Farmer’s Feast, 1566 by Pieter Aertsen (c. 1508-1575)
Preparations for a Meal, 1664 by Abraham Hendricksz van Beyeren (c.1620-1690)
That morning, the city was celebrating Consumer Thanksgiving Day. This feast came around every year, on a day in November, and had been set up to allow shoppers to display their gratitude toward the god Production, who tirelessly satisfied their every desire. The biggest department store in town organized a parade every year: an enormous balloon in the shape of a garishly colored doll was paraded through the main streets, pulled by ribbons that sequin-clad girls held as they marched behind a musical band. That day, the procession was coming down Fifth Avenue: the majorette twirled her baton in the air, the big drums banged, and the balloon giant, representing the Satisfied Customer, flew among the skyscrapers, obediently advancing on leashes held by girls in kepis, tassels, and fringed epaulets, riding spangly motorcycles.
At the same time, another parade was crossing Manhattan. The flaky, moldy moon was also advancing, sailing between the skyscrapers, pulled by the naked girls, and behind it came a line of beat-up cars and skeletons of trucks, amid a silent crowd that was gradually increasing in size. Thousands of people joined the throng that had been following the moon since the early hours of the morning, people of all colors, whole families with children of every age, especially as the procession filed past the crowded black and Puerto Rican areas of Harlem.
Read the rest of Italo Calvino’s short story “The Daughters of the Moon” — or listen to Robert Coover read and discuss it.
Casanova, 1987 by Julio Larraz (b. 1944)
Secret Feast, 1964 by Leonor Fini (1908-1996)
Skin a hare and put it on to roast. Whilst it is cooking, fry in the best English butter two carrots, a head of celery, two onions, two ounces of raw ham, two bay leaves, two cloves, a blade of mace, four shallots, a little thyme and parsley. Fry all these to a brown color in a stew pan.
When the hare has been roasting for an hour, remove the back fillets and pound the remainder in a mortar and add it to the vegetables. Add to this mixture a half pound of brown thickening which has been made with a pound of butter and sifted flour, and cook over a slow fire. The mixture should be moistened with two quarts of good stock and stirred over a fire until it boils. A glass of wine should be added and a small pinch of cayenne.
The recipe comes from the unsigned article “London Chef Explains Dickens’s Hare Soup,” published in The New York Times, 26 Dec. 1926.
According to the article, a “well-known London chef” shared the recipe as “a kind of Christmas card” with his patrons in 1926. Apparently Dickens enjoyed eating this hare soup regularly “a Strand restaurant” in the 1850s.
- First check the refrigerator to make certain none of the following are in there: lettuce, butter, margarine, mustard, ketchup or mayo.
- Remove the jar of mint jelly from the cupboard. (Marmalade is an acceptable substitution.)
- Your bread should be of the diet variety, well-aged and adequately chilled. If the counter is wet, place two slices of bread on it. Press down with the heel of your hand to make sure they lie flat. (If you experience some difficulty in separating two slices of bread from the rest of the loaf, rap the loaf smartly on the edge of the counter.)
- Never use presliced bologna. Your bologna should be of the sausage type, with good stout rind on it. Working with a dull knife, hack off what you need. What you’re aiming for here are pieces of bologna that display a certain ragged configuration.
- Spread mint jelly on one slice of your dampened bread. On the other slice, distribute chunks of bologna. Lift jellied slice up, jellied side up and lower it over the other slice. (If jellied slice sticks to the counter, use screwdriver to pry it off.)
- Still working with the same knife, halve the finished product, cutting from one corner to the other. (Bread should come apart into a number of small pieces all by itself. But if this does not occur, start over again.) Serve immediately. (If this is not possible, store in freezer for later use.) keeps indefinitely if wrapped in a brown paper bag with a rubber band around it.)
From “The Day Mother Invented Junk Food” by Gordon Lish. The full piece was published in The New York Times, 2 Aug. 1978. Thanks to David Winters for sharing it with me years ago.
The following phrases appear in The New York Times list of “100 Notable Books of 2018.” There is one phrase culled from each blurb on the list.
slow burn
latest novel
bizarre story
tour de force
stunning debut
homage of sorts
explores this idea
tactile immediacy
fragmented novel
fascinating paean
grapples seriously
searching account
harrowing account
harrowing memoir
fascinating portrait
expansive narrative
novel that ricochets
fast-paced account
stunning new novel
bristling intelligence
impassioned account
incisive new collection
magisterial new novel
bighearted family saga
breezy, appealing style
impressive debut novel
bewitching debut novel
remarkable debut novel
private and public twists
stylish and inspired collection
deeply and lovingly personal
describes the years of research
reveals surprising connections
world of scams and seductions
our history and our current age
dire consequences for democracy
darkly comic and profound novel
memoir of an unstable childhood
powerful and realistic page turner
mammoth autobiographical novel
devastatingly beautiful debut novel
blazingly moral and devastatingly sidelong
capturing the themes of identity and reinvention
written by the actress herself and not a ghostwriter
seemingly quiet but ultimately volcanic collection
recounted here with great lyricism and emotion
sometimes fanciful, always gossipy portrait
navigate the political and the personal
tense, moment-by-moment account
illuminates her narrator’s inner life
public and private responsibilities
searing autobiographical novel
the personal and the political
more political than economic
vivid, slightly surreal history
writes about new research
sweeping, sobering account
deep dive into the question
unnerving cautionary tale
searingly passionate book
deeply reported account
monumental biography
heralds America’s future
much more complicated
posthumous collection
law professor recounts
marvelous debut novel
nervy, obsessive novel
shattering work of art
important biography
recounts her struggle
first major biography
semi-surreal sendup
landmark translation
thinly veiled memoir
satisfying slow burn
unbelievable debut
forgotten histories
reads like a thriller
fast-paced thriller
mine the question
capture the chaos
infinitely capable
rousing defense
widens the lens
singular portrait
sparkling novel
eloquent novel
riveting exposé
gritty depiction
noted historian
searing memoir
writerly passion
road-trip novel
think differently
page after page
Pulitzer finalist
tells his story
timely novel
wry catalog
The First Thanksgiving, 1973 by Warrington Colescott (1921 – 2018)
A grave and dark-clad company!” quoth Goodman Brown.
In truth, they were such. Among them, quivering to-and-fro, between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen, next day, at the council-board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm, that the lady of the governor was there. At least, there were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden gleams of light, flashing over the obscure field, bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a score of the church-members of Salem village, famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his reverend pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see, that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered, also, among their pale-faced enemies, were the Indian priests, or powows, who had often scared their native forest with more hideous incantations than any known to English witchcraft.
–From “Young Goodman Brown,” Nathaniel Hawthorne (1835)
Lear and Fool, 1963 by Oskar Kokoschka (1886-1980)
House of Cards, 2015 by Francine van Hove (b. 1942)
Nemesi (Nemesis), 2017 by Agostino Arrivabene (b. 1967)
I spent a relaxing hour and a half browsing my favorite local used bookstore this afternoon. I ended up finding a copy of Helen DeWitt’s debut novel The Last Samurai, which all kindsa smart folks have been telling me to read for years. I didn’t like her follow-up Lightning Rods, and stalled out on her collection Some Trick earlier this year—but we’ll see.
William Goldman died today. I’ve always thought of him primarily as a screenwriter, and I think much of his screenwriting work is pretty great, The Princess Bride in particular (the one Goldman novel we own is The Princess Bride, currently in my daughter’s possession). I couldn’t help but look over some of his books today.
…which is how I ended up picking up William Golding’s Pincher Martin. (Golding, not Goldman). I read his 1955 novel The Inheritors a few years ago and I think when I was talking about it somewhere (maybe online), someone recommended Pincher Martin—and I couldn’t pass up this Penguin edition with cover art by Paul Hogarth.
I also thumbed through a copy of Robert Scholes’s Fabulation and Metafiction (1980), reading a big chunk of the chapter called “The Nature of Experimental Fiction.” The chapter begins with four illustrating quotations from four masters of metafiction:
Barry Hannah reading “All the Old Harkening Faces at the Rail” (from Airships) and talking about memory and voice at his home in Oxford, Mississippi in February, 1986.
Biblioklept 