New Books in Literary Studies

Nancy HargroveView on Amazon[Cross-posted from New Books in Biography] When it comes to writers and artists, biography plays a provocative role–yielding insight into both artistic influences and origins. This is especially true with the modernists, in particular T.S. Eliot. After graduating from Harvard University in 1910, the young Eliot spent a year in Paris, a year that had a lasting and profound effect upon his work that has gone largely unexamined until now. In her riveting intellectual biography, T.S. Eliot's Parisian Year, Nancy Duvall Hargrove, the William L. Giles Distinguished Professor Emerita of English at Mississippi State University, revisits that single year in the poet's life to mine it for later influences. While this period is often interpreted to be typical of the early 20th century post-graduate foreign study experience, Hargrove invites us view it as extra-ordinary. Linking Eliot's work to the Ballets Russes, the music of Stravinsky and the intellectual tension of La Nouvelle Revue Française,  she demonstrates the rare coming together of an artist and the art of his time to form "un present parfait." It was a year that influenced not only his poetry but also his prose. As Hargrove writes, the theater Eliot encountered while in Paris "may have been the inspiration for the difficult dramatic goal which Eliot later set for himself: to write verse drama in an age conditioned to prose and to write of spiritual and moral concerns in an age largely devoid of and unsympathetic to them." But perhaps most impressive- especially to any lover of Paris- is Hargrove's meticulous recreation of the city as it was then. Through chapters on sport, popular entertainment, transportation, etc., she elegantly situates the young poet amid a city so alive it seems to strain against the page. The end result is a book that leaves the reader longing for both the poetry and Paris.

View on AmazonTom Perrotta [Re-posted with permission from Jenny Attiyeh's ThoughtCast] Tom Perrotta, the esteemed author of Little Children, Election, The Abstinence Teacher and the recently published novel The Leftovers (St. Martin's Press, September 2011) speaks with ThoughtCast about a writer who fascinates, irritates and inspires him: Flannery O'Connor.  His relationship with her borders on kinship, and he admires and admonishes her as he would a family member, with whom he shares a bond both genetic and cultural.When asked to choose a specific piece of writing that's had a significant impact on him, Tom chose O'Connor's short story "Good Country People," but then he threw in two others — "Everything that Rises Must Converge" and "Revelation." As Tom explains, these three stories chart O'Connor's careful trajectory, her unique vision, and her genius. This interview is the second in a new ThoughtCast series which examines a specific piece of writing — be it a poem, play, novel, short story, work of non-fiction or scrap of papyrus — that's had a significant influence on the interviewee, that's shaped and moved them. Previously, Harvard literary critic Helen Vendler discussed an Emily Dickinson poem that's stayed with her since she memorized it at the age of 13.

View on AmazonHelen Vendler [Re-posted with permission from Jenny Attiyeh's ThoughtCast] When Helen Vendler was only 13, the future poetry critic and Harvard professor memorized several of Emily Dickinson's more famous poems. They've stayed with her over the years, and today, she talks with us about one poem in particular that's haunted her all this time.  It's called "I cannot live with You." According to Vendler, whose authoritative Dickinson: Selected Poems and Commentaries (Harvard University Press, 2011) has recently been published, it's a heartbreaking poem of an unresolvable dilemma, and ensuing despair. This interview is the first in a new ThoughtCast series which examines a specific piece of writing — be it a poem, play, novel, short story, work of non-fiction or scrap of papyrus — that's had a significant influence on the interviewee, that's shaped and moved them.

Joanna LevinView on Amazon[Crossposted from New Books in History] You've probably heard of hipsters. Heck, you may even be a hipster. If you don't know what a hipster is, you might spend some time on this sometimes entertaining website. Where do hipsters come from? Lets work backwards. Before hipsters (1990s), there were slackers (1980s): middle-class, college-going, white kids into Alternative rock. They were hipsters in all but name. Before slackers, there were punks and pseudo-mods (1970s): middle-class, college-going, white kids into Punk and New Wave rock respectively. Neither of them was really "hip" because they liked to take speed and be "intense." Before punks and pseudo-mods, there were hippies (1960s): middle-class, college-going, white kids into rock and folk. They weren't "hip" because they smoked a lot of dope and were embarrassingly earnest. Before hippies, there were beats (1950s): middle class, college-going, white kids into outré poetry and literature. They weren't "hip" because they took narcotics and liked to be "cool." Before beats, there were proto-hipsters (1940s): middle-class, college-going, white kids who liked hot jazz and black people. They were more like modern wiggers than hipsters. (If you don't know what a wigger is, here you go.) And before proto-hipsters, there was the mother of all middle-class, college-going, white American subcultures–the bohemians. They were a lot like hipsters. These hipsters-before-hipsters are the subject of Joanna Levin's fascinating new book  Bohemia in America, 1858-1920 (Stanford UP, 2010). In it, she deftly traces the mid-nineteenth-century migration of bohemianism from the Parisian Latin Quarter to American shores and its spread to middle class, white culture thereafter. Bohemianism offered Americans who, as Tocqueville noted, were all about equality (read: conformity) a chance to be different in a safe way. The bohemians practiced a kind of satire-of-the-deed: they used themselves–the way they dressed, talked, loved, worked–to poke fun at everything "bourgeois." They were performance artists, and they wanted attention. Just like hipsters.

Jeffrey ReznickView on Amazon[Crossposted from New Books in History] You may not know who John Galsworthy is, but you probably know his work. Who hasn't seen some production of The Forsyte Saga? Galsworthy was one of the most popular and famous British writers of the early 20th century (the Edwardian Era). He left an enormous body of work, for which he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1932. But Galsworthy was also what we might call a "public humanitarian," that is, he used his high profile and influence in a great, good cause. The focus of his effort was disabled solders returning from World War I. We, of course, are well acquainted with the remarkable destructive power of modern weaponry. Not a week goes by (alas) in which we do not hear about a soldier being wounded by mines, grenades, artillery fire or bombs (often of the "roadside" variety). But we also have come to expect that soldier, no matter how grievously wounded, will receive medical treatment that will stand at least a fighting chance of saving their lives. And indeed, many wounded soldiers do survive incredibly severe injuries and return to our world. The generation that fought and suffered World War I–or as they called it "The Great War"–were really not familiar with any of this. Europeans and Americans of the nineteenth century were surely used to wars, but they were generally short and decided by pivotal battles (Waterloo, Gettysburg, Sedan). But the Great War was different. Millions of men lived for years at the "front" and under the shells. Many died there and many more were wounded. Thanks to advances in medical knowledge (and particularly the discovery of the germ theory of disease), a goodly proportion of the wounded survived. This presented a new problem: How to re-integrate wounded men into society? This became Galsworthy's cause. The course of his efforts on the part of wounded soldiers is detailed with great skill and care by Jeffrey Reznick in his John Galsworthy and the Disabled Soldiers of the Great War (Manchester UP, 2009). Reznick shows us Galsworthy attempting to create the modern infrastructure of veterans' care: special hospitals, rehabilitation programs, work-transition agencies and so on. And we get to read Galsworthy's writing on the subject, both non-fiction and fiction. All this give us–or gave me–a new understanding of Galsworthy's literary work. Galsworthy was a great man. But as it turned out he was greater than I knew. We should thank Jeff for bringing his good-works to our attention. Please become a fan of "New Books in Literary Studies" on Facebook if you haven't already.