with modest minds. But, for the most part, I am sure that your most eager readers are a rare and nicely refined group of people.
Oh, and "We don't patronize our readers" is actually in our style sheet. We don't explain literary allusions; we do not write at a tenth-grade level; we do not assume readers haven't the patience to read long articles. If they're not already "unusually bright, lively, very intelligent, and very well-educated," they will be after reading us. That's one of our fundamental assumptions. If people want stupid writing, they're already spoiled for choice: They don't need yet another stupid newsletter. Our market niche is "People who cannot abide the now-universal newspaper writing style, which assumes readers are dolts." There will be no jarring explanations of the obvious; e.g., elegant literary allusions followed by some copy-editor's clunky explanation of the allusion. (A recently-noted example: "'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,' as the 17th-century English poet William Shakespeare once wrote.") We presume our audience is either literate or wishes to be. We will never change an unusual words or reduce a complex idea to a trite one because we fear readers can't handle the good stuff. Anyone who doesn't know what "Uneasy lies the head ... " means, or who said it, can look it up on the Internet. It can only do them good.
I often find myself wondering what various dead literary figures might think about current events in certain parts of the world that they are familiar with. For instance, what would Arthur Rimbaud make of recent news out of Ethiopia? Imagine writing such a piece in Rimbaud’s tone of voice and emphasizing his unique perspective on life. One could have a LOT OF FUN writing such an article— and actually offer serious insights that one wouldn’t be able to offer otherwise.
What would Samuel Johnson have to say about Brexit? I wonder what Edmund Spencer might have to say about, say, a gay prime minister in Ireland? I would imagine that the long-deceased author of the Fairy Queen, writing in extravagant Elizabethan English, might be able to say things about contemporary Ireland that are both funny and surprisingly meaningful. It would be interesting to hear from Allen Ginsberg on the subject of Donald Trump!
You should include in your new newsletter a regular feature: Dead Perspectives!
Yes, it's called "My couch." Pandemic means "the damned disease is everywhere." The cafés here are perhaps the saddest sight. As soon as they were given permission to open again everyone started dying again. So they shut them down again. Now some are allowed to open again, depending on the local infection level. But most people have now got the message (sort of) that the virus doesn't actually care what the government says--or what they think--and that crowding into a café is simply a dumb thing to do. It's December, so summer's solution--everyone dining on the streets (which was in fact, it turns out, dumb to begin with, because maskless people were heartily exhaling on each other in close proximity)--won't work. The interior of a French café (*designed* for intimacy, closeness, bonhomie, and to circulate the odors of all the delicious food and wine, which is to say, "bad ventilation," is and will remain until the arrival of the vaccine a death trap. Some people don't care: "I'd rather die than give up my apéro!" They couch this in terms of "not being afraid," or "supporting the local business," but they're fooling no one: They're alcoholics. They just don't want to admit it to themselves by drinking alone.
I'm full of hope: The vaccines are coming. By the spring, I think, it will be safe for the cafés really to reopen, and the summer will be one of the most joyful France has seen since the liberation. But given the economic hit they've taken, will all of the cafés and restaurants survive? Will my favorite café make it? The government is really doing its utmost to sustain them--the closing of the cafés and restaurants isn't just a matter of individual businesses suffering (though they are that). They're part of the reason people visit Paris, and tourism is the city's top industry, by far. So I think anyone who wants to rebuild after this will get the support they need--and the people who own them and work in them certainly are not, as in the US, on food lines now. But by that point, how many people who worked in this industry will have spent this time building another that you can do from home, or sold the business, or decided to take early retirement, or just lost hope? I really worry that it could be years before the city fully recovers, and when it does, that it won't be the same place.
