la petite claudine

London Riots: le van a caer por los menos diez años.


Спасибо K0a1a!!

The thing about cliche



I have no doubt that most of them, also, would like to be much better writers than they are, would like to have force and integrity and imagination enough of these to earn a decent living at some art of literature that has the dignity of a free profession. It will not happen to them, and there is not much reason why it should. If it ever could have happened, it will not happen now. For even the best of them (with a few rare exceptions) devote their entire time to work which has no more possibility of distinction than a Pekinese has of becoming a Great Dane: to asinine musicals about Technicolor legs and the yowling of night-club singers; to "psychological" dramas with wooden plots, stock characters, and that persistent note of fuzzy earnestness which suggests the conversation of schoolgirls in puberty; to sprightly and sophisticated comedies (we hope) in which the gags are as stale as the attitudes, in which there is always a drink in every hand, a butler in every doorway, and a telephone on the edge of every bathtub; to historical epics in which the male actors look like female impersonators, and the lovely feminine star looks just a little too starry-eyed for a babe who has spent half her life swapping husbands; and last but not least, to those pictures of deep social import in which everybody is thoughtful and grown-up and sincere and the more difficult problems of life are wordily resolved into a unanimous vote of confidence in the inviolability of the Constitution, the sanctity of the home, and the paramount importance of the streamlined kitchen.

Writers in Hollywood, Raymond Chandler 1945

When you open The Lost World you enter a strange terrain of one-page chapters, one-sentence paragraphs and one-word sentences. You will gaze through the thick canopy of authorial padding. It's a jungle out there, and jungles are 'hot' sometimes 'very hot'. 'Malcolm wiped his forehead. "It's hot up here."' Levine agrees: '"Yes, it's hot."' Thirty pages later it's still hot. '"Jeez, it's hot up here, " Eddie said.' And Levine agrees again: '"Yes," Levine said, shrugging.' Out there, beyond the foliage, you see herds of cliches, roaming free. You will listen in 'stunned silence' to an 'unearthly cry' or a 'deafening roar'. Raptors are 'rapacious'. Reptiles are 'reptilian'. Pain is 'searing'.

The Lost World by Michael Crichton, The War against cliche, Martin Amis

Rupert Murdoch and the Freedom of the Press (January, 1969)


"I think the important thing is that there will be plenty of newspapers with plenty of different people controlling them so there is a variety of viewpoints and there's a choice for the public. This is the freedom of the press that is needed. Freedom of the press mustn't be one-sided, just for the publisher, so he can speak as he pleases and try and bully the comunity, there must be an alternative. As long as we have alternatives, I think the public's very well protected."

Rupert Murdock, Newscorp.

MÁS:/b> Rupert Murdoch: A protrait of Satan by Adam Curtis.

When they were kings




Parafraseando a Edward Said, Stuart Walton dice que hay tres tipos de autores póstumos: el accidental, el deliberado y el ilícito.

Los primeros son siempre bola extra: obras menores que no estaban destinadas a la gloria pero que aceptamos agradecidos como huevo de consolación porque hemos perdido a la gallina. Walton cita a David Foster Wallace y habría sido mejor invocra a Stieg Larsson, porque en el caso DFW, tanto su mujer como su mejor amigo consideran The Pale King un póstumo deliberado. Nosotros deberíamos pensar en Bolaño y en su viuda seducida por el Chacal.

Los segundos son aquellos que el autor guardó por prudencia -como el Maurice de EM Foster o el Tratado del Alma de Descartes-, postponiendo su publicación hasta el día en que la ley, la sociedad, la Iglesia o la familia ya no puede imponer su castigo. Me pregunto si cuenta el archivo de Sylvia PLath que guarda Smith College, sellado por su marido hasta el 11 de febrero de 2013, cuando se cumplan exáctamente 50 años de su muerte. Si lo hizo por proteger a sus hijos, está claro que no sirvio de mucho.

A los terceros los llama Walton "huérfanos de la Literatura", aquellos que el autor quiso muertos y que le sobreviven por gracia o desgracia de una mano traidora. El caso más famoso es sin duda el de Kafka, quien pidió que toda su producción fuera incinerada para ser traicionado por su mejor amigo y trasladado a Israel, donde gran parte de su producción sigue enterrada en vida. O Nabokov, traicionado por su propia sangre.

Todos los traidores reclaman que, de haber querido destruir sus obras, las habrían destruído ellos mismos. Que sirva de lección a aquellos que lo dejan siempre todo para el último minuto.

On Being Caesar



Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.

Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.

I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.

Murabak, Gadhafi y Ben Ali: Los pájaros





Ilustraciones de K.I.M. para Marcel Paris

Parecidos razonables: Gia vs The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo


Rooney Mara's Dragon Tattoo_a_500.jpg
Rooney Mara by Jean-Baptiste Mondino as The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, W Magazine

Gia Carangi by Chris von Wangenheim as Tattooed Girl , Harper's Bazaar 1980

The Journalist and the Murderer



Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible. He is a kind of confidence man, preying on people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and betraying them without remorse. Like the credulous widow who wakes up one day to find the charming young man and all her savings gone, so the consenting subject of a piece of nonfiction writing learns—when the article or book appears—his hard lesson. Journalists justify their treachery in various ways according to their temperaments. The more pompous talk about freedom of speech and “the public’s right to know”; the least talented talk about Art; the seemliest murmur about earning a living.

Janet Malcolm, The Journalist and the Murderer



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