OLM Favorites: The Madwoman and the Critic
/On Kate Zambreno’s Heroines and the crime of dismissive criticism in both Bookforum and The LA Review of Books.
Read MoreArchive
The complete Open Letters Monthly Archive.
On Kate Zambreno’s Heroines and the crime of dismissive criticism in both Bookforum and The LA Review of Books.
Read MoreBen Lerner has followed his breakout novel Leaving the Atocha Station with a metafictional tale of a second-time novelist trying to throw a book together. Is it more than a game?
Read MoreAre these 10 books collections of "poetry"? Does it matter? "As poetry" is the best way to read these hybrid titles.
Read MoreThe author of Coming to My Senses in conversation with our own example of a very special breed of aesthete, the perfume lover.
Read MoreYou choose a perfume, you apply it, and you let it live and breathe on your skin - but you never, never mix and match. Or so goes the conventional wisdom. Our resident maitresse de parfums begs to differ - and shares some interesting discoveries
Read MoreOur resident nose slows down in front of a perfume counter and stops to smell what's selling
Read MoreOur resident nose racks up facts on the tinctures of yesteryear, many of which still prove possible to capture and some of which are well worth sniffing out
Read MoreWhere does perfume come from? Why, from isolated islands, Indian grasses, and sticky beards of goats and sheep. Our resident perfume critic digs into labdanum, vetiver, and galbanum and lets us know where grows the nose.
Read MoreOur resident nose sniffs those most populist of perfumes: the ones we rub under our arms. Join her on a guided tour through the pharmacy aisle.
Read MoreIt seems a given that natural scents would be preferable to synthetics, but might it be that our our perfume biases are too simplistic?
Read MoreOur poet of perfume and the curator of the brand new Center of Olfactory Art discuss why perfumes demand to be smelled and why "perfume is the only art form in which Americans are more illiterate than poetry."
Read MoreThe great lie of the perfume industry is that the scents you wear are created by the designers that brand them. In fact perfumers with signature styles are behind those scents, and Elisa Gabbert gives them some overdue recognition.
Read MoreMusic and photographs can stir memories, but in the world of scent, only a single molecule -- a single note -- is needed to take us deep. In this installment of her regular column, our author waxes on how the Eighties and Nineties smelled.
Read MoreOur regular scentstress extols the difficult: sharp notes, throwbacks, and sweaty musks over easy patchoulis and fruity bores.
Read MoreWhat are you paying for when you buy an expensive perfume--better materials? A longer-lasting scent? Placebo effect? Our regular perfume columnist sniffs it out.
Read MoreRoses: they might have smelled sweet to Shakespeare, but what did he know about the perfume industry? Our regular olfactory column takes on the biggest scent cliche of them all.
Read MoreIn this installment of our new feature, Elisa Gabbert sniffs out the now-unfashionable subject of 'fruity' scents -- wherefore their disgrace? and are the critics in error?
Read MoreFrom ancient Egypt and Rome to the present, humans have always been fascinated by perfume; a new feature looks at the craft and aesthetics of making scents.
Read MoreKarl Parker's moves are more than merely clever: I-less one minute, present & friendly the next, he darts behind masks and speaks IN BOLD, as our contributing editor discovers in her review.
Read MoreBluetsMaggie NelsonWave Books, 2009Maggie Nelson’s Bluets starts with its worst sentence: “Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color.” I am suspicious of this sentence; I find it contrived. Everything else about the book I love.Bluets, which is a prose-poetry hybrid (or, arguably, an essay), is written as a series of numbered “propositions,” like a treatise, and draws heavily from a list of sources cited in the back, including Wittgenstein and Goethe. (Nelson’s work may appeal to fans of Jenny Boully.) The book has three main subjects or themes: the philosophy of color; the analysis of a past romantic relationship; and the ostensible love affair (an emotional affair? unrequited?) with the color blue.The third is often foregrounded, but it’s the least interesting of the three, or perhaps I should say the most annoying. But one can get around that by rejecting that first line as disingenuous and taking the “love” object for what it really is—an object of obsession. Or, more properly, displaced obsession, since the speaker increasingly seems to be focusing on blue as a way of avoiding the more difficult subjects of depression and loss. (I say “speaker” in deference to the common wisdom that the “narrator” of a poem is not identical to its author, but the speaker in this book does make frequent reference to the act of authoring it.)The path toward this recognition—that the speaker-author is afraid that if she writes about her real subject, the words will supersede her actual experience, the way a childhood photo “replaces the memory it aimed to preserve”—is both fascinating and beautiful. It’s an inquiry into the very nature of color—a purely subjective experience that nonetheless falls under the purview of science—as well as a catalogue of the cultural uses of blue, in books, in pornography, in music. Nelson can write a lovely lyric line (“a sleeve of ash falling off a lit cigarette”; “an ecstatic accident produced by void and fire”) but doesn’t stake her claim in metaphors and images. Bluets is built from ideas and questions: Why has so little been made of the “female gaze”? How long is one permitted to be “blue” before they must admit their life is simply ruined? (The consensus among her friends is seven years.)These ideas and references serve as a string of jumping-off points for self-reflection and realization:
177. Perhaps it is becoming clearer why I felt no romance when you told me that you carried my last letter with you, everywhere you went, for months on end, unopened. This may have served some purpose for you, but whatever it was, surely it bore little resemblance to mine. I never aimed to give you a talisman, an empty vessel to flood with whatever longing, dread, or sorrow happened to be the day’s mood. I wrote it because I had something to say to you.
I never feel satisfied with poetry that is wholly cerebral or wholly emotional, so I love that Maggie Nelson’s writing gives me a philosophy fix along with a hit of the Romantic sublime.____Elisa Gabbert is the poetry editor of Absent and the author of The French Exit (Birds LLC) and Thanks for Sending the Engine (Kitchen Press, 2007). Her latest chapbook co-written with Kathleen Rooney isDon’t ever stay the same; keep changing (Spooky Girlfriend Press). Recent poems can be found inColorado Review, The Laurel Review, Puerto del Sol, and Salt Hill.
Powered by Squarespace.