The problem of Gertrude Stein
“American writers alive today are expected to work as if Gertrude Stein never existed. Gertrude Stein, in her time, had that same problem.” (Via. See also.)
“American writers alive today are expected to work as if Gertrude Stein never existed. Gertrude Stein, in her time, had that same problem.” (Via. See also.)
One thing I really like about my friend Laura Miller is that she, like me, is fascinated by literature and technology, and interested in the places they meet. Sometimes that intersection feels like a lonely place to hang out. We both have iPads and (though we’re appalled by Apple’s employment practices) are excited about the potential of tablet computers. But . . .
I’m behind on everything around here, even linking to my New York Times Magazine mini-columns. Recently I’ve written about: plans to turn the old Miami Herald building into a casino; Laurie Anderson’s stint as Andy Kaufman’s sidekick; the (partial) realization of Ray Bradbury’s dream of robot teachers; and, courtesy of Madeline Miller and Plato, The Iliad as love story . . .
“I’ve always written. I’m from an older generation of programmers [who] did not come out of engineering. [A]ll sorts of people were drawn in from the social sciences and humanities.” — Ellen Ullman
I’m still obsessed with the life and writings of Bertrand Russell, and I keep meaning to post the passage from his autobiography that inspired one of my recent New York Times Magazine microcolumns, on Victorians’ belief that fruit was bad for children. Here it is: I remember an occasion at lunch when all the plates were changed and everybody except . . .