It may be in some ways a better place, though. The mayor's taken advantage of the pandemic plans to push through a plan I've always wanted to see for aesthetic reasons and which she wants for ecological reasons and which no one else wanted before (because economically, it sounded nuts), but which many now quite like. Many streets have been fully pedestrianized (so that people can social distance on them better, without being crammed close together on the sidewalk). That's been so popular that we'll probably get to keep that. It's *obviously* how Paris was designed to be used; this city has been around since the Roman era: Cars don't fit in it and don't improve it. Paris has the world's best public transportation system, and people seem to really enjoy the bike schemes and the scooters and walking down streets without cars. Also, the air is, I grant, *so* much cleaner--it's absolutely beautiful without the pollution. So I guess the mayor was right all along. It remains to be seen whether a modern city can really function, economically, without cars, but we'll see. People are resourceful. Paris may well become the world's first major car-free city and it may work.
Your candidate won, congratulations. It remains to be seen what kind of neoliberal/populist/progressive confection will characterize the Biden restoration.
I do feel that the corona zeitgeist is exemplified by your advice that ordinary parents should let their businesses fail, and sell everything they own, rather than go to work and risk orphaning their kids by dying of Covid (a very low-probability event); while you and your friends forge ahead with a new cosmopolitan, globalist venture.
This is the real Great Reset. Not exactly a plot to enslave humanity; but rather, the privileged stratum of information society enjoying and extending their privileges, while the masses are told to sacrifice.
From a truly global perspective, “current events” should be viewed in close proximity to culture and the arts.
Many/most of the people who would be interested in your newsletter are probably either bilingual or multilingual. Why not present the culture and arts articles written in various languages?
For example, If I were putting together a global newsletter, I might be inclined to have ALL poetry reviews written in French. I would post regular commentary on poetry by some brilliant French-speaker who is eminently qualified to comment on poetry. It seems to me that formal French academic style— enhanced by the vocabulary and phraseology of the language— is a suitable tongue to discuss the subtle and complex ideas associated with poetry.
That’s the general idea, at least. Consider including commentary on contemporary dance written in Russian. Or, German to comment on architecture. Italian can be used to discuss film... and the list goes on.
If you want to (primarily) offer the English-speaking world a global perspective, doing so using an array of important contemporary languages would seem to make sense.
It would have snob appeal. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But, most importantly, you could have a lot of fun doing this! You could keep the whole thing lighthearted, but insightful.
Set your sights high. And don’t patronize your readers by talking down to them. Those of us who have always respected/loved your writing and your opinions are representative of your “target market,” as it were.
The folks who are going to really like your newsletter are not poorly-educated bourgeois simpletons. Instead, your readers are probably people who are unusually bright, lively, very intelligent, and very well-educated.
I’m sure some of your devotees are duller than this ideal/idealized picture of your target market. And some of your readers are probably just stray or random people with modest minds. But, for the most part, I am sure that your most eager readers are a rare and nicely refined group of people.
Oh, and "We don't patronize our readers" is actually in our style sheet. We don't explain literary allusions; we do not write at a tenth-grade level; we do not assume readers haven't the patience to read long articles. If they're not already "unusually bright, lively, very intelligent, and very well-educated," they will be after reading us. That's one of our fundamental assumptions. If people want stupid writing, they're already spoiled for choice: They don't need yet another stupid newsletter. Our market niche is "People who cannot abide the now-universal newspaper writing style, which assumes readers are dolts." There will be no jarring explanations of the obvious; e.g., elegant literary allusions followed by some copy-editor's clunky explanation of the allusion. (A recently-noted example: "'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,' as the 17th-century English poet William Shakespeare once wrote.") We presume our audience is either literate or wishes to be. We will never change an unusual words or reduce a complex idea to a trite one because we fear readers can't handle the good stuff. Anyone who doesn't know what "Uneasy lies the head ... " means, or who said it, can look it up on the Internet. It can only do them good.
We're already working on this idea. Stay tuned.
I often find myself wondering what various dead literary figures might think about current events in certain parts of the world that they are familiar with. For instance, what would Arthur Rimbaud make of recent news out of Ethiopia? Imagine writing such a piece in Rimbaud’s tone of voice and emphasizing his unique perspective on life. One could have a LOT OF FUN writing such an article— and actually offer serious insights that one wouldn’t be able to offer otherwise.
