As a voracious consumer of words, sounds, motion pic-tures, and other cultural detritus I always appreciate a good recommendation. In the interest of paying it forward I’m going to periodically list some stuff I enjoyed in the past month—stuff that has been jostling around in my figurative backpack.
Wilful Disregard by Lena Andersson
This short novel from 2013 was so good I slowed myself down so that I could prolong the experience of reading it. Lena Andersson is Swedish. The novel, also, is Swedish—it is probably the only Swedish novel I have read. (The fine English translation is by Sarah Death.) I can’t say I learned much about the Swedes or Sweden by reading it, as the book is focused entirely on the mind of Ester, a freelance writer and intellectual. Ester’s mind is completely preoccupied with an older artist she meets and falls for. Friends and colleagues are mentioned or even briefly appear, and politics are discussed in conversation, but mostly the novel is laser focused on Ester’s complicated speculations and rationalizations. Andersson perfectly (terrifyingly) describes infatuation, obsession, and the turmoil of lopsided or unrequited love. The writing is lightly, often ironically, brainy, and highly attuned to the emotional specifics of its subject. If you’ve ever found yourself unable to get over someone, or swung wildly between adoration and contempt, or been repeatedly captive to delusion, or felt mired in a stinky bog of uncertainty, or allowed a pointless disagreement to stand in for an interpersonal power struggle, you will see yourself reflected in this elegant little book.
Meeting with a Judas Tree by Duval Timothy
I absolutely adore this piano album. Some of it is kind of jazzy, some of it reminds me Aphex Twin’s “Avril 14th.” It’s full of electronic flourishes and field recordings, mixed in such a way that it feels like it’s all happening in one room, and that room has a window and you just happen to be walking by, maybe you’re on your way to a friend’s place to sit on their balcony, and the sun is out or maybe it’s setting, and you feel alert and deliriously alive.
Cunk On Earth
I got COVID last month and this new 5 episode Netflix series is what cured me. A parody of educational documentaries, Cunk on Earth stars Diane Morgan as Philomena Cunk in a deadpan performance for the ages. It’s basically a one-woman show covering (mostly) Western history, interspersed with Da Ali G Show-style interviews of academic experts. Almost every single line is a joke, and most of them land. Many of them are so transcendentally stupid, deranged, or silly that I missed the next joke from laughing so hard. Morgan has developed the Cunk character on other British comedy shows and specials, and like Borat or Alan Partridge the character is so fully inhabited it’s easy to believe she’s actually out there, terrorizing historians with her moronic questions. I hope this isn’t the last we hear of Cunk, her “friend Paul,” and 1989 Belgian techno anthem “Pump Up The Jam.”
Downhill Skiing
My life mostly consists of simple pleasures: talking, walking, reading, eating, watching stories on the stage or screen. I do, however, partake in one fairly complicated pleasure: downhill skiing. Skiing is, always, an ordeal—lugging around the equipment, traveling to the mountain, waking up early, dealing with cold and snow and ice and trees and rocks and the lines and crowded lodges. If I had not been put on skis at the age of 4, and you described the process and expense to me, I would scoff at the idea of a “ski trip.” But my parents put me on skis before I had any choice in the matter, and I’ve come to love the trail maps, the feeling of being carried up the mountain, the incredible views, and the speed.
Annie and I were invited to a wedding on top of Kicking Horse in Golden, British Columbia. We spent the days leading up to it doing our best to survive this absolute beast of a mountain. I’ve skied a fair amount in my life, and never have I experienced this level of difficulty or wildness. Usually I try and ski most of a given mountain, but there were large swaths of Kicking Horse that I dared not approach—areas that were not accessible by lift, areas that required hiking and are too steep to ever groom. Many intermediate level runs, which usual bore me, were immensely difficult. I managed to get in a two expert runs and felt completely spent from the difficult and anxiety. The lone beginner trail from the top was narrow, with precipitous drop offs on either side. Everyone had backpacks (for avalanches?) and seemed completely at ease with the lumpy, vertiginous slopes.
The upside to all this difficulty was that the mountain had barely anyone on it, and I could bumble my way through the trees without worrying about killing someone. I will never return to Kicking Horse, but I’m glad I got to experience it once.
Also, the Canadian Rockies. My God. What a landscape.