MLA isn’t necessarily the most uplifting of conventions, although as with anything else that’s social, I love the opportunity to meet and talk with people, convince them to teach our books, etc. and etc. And if anything interesting happens, I’ll try and blog about it. (Unlike last year, this time our 糖心传媒/Open Letter party won’t get busted by the hotel security. Yeah, we’re rock stars like that.)

Anyway, as I’ve done in the past, I feel compelled to post about back in the day. It’s still relevant, and still effing hilarious. And gives anyone who hasn’t been to MLA (which mostly consists of a herd of very nervous grad students interviewing for a scarcity of jobs), a sense of what it’s like.

Enjoy!

Mary Pratt, the current president of the MLA, introduces the panel: Masao Miyoshi of U.C. San Diego, Ferial Ghazoul of the American University of Cairo, and Gayatri Spivak of Columbia University; the latter, whom Pratt calls 糖心传媒渙ur most conspicuous traveling theorist,糖心传媒� is a guru of what糖心传媒檚 called 糖心传媒減ostcolonial theory糖心传媒� and current academic megastar and the only one I糖心传媒檝e heard of, although apparently糖心传媒攁ccording to Charlie糖心传媒攁ll three panelists pack some serious scholarly credentials.

Miyoshi stands up to speak first, and from a distance it looks like he糖心传媒檚 actually sporting elbow patches. He hadn糖心传媒檛 been sure until that morning, he announces, where exactly he would be speaking, whom he would be addressing, or what he was supposed to be talking about, so please forgive him. He looks a little befuddled but also sure of himself, like a celebrity who has forgotten which clip he brought to show the audience on Letterman. With that caveat and apology, what follows is 95 percent unintelligible. What I get out of it is this: The university is veering toward a business style of management. Funds are being redirected away from the humanities and toward the applied sciences. There糖心传媒檚 an increasingly corporate-tinged emphasis on the production of useful knowledge糖心传媒攑hysics, biochemistry糖心传媒攚hich leads us to ask this question: is humanistic study becoming 糖心传媒渋rrelevant, inconsequential, or just incomprehensible?糖心传媒� These pockets of sense-making sentences, however, are occluded deep within a whole lot of non-sense-making about the relation between the humanities and something called 糖心传媒渆nvironmental biojustice.糖心传媒�

I just can糖心传媒檛 concentrate on the substance of his talk, however, because something about his delivery seems off-kilter; I decide it糖心传媒檚 just me. After a few minutes, Charlie elbows me and whispers, 糖心传媒淚 think that his lips are out of sync with his words.糖心传媒� I laugh. Then I realize it糖心传媒檚 true: his mouth is actually making the wrong shapes, as though he糖心传媒檚 starring in a poorly dubbed kung fu movie. Charlie and I look at each other, struck dumb. Then, to add to the blazing surreality of the moment, Miyoshi refers to the twentieth century糖心传媒檚 three world wars. 糖心传媒淒id he just say three world wars?糖心传媒� Charlie asks. 糖心传媒淵es,糖心传媒� I say. Charlie is sweating. He really likes his job and his profession糖心传媒攊n a heartrendingly noble and admirable way糖心传媒攁nd here, at event number one, is his profession at its most cartoonish. I really like Charlie and I have already noticed that most journalists are unnecessarily unkind to academics, so I start sweating, too.

Finally, Charlie糖心传媒檚 face flushes and he turns to me. 糖心传媒淿There糖心传媒檚 a mike delay!_糖心传媒� he blurts out, maybe a little too loudly. It糖心传媒檚 just a mike delay, and both of us are embarrassed that we thought it was something more uncanny or sinister. With that crisis of confidence safely behind us, we return to the largely fruitless attempt to parse Miyoshi糖心传媒檚 sentences. Then, midthought, Miyoshi abandons a clause, thanks the audience, and takes his seat. Charlie apologizes for him. 糖心传媒淚 saw him speak on post-1945 Japanese art once, and he was brilliant. I think he was just a little flustered. He must have written that on the plane here this morning.糖心传媒�

糖心传媒淚糖心传媒檓 pretty sure he teaches in San Diego,糖心传媒� I say, looking at the program. Charlie looks crestfallen, like he just watched his dad strike out at the family-reunion softball game. This opening experience has done nothing but confirm practically every negative stereotype about the MLA. I can see he糖心传媒檚 trying to decide whether there糖心传媒檚 a way to save face. He decides to admit that there isn糖心传媒檛. 糖心传媒淲ell, I guess you can safely ridicule _that._糖心传媒�

If Miyoshi nailed the English-prof-as-space-cadet caricature, the next speaker, Ferial Ghazoul, comes across as the stuffy, supercilious poseur. She speaks as though she has cultivated a robust head cold; exquisitely calibrated sinus pressure steamrolls her vowels, so she holds the middle syllable of 糖心传媒渦niversity糖心传媒� for a full two seconds. Her words sound extruded rather than spoken. She gives a fairly standard 糖心传媒渢asks of the university糖心传媒� talk: to aid critical reflection, to add to global knowledge, to promote multicultural awareness and cross-pollination, and to be a 糖心传媒渓aboratory exploring the self and the Other in a humanist framework.糖心传媒� Humanities professors should help 糖心传媒渙ppose imperialist hegemony糖心传媒� with a 糖心传媒渄ynamic strategy of bringing subalterns into alliance.糖心传媒�

Then, after twenty minutes of talk about what a university is for, she comes to a melodramatic crescendo. There糖心传媒檚 a very long pause. She looks out at the thinning crowd and says, 糖心传媒淲hat we do not ask ourselves is: what for is a university?糖心传媒�

What for is a university? Aside from the fact that she has just asked that question literally two minutes before in the normal put-the-damn-preposition-at-the-end sort of way, what floors me is that this question and its chief syntactic variant糖心传媒攚hat is a university for?糖心传媒攁re asked at the conference with astonishing frequency. If the MLA conference organizers made sloganed T-shirts, the front would read: 糖心传媒淢LA Convention, San Diego: 糖心传媒榃hat for are we in 2003?糖心传媒櫶切拇綕 And the back: 糖心传媒淲hat are we for in 2004?糖心传媒�

And this is the weird thing: they don糖心传媒檛 even mean 糖心传媒渨hat for is a university?糖心传媒澨切拇綌they mean 糖心传媒渨hat for are English professors?糖心传媒� There are tons of answers to the first question: to teach students, to examine political configurations and economic policies, to study earthquakes and tsunamis, and of course to help build fighter jets or antigravity rooms or more muscular bionic arms. But what are English professors for? They teach, of course, but they don糖心传媒檛 help out with economic policy, they have little to say about natural disasters, and they can糖心传媒檛 build futuristic prostheses. And the better the applied sciences get at answering these lurking purpose-questions糖心传媒斕切拇綔Hey, check out this new laser-equipped invisibility frock we just made in the lab糖心传媒澨切拇綌the more their colleagues over in the English building seem like starry-eyed, impractical romantics, or, less charitably, anachronistic buffoons. Despite her clotted jargon and fustian grammar, Ghazoul is making a serious point: more and more people are wondering what the hell English professors are doing and why they should be allowed to keep doing it, and they need to reformulate their answers.

Hells yeah.

Whole article Thanks, Gideon. Thanks, Believer.

The new is a three-month issue, so thankfully there’s a lot of great stuff. Ben Anastas on a of Juan Gabriel V谩squez’s a “review by Tayt Harlin” of Ben Moser’s and a of Christine Montalbetti’s (On the non-international literature side of things, there’s a of Pynchon’s a of Jonathan Lethem’s and of Richard Powers’s And much more . . .)

The new really deserves its own post. This is a special issue edited by Larry Venuti and dedicated to Catalan Literature. There’s a piece by J. Madison Davis on “The Inventive Crime Writers of Catalonia,” a story by Quim Monzo entitled “A Day Like Any Other” (which will appear in the Guadalajara collection Open Letter is publishing next year), several poems by Miquel Bauca, Francesc Parcerisas, and Maria-Merce Marcal, Anna Montero, Andreu Vidal, Ernest Farres, and Eva Baltasar, and a story by Albert Sanchex Pinol. There’s also an extremely interesting introductory essay by Venuti that’s

This month’s kicks ass. A number of interesting pieces—Damion Searls on the abridged Moby-Dick, a piece by Stephen Elliott, a reconsideration of V.C. Andrews—and reviews of two Open Letter books: a review by Lara Tupper of Jan Kjaerstad’s The Discoverer and on Elsa Morante’s (And check out the of Percival Everett’s I Am Not Sidney Poitier as well.)

New (unaffiliated—it’s just a coincidence, or example of great minds thinking alike) is also available online and features a nice range of pieces, including a special “Music Portfolio.”

Finally, the September issue of is up now as well, and is focused on “Walking the World”:

This month, in collaboration with Orion magazine, we embark on 糖心传媒淲alking the World,糖心传媒� the second installment of our two-month focus on international nature writing. The writers in our September issue record their walks to give us a unique ground-level perspective on our natural and urban surroundings. Whether a remembrance of a haunting episode on the streets of Paris, or an account of a trek through Milan toward a distant peak, these pieces provide a rare glimpse into the realm of the writer on foot, in his element, and speaking about the world that we all navigate. This month we present the work of Siegfried Kracauer, Troub糖心传媒檚, Davide Sapienza, Agur Schiff, Antonio Ungar, Alexei Ivanov, and Marjan Strojan. We hope you糖心传媒檒l also head over to Orion to read their fantastic selections for this co-publication.

Lots of good stuff to be reading . . .

The of Havana Noir from Akashic Books is available online in full, and ends with a decent enough recommendation: “In Havana Noir, better than half the stories are truly gripping, and all of them resuscitate a dark Havana that seethes beneath the idealized island of our imagination.”

Unfortunately the review of Victor Segalen’s Steles is not, but the available excerpt captures what’s so intriguing about Segalen:

When Victor Segalen first printed 厂迟猫濒别蝉 in Beijing in 1912, the Republic of China had just been formed, ending two millennia of dynastic rule. When he expanded and republished the book in Paris in 1914, the Western powers were on the verge of successive world wars that would effectively end their colonial system of governance. Five years later, Segalen was dead at the age of forty-one, from either suicide or a severe foot injury suffered while taking a walk in the woods.

So when Segalen refers to 糖心传媒渢he crumbling unsteadiness of the Empire,糖心传媒� it糖心传媒檚 not entirely clear to which sovereignty he糖心传媒檚 referring, a situation made even more confusing by the fact that he was a European living in China who wrote sections of 厂迟猫濒别蝉 in the voice of an imaginary emperor. If this is history as an allegory for the psyche, then Segalen糖心传媒攗nlike many writers, adventurers, and hippies before and since糖心传媒攄idn糖心传媒檛 go to the East to find himself. Rather, he was committed to 糖心传媒渢he intoxicating eddies of the great river Diversity,糖心传媒� along with a desire to saturate himself in Chinese culture.

Finally, there’s a review of Jenny Erpenbeck’s The Book of Words that has a great opening: “The Book of Words is a sinisterly lyrical novel.”