What would Samuel Johnson have to say about Brexit? I wonder what Edmund Spencer might have to say about, say, a gay prime minister in Ireland? I would imagine that the long-deceased author of the Fairy Queen, writing in extravagant Elizabethan English, might be able to say things about contemporary Ireland that are both funny and surprisingly meaningful. It would be interesting to hear from Allen Ginsberg on the subject of Donald Trump!
You should include in your new newsletter a regular feature: Dead Perspectives!
I love this, want to write it for us?
Perhaps...
I hate trying to write French on my iPhone!
Typos!!! That should be “Etre realiste- exiger ce qui est impossible!”
I sent Fred Cole some off-the-cuff ideas about your new project. I asked him to forward them to you.
Etre realists— exigencies ce qui sat impossible!
You mean, "Soyez réalistes; exigez l'impossible." Imperative tense.
You are undoubtedly correct! Merci!
I sent Fred Cole some off-the-cuff ideas about your new project. I asked him to forward them to you.
I knewvyou were fine, having discovered the perfect cafe wherein dwelt the most sublime cup of coffee. Savor it! Cheers, John
Yes, it's called "My couch." Pandemic means "the damned disease is everywhere." The cafés here are perhaps the saddest sight. As soon as they were given permission to open again everyone started dying again. So they shut them down again. Now some are allowed to open again, depending on the local infection level. But most people have now got the message (sort of) that the virus doesn't actually care what the government says--or what they think--and that crowding into a café is simply a dumb thing to do. It's December, so summer's solution--everyone dining on the streets (which was in fact, it turns out, dumb to begin with, because maskless people were heartily exhaling on each other in close proximity)--won't work. The interior of a French café (*designed* for intimacy, closeness, bonhomie, and to circulate the odors of all the delicious food and wine, which is to say, "bad ventilation," is and will remain until the arrival of the vaccine a death trap. Some people don't care: "I'd rather die than give up my apéro!" They couch this in terms of "not being afraid," or "supporting the local business," but they're fooling no one: They're alcoholics. They just don't want to admit it to themselves by drinking alone.
I'm full of hope: The vaccines are coming. By the spring, I think, it will be safe for the cafés really to reopen, and the summer will be one of the most joyful France has seen since the liberation. But given the economic hit they've taken, will all of the cafés and restaurants survive? Will my favorite café make it? The government is really doing its utmost to sustain them--the closing of the cafés and restaurants isn't just a matter of individual businesses suffering (though they are that). They're part of the reason people visit Paris, and tourism is the city's top industry, by far. So I think anyone who wants to rebuild after this will get the support they need--and the people who own them and work in them certainly are not, as in the US, on food lines now. But by that point, how many people who worked in this industry will have spent this time building another that you can do from home, or sold the business, or decided to take early retirement, or just lost hope? I really worry that it could be years before the city fully recovers, and when it does, that it won't be the same place.
It may be in some ways a better place, though. The mayor's taken advantage of the pandemic plans to push through a plan I've always wanted to see for aesthetic reasons and which she wants for ecological reasons and which no one else wanted before (because economically, it sounded nuts), but which many now quite like. Many streets have been fully pedestrianized (so that people can social distance on them better, without being crammed close together on the sidewalk). That's been so popular that we'll probably get to keep that. It's *obviously* how Paris was designed to be used; this city has been around since the Roman era: Cars don't fit in it and don't improve it. Paris has the world's best public transportation system, and people seem to really enjoy the bike schemes and the scooters and walking down streets without cars. Also, the air is, I grant, *so* much cleaner--it's absolutely beautiful without the pollution. So I guess the mayor was right all along. It remains to be seen whether a modern city can really function, economically, without cars, but we'll see. People are resourceful. Paris may well become the world's first major car-free city and it may work.
But the vaccines cannot come soon enough.
Café Canapé. I like it. Don't invite anyone in, lest the government close it down. I cannot quite imagine the Paris you are describing.
It sounds lovely from Massachusetts.
Depending on your couch, it's probably pretty much the same.