And incorporating The Thoreau You Don't Know.
And then there is "My American Revolution," my latest book.
“There’s a level at which words are spirit and paper is skin. That’s the fascination of archives. There’s still a bodily trace.”Susan Howe (via theparisreview)
Here is short essay I wrote about my wife. It starts like this:
I am not a visual person. My strengths, such as they are, lie elsewhere in the nonvisual arena, which, doesn’t seem like a very big arena if you are married to an artist as I am. When I met my wife 24 years ago, I lived in a semi-communal old townhouse on the Upper West Side, and I had precisely one print, of a boat in a storm at sea that I had bought at Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris on my post-college Eurorail trip. Bateau dans la Tempête it is called by Henri Rousseau, just so you don’t think I was a complete barbarian. I remember I liked the painting for what was not pictured, the cabin interior, a refuge as I pictured it from the storm surrounding it, a way across the big sea.
But I was not really prepared for marriage to an artist, even if that sole print of a vessel on a dangerous journey across a big sea happened to be a decent metaphor for the marital state. I remember thinking décor would be decided along the lines it was in college: Choose the highest quality stereo components from among the two parties, align speakers and presto! It didn’t go like that, of course. It has gone very differently.