Luc Tuymans (b. 1958)

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Published by: San Francisco Museum of Modern Art/ Wexner Center for the Arts/D.A.P, 2009

A long-time favorite painter of mine, Luc Tuymans has mastered a style and technique that has been quite influential. His appropriation and re contextualization of imagery, coupled with his diffuse, vague, and chalky paint, creates an often eerie or mysterious atmosphere. Often, it is the behind the scenes content that is what gives his body of work so much impact. He brilliantly straddles the line between representation and abstraction, and in my opinion, portrays the world as it actually is. Uncertain, confusing, diffuse and associative. His work can be viewed at the David Zwirner Gallery or Zeno-X Gallery.

 

Engage With Literature From Around the World

I am very excited to announce that we have recently acquired a wonderful collection of literature in translation and from around the world. Japan, Germany, France, Argentina, Italy, Chile, South Africa, Russia, Bosnia, and Poland are all represented. This is an excellent group of books, in near fine to fine condition, prominently first American editions. The publishers vary from Knopf to New Directions to Dalkey Archive Press, with lovely books from Archipelago Press. Here is an opportunity to encounter major influential texts from all over the world, to become acquainted with writers you’ve perhaps not heard of: Cesar Aira, Nina Berberova, Julio Cortazar for example. Read the prison and political works of Breyten Breytenbach, or the interesting historical perspectives of Shusaku Endo. Here is a sample from this first group, with many more to come, so be sure to check back!

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An uncommon John Williams item!

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This interesting little book requires some thought. John Williams has surged forth as one of the respected giants of mid-century American prose. His masterpiece, Stoner, has garnered such acclaim in recent years, that print runs seem to be selling out all over America and Europe. His other novels, Butcher’s Crossing, a stark portrayal of the final years of the buffalo hunt in Colorado, and Augustus, about the Roman Emperor, are as different as they are wonderful reads. But what does one think about the early and largely unknown poetic work? The wider study and discussion of this effort is yet to be done, but as an early illustration of this artist’s creative trajectory, has much interest. In terms of the collectible realm, this is an uncommon item, in rather quite excellent condition. The boards and text are bright and clean, judiciously protected by its very good dust jacket, which holds some light rubbing/scuffing. The spine is lightly toned, with minor rubbing, and all housed in a custom-cut mylar cover. What makes this an even more exceptional item, is the John Williams inscription:

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Threads and connections through poetry: Robert Frost/Edward Thomas/ William H. Davies

One of the most rewarding aspects to immersing oneself in books and its inherent way of life is the discovery of new pathways, threads, heretofore uncovered narratives that once trodden on, become the illuminating points on a personal constellation.

A few years ago, I read the excellent nature/travel book The Old Ways by Robert McFarlane, in which the English poet, Edward Thomas, serves as McFarlane’s inspiration and lodestar. I was captivated by this book, and in particular, the solemn narrative of Thomas’s life, his relationship to Robert Frost, and his development as an influential poet. Thomas and Frost were great friends, trekkers, and nature enthusiasts. But there is an unfortunate point in this otherwise valuable exchange: Frost sent Thomas an advance copy of his much-loved “The Road Not Taken.” Thomas did not receive this poem positively, perhaps, and it is said that the work was responsible for his decision to enlist for service in World War I. Thomas would be killed on the front in the Battle of Arras two years later. Amazingly, many of the poems were written and published in these final years of Thomas’s life. Matthew Hollis has written a wonderful biography on this part of Thomas’s life, which includes many of his poems.

 

Soon after this I began my search for a vintage Thomas book (it somehow seemed appropriate to find a used and “charming” copy, which of course would include much traipsing and searching, in the Thomas spirit). I was lucky to find this rather worn copy, issued by Faber and Faber, 1941. The salmon colored, paper jacket is a bit spine-sunned, but the text is still sharp. I couldn’t believe it, found in the western expanse of Colorado! Any yet, it gets even better. This modest little volume carries some interesting associations. Pasted to the verso facing the title page, someone affixed a tribute poem to Edward Thomas, uncredited. Flipping further through the book, someone also wrote in ink Robert Frost’s tribute poem “To E.T.” There are also scattered pencil checks throughout the text. I was lucky enough to find a book that a previous reader embodied with the same fascination I had taken to this small poetry narrative.

Now, much, much later, and just recently, I was out scouting for material, and in a general stock bookcase, stuffed full of vintage material, I found this sweet little book, the second, by W.H. Davies. New Poems, published in 1907. Through the Hollis biography I was aware of Davies’s friendship to Thomas, so I plucked the thin, six-inch, green cloth volume.

 

I was amazed to see the dedication page states: To Helen and Edward Thomas. So now my small, noncollectable, and merely only associative collection of Thomas-iana has grown. My point with this short tale, is that collecting books can have many elements, beyond just runs of favorite authors or “pre-fab” lists of the “best” material. I urge you to seek out the interesting, the small; I would encourage you to build relationships between your books, and to cultivate a personal constellation of material and items.

