Stupid! I completely forgot…
Today is AID’s awareness day, and to mark it many museums and art institutions throughout the country are covering pieces of art in black cloth, to memorialize the artists who have been lost to AIDs.
I was going to check the Met’s exhibitions, when I came across their featured work of the day:
I’m glad the rest of the world remembered.
Another new book I would love to have. And I would buy this work, but it’s rather expensive ($90 from Phaidon Press). However, I think its both interesting and deserving of a good plug. Roberta Smith of the New York Times already did so in its Holiday Gift Guide section on art books, so perhaps my two cents are unnecessary. Or perhaps they are.
“One of the most interesting books of the season takes a nothing-but-the-facts bead on a subject of increasing art historical study: the exhibitions that have introduced most modern art to the public. Thick and very orange, Salon to Biennial — Exhibitions That Made Art History, Volume I: 1863-1959 is a marvel of information, organization and design. Largely the work of Bruce Altshuler, an independent scholar, in collaboration with Phaidon’s editors, it combines engaging analysis with myriad details to create in-depth portraits of exhibitions that are known, but not well.”
A shamelessly, self-interested plug of a great book for you artsy readers, and slight correction to the New York Times. Happy Monday.
Correction from Elizabeth Zechella: Bruce Altshuler did in fact write the intro essay, chapter intros, and was instrumental in the conception of the book. I was the editor of the book, researching, compiling, and making the selections of what was to be included. There was a team of people who contributed to this book in one way or another, including outside scholars, and a bevy of in-house and freelance help.
A swashbuckling adventure story with a limp and noodly protagonist whose unintentional irony and understatement form the greatest (and yet not so great) part of the tale.
All the Tea in China proceeds with action over character development, but even the action is envenerating. Little drives the plot forward except the feeling our dear protagonist has gotten himself into quite a muddle. And so he muddles forward. To lack suspense as it does, it needs to be more humorous (the 17th century dialogue was forced rather than funny).
That said, you could give it to the 13-year-old boy of your Christmas list, assuming he’s already had the pleasure of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped (which I remember being quite scary) and is permitted a few X-rated scenes.
This novel, besides being mildly historical, is hardly a typical choice of mine. The inside flap tricked me; it gave the the author Kyril Bonfiglioli kudos as a “groundbreaking satarist” in this “maritime romp.” So for that reason, and because the title reminded me of a song by The Magnetic Fields, I picked it up.
Clearly if I know the expression “all the tea in China,” I should also know “don’t judge a book by its cover” by now. For your listening pleasure, here is the better of the two, still with an ironic twinge but with a bit more heart: