A remarkable story yesterday on the next-to-last page of the New York Times Book Review. To illustrate how book reviews “are an engine that helps keep the culture running,” David Streitfeld, a Times reporter and former Washington Post Book World columnist, told about a little-known literary connection.
In the ’70s, Larry McMurtry wrote reviews for Book World. Then in 1978 he was fired by the new editor, Michael Dirda, who “was acting on orders from management. McMurtry returned to his hometown in Texas, where he worked on a “stalled manuscript” that would become Lonesome Dove.
Years later, Annie Proulx published a novel, Accordion Crimes, that was panned by most critics but praised by Dirda. His encouraging words convinced her to continue with a story she had been struggling with, a story that became “Brokeback Mountain.” After appearing in The New Yorker, it was made into a film, the script for which was written by McMurtry and his writing partner Diana Ossana.
Final note: At the beginning of the piece, Streitfeld tells of interviewing Jeff Bezos “when he was the crown prince of the dot.com crowd” and finding one book in his office, a science-fiction novel.
Yesterday saw the convergence of my favorite sports. In the afternoon I moved from the Miami Open (Gauff vs. Muchova) to the World Cup qualifying match from Warsaw (Poland vs. Albania); in the evening, I switched among opening day in Los Angeles (the late afternoon light in Dodger Stadium is just as beautiful now that it is Uniqlo Field), the Miami Open again (Sabalenka vs. Rybakina – the Ali-Frazier of the WTA) and March Madness (Purdue beating Texas on a last-second tip-in). And today there’s more of the same, minus the soccer. Though unless I subscribe to Marlins.TV, for $99.99 a season, I won’t be able to watch my hometown team.
Tuesday morning I took Hania for her cataract surgery and yesterday morning we returned for her follow-up. (Hence my absence here.) Everyone says it’s a breeze but, as has been noted before, no medical procedure is minor when it involves you or someone you love. The preparation and post-op instructions – involving a seeming multitude of drops – are quite extensive. The shield one wears at night easily loosens and falls from the eye. Masking tape? Really? The fuzziness persists, apparently for a while. Can’t wait till it’s my turn.
Because of the washout on Wednesday, the Miami Open was packed on Thursday. People who should have been at work (there were few seniors there) watching people hit a ball for work. They hit it so hard that it’s difficult to comprehend how it stays in the court and how anyone can get to it and hit it back. And yet, on the practice courts, the top players’ hitting partners do it with ease. As an old partner of mine once said, watching some juniors play in Holiday Park, “It makes you want to take up bocce.”
I’ve been going to the Open for three decades now and, while my fascination hasn’t diminished – especially as the athleticism has increased – my enthusiasm has. The people swarming the practice courts trying to get a ball signed by Sinner or Alcaraz, just as they used to for Federer and Nadal, and before them Agassi and Sampras – all because of how well they can hit a ball over a net – seem silly and misguided. Many of them play tennis too, and know how difficult it is, which fuels their admiration. But on the global stage, athletes play a very small role. They show us the value of hard work (and good genes), and the beautiful pursuit of excellence, which gives us a lovely, perhaps inspiring diversion. But in the end – no matter how serious they look on those practice courts – they’re doing nothing more substantial than playing a game.
There were about 30 people at Savor Cinema Tuesday night to watch Mr Nobody Against Putin. The power of the Oscars. It is a depressing and fascinating look at the indoctrination taking place in Russia: The officer who tells his men that they will die, but they will live on in memory as heroes of the motherland, their graves will never lack for flowers. The history teacher who, when asked which figures from history he would most like to meet, mentions some of Stalin’s most ruthless henchmen. After the war in Ukraine starts, he tells his students that Europe is suffering without Russian oil and gas, though France is muddling through because its people eat “oysters and frogs.”
The narrator, Pavel Talankin, notes that this indoctrination and propaganda is not in service to an ideology, like communism, but to a man.
The one uplifting moment comes when you remember that Talankin – a former events coordinator and videographer at a primary school in a provincial Russian city – stood in a tuxedo Sunday night in front of Hollywood’s beau monde.
My dermatologist gave me a cream for my face that causes my skin to react in a way that makes people say, "You should see a dermatologist."