1. This may be just me, but Miriam Toews’ personal history piece, “The Way She Closed the Door,” in this week’s issue, seems unreal. The device of recounting her life as if she were talking to that youth in the Paris café seems just that – a device. And that river walk is too much, too patterned, too dreamlike to be believable. The same goes for the river cracking up and the cracked window and the piece of glass lodging in her forehead. I’m not saying these events didn’t happen, but the whole thing just seems too shaped, too artful to be a chronicle of real experience.
2. Michaelangelo Matos’s “Goings On About Town” note on the Black Dog’s new EP “Brutal Minimalism” contains these delightful lines:
The grainy, gray-toned percussion, redolent of cracked concrete walls, and the low-mixed chimes, like faraway train signals, add to the verisimilitude. Even when the beats come forward, they amplify the background details.
3. Perhaps the most beautiful sentence in this week’s issue appears in Anthony Lane’s “Living for the City,” a review of Joachim Trier’s “The Worst Person in the World”: “Like most of Trier’s work, it also takes you aback with its sadness, which hangs around, after the story is over, like the smoke from a snuffed candle.”
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