September 9 – October 29, 2022

September 13 – October 29, 2022

I first read Nancy Lemann’s novel Lives of the Saints in one sitting, on an airplane. I was spellbound, moved, and deeply charmed. Who was this woman? Why had I never read her before? How was she capable of articulating an experience of youth that, in all its wastrelness, was exactly like my own despite being completely different?

Lives of the Saints, first published in 1985, is a novel that undermines our expectations of narrative: Lemann’s fiction does not flow in the normal direction but loops in circles and rides along on digressions that resemble the chaos of real life. The book is remarkable for its restraint and for its lush detail. If it can be said to be “about” anything, it’s about a young woman named Louise who has returned to New Orleans from college in the North; she finds herself thrust back into the richly entangled social world of her childhood, back among the people she has always known, including Claude Collier, the only man who can break her heart “into a million pieces on the floor.” Lives of the Saints is peopled by eccentrics and doomed lovers and drunks and people who are always “Having a Breakdown.” It’s so rollickingly funny that in retrospect you might forget about its central tragedy, then reread it and get your heart broken all over again.

Like Cassandra at the Wedding and The Transit of Venus, Lives of the Saints has had a formidable afterlife, sustained not by support from the literary publicity machine but by a network of recommendations from die-hard fans, of which I am now one. (I don’t remember how or when I picked up my copy, but much of the current generation of fandom can be traced to Kaitlin Phillips’s 2018 recommendation in SSENSE: “Read this book in the bath.”) After finishing it, I ordered every single one of Lemann’s novels, and read them more or less back-to-back. It felt like absorbing a consciousness that suddenly made everything make sense. I, too, have Had a Breakdown. I, too, romanticize the impossible, the decaying, and the societies that have lapsed in a long slow deserved decline; I can be moved to tears by things like wisteria and particular angles of winter sunlight. One of her narrators even romanticizes the fall of the Ottoman Empire! 

Lemann’s story “Diary of Remorse,” in our Fall issue, has the same madcap, digressive quality that defines her novels as well as the same blend of humor, pain, and beauty. You can read a chat the two of us had on the phone in September below. We agreed, among other things, that youth is angst.

What Cézanne reveals about the visual processing of the human mind

After our deep dive into footballers’ good/awful acting careers a few weeks back, there was only one place we could go next. Because if a footballer’s on camera, they’re normally advertising something - especially if they play for Man United.

Jules, Jim, Pete and Vish discover that the quest for a crisp pound note isn’t just confined to ex-pros hoarding crypto on Twitter. We’ve seen it all, from George Best sincerely advertising eggs to Kevin Keegan promoting road safety (terrifying) and Michael Owen’s chopper. Tremendous, by the way.

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September 18 – October 29, 2022

September 2 – October 22, 2022

In 1994, the internationally acclaimed fiction writer Lucia Berlin met the New York School poet and librettist Kenward Elmslie at Naropa University’s Summer Writing Program, where they were both visiting writers. “We just clicked,” Berlin said in a 2002 interview. “We cut through right away into each other’s deep feelings. It was like falling in love, or going back to your childhood best friend in first grade, that kind of really pure friendship.”

That friendship developed through a faithful and frequent correspondence, a literary exchange of about two letters per week over the course of a decade. Lucia was living in Boulder, Colorado, and later in Los Angeles; Kenward was dividing his time between New York City and Calais, Vermont. Despite the distance between them, the two writers came to depend on their intimate friendship and deeply valued their correspondence.

In the following letters dated between May 28 and August 5, 2000, Lucia and Kenward discuss a New York production of Kenward’s musical play, Postcards on Parade, and the books each was working on at the time: Lucia’s memoir, Welcome Home, and Kenward’s fourteenth poetry collection, Blast from the Past, which he wanted to dedicate to Lucia. They write about the books they’re reading, Lucia’s recent move to a trailer park, and the thrilling poetic visuals she sees from her windows.

7 min read

Inclusivity, culture and power

The nightlife of Oxford occupies an important place in the story of the city, and in its historic contribution to the wider world.

Nightlife can embrace or ostracise. Some spaces are widely accessible – open to non-students and actively welcoming to those who identify as LGBTIQA+. Other spaces bar entry in accordance with university tradition.

This accessibility is important, because the international importance of the university gives Oxford’s night-time scene real power. Over time, it has been shown to dictate national politics, shape culture, and embody the systemic social divide in this country. In many ways, traditional systems of power are perpetuated by Oxford’s nightlife.

There is also an important relationship with film and literature. Oxford’s nightlife has been widely portrayed in fictional media, and at the same time venues in the city have played a role in the discussion and production of literary creations.

Cultural contributions

The public houses of Oxford have long contributed to the cultural fabric of the city and the wider world. The most prominent example is the Eagle and Child pub, founded in 1650. In the early to mid-twentieth century this was the place in which J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis first shared the manuscripts of The Lord of The Rings and the Chronicles of Narnia, reading them aloud to a group of writers known as ‘The Inklings’. This group, which included poets Owen Barfield and Charles Williams, was a forum in which the writers discussed their work. They met in the ‘Rabbit Room’ of the Eagle and Child, and in Lewis’s own rooms at Magdalen College.

4 min read

Tracing Oxford’s history in its buildings

During my time in Oxford, I have seen many shops come and go. Nowadays they often leave with little or no sign they ever existed, but back in the day when advertising was hand painted on walls, the new owners often just covered it up. Taking a walk in Oxford and keeping your eyes open, you can still find the fading remains of some of these so-called ghost signs today as they get uncovered. In a broader definition they can also include metal signs or stone engravings. Have you noticed some of the ones below?

1) Curry’s, Cowley Road

Curry’s signage on Stockmore Street / Cowley Road. Photo by Paul Freestone 2020.

On the popular Cowley Road in East Oxford, you can find the traces of a shop that some of you may be very familiar with. Although now selling primarily electronics, then Curry’s were advertising above what is now Atomic Burger with the words “Accessories Curry’s Cycles”. On the side of the building on Stockmore Road the faded writing reads “Toys & Baby Carriages Curry’s Cycles and Radio”. The advertisement was likely put up sometime between 1934 and 1948.

2) Lumley’s Grocery, Walton Street

Lumley’s corner shop. Photo by Isisbridge 2013, album “ghost signs etc”.

In Jericho two special signs are displayed above the Oxford Wine Café at 127 Walton Street: they are ghost signs covered up by ghost signs. The sign at the top reads “The finest Turkey coffee ¼ [meaning: one shilling and fourpence] in one pound canisters”. However, if you look very closely, you can make out another advertisement beneath the visible one. It says “G. Lumleys Grocery Provision Warehouse”. The previous corner shop also encouraged passers-by to “try Geo Lumleys 2/6 [meaning: two shillings and sixpence] tea” on the lower of the two signs. Again, a previous advertisement can be made out beneath this sign proclaiming “[illegible] Bacon, Crosse & Blackwell’s Pickles”. George Lumley was a grocer there until 1888.