 

 

 

Great Dust Jacket Art

I have always enjoyed great dust jacket art, and a particular vintage especially. One can imagine the designer/artist sitting at a layout board with various tools, graphic elements, the colors and brushes of his or her trade. I have a fine art background, so have always been drawn to jackets that carry a painting, screen print, drawing, but equally appreciate the amazing graphic work of Alvin Lustig. If you have not seen his work, do yourself the favor of looking through some of his groundbreaking work at the site dedicated to him. Another of the greats is George/Georg Salter, famous for his Atlas Shrugged, Berlin Alexanderplatz, Of Mice and Men, Hopscotch, and numerous others. If you find yourself with a free moment, I can’t encourage you enough to spend some time browsing their work. It will amaze and awe you how fresh and contemporary much of it feels. Your visits to bookstores will be altered, I promise. With myself, if I am browsing newer books, usually designed under the Photoshop/Illustrator era, I am largely disappointed. Much of it feels too much like a billboard, flashy, cheap, artlessly clamoring for my dollars. That being said, there is currently much interesting work being done by Peter Mendelsund, several of whose covers seem to be a strongly influenced by these earlier luminaries. The Los Angeles Review of Books has an interesting interview with him. Yes, jackets, are meant to catch you, to sell you, to pulse from the shelf as a continuous beacon for your attention, which I tend to resent in most other commercial fields, and yet, I do love a wonderfully designed book cover, and can fiercely hate poor and lazy ones. It’s an affront to the objects caught in an industry already under immense pressure of growing monopolies and diminishing space. In this spirit, I will be occasionally highlighting covers I think powerful, beautiful, interesting.

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Wrapper design by John Holden

Please feel free to leave comments about your thoughts on book cover design, favorites, design in general (we are not limited to just books here, but movie posters, magazine, etc)

Black Forest at Fine Books Blog!

Was included in the very interesting and inspiring series over at Fine Books Blog! Thanks to them for all their continuing coverage of the book world. Be sure to see what the others are up to, it’s quite the community. Profile

A New, or Wider Turn…

Though attached to the store, I like to think of this forum as a bit of the shop itself, in which book discussion happens, favorites are lauded, and I share some of the things of which I am excited and love. I will share comments about books that I may not carry for sale, post about favorite art or music, draw connections between disciplines…we shall see. So without further waiting, here is my first installment of Recommends.

In The County Road (New Directions, 2015) Regina Ullmann deploys a prose, which has a way of beguiling the intrepid reader (for this is the fine introduction to the American public of this unknown writer) into a lost land of atmospherics, dealings in gravity and light, oddities of imagery, and perceptive psychology. Her sentences continuously bring elements to rise and fall, scatter and move, contrast; dust and characters equally in motion. The paragraphs, comprised of direct and insightful sentences, lay out before the reader like a strange pathway. And the brilliance of this style of hers, full throughout with wonderful and unique turns of phrase, which presumably is in part what captured the attention and garnered such luminous praise as New Directions has reproduced on the rear panel, is that these paragraphs offer a quiet intimate kind of spirituality, with its varying aspects of personal crises and exaltations, visions and thoughts of God and Death. The tone of this incantation is set with the very first paragraph of the first story, and does not sway from her captivating spell throughout:

Summer, but a younger summer than this one; the summer back then was no more than my equal in year. True, I still wasn’t happy, not happy to my core, but I had to be in the way that everyone is. The sun set me ablaze…This long country road before and behind me…even heaven itself could not relieve it of its bleakness…An all-knowing road. A road reserved for those who had been, in some way, left alone.

 This first story reads like a fairy tale for the turn-of-the-century adult; the depressed traveler leaves behind a life for reasons not explained, and during the pilgrimage encounters along her way several strong impressions and visions that give the story its intense religious nature and illuminates the mental state of the wanderer. She reflects on paintings from her youth, but is than joylessly “cast out of myself,” realizing that this is only in her mind now, and has nothing to do with her present life. She watches several scenes of country life cross her path on the road, then is disturbed by a cyclist that rides by, her abhorrence to the scene irrational: “Oh, how unhappy I was about this strange cyclist. Not even if the love of mankind had reconciled me to him, forcing me to reconsider, not even then would I have been able to smile again. Had I slowly lost all my gaiety in life, all my confidence?” She joins a group on a wagon, and chooses a trunk that holds a snake, but is not afraid of the creature, but appreciates the symbolism of its coiled form. Later in a tavern, where she seeks refreshment, there is another diner that is an ill man that in her vision is repulsive as Death, and causes her to cry. Upon reaching her final destination, a rented room in a country house, she is kept late into the night by a dizzying tale of love, told by the zither-playing woman who tends the house.

The Mouse, a tale about a sleep-depriving mouse and the home’s human inhabitant, opens with the ominous, “Death was prepared in the form of a trap.” This story too centers on the encounter between man and nature, morality and loneliness. Even in this simplest of tales, Ullmann is always reflective, using the common encounter of dwelling woman versus the gnawing rodent to probe the inner portions of her own/ her character’s morality, at times in fear or awe of these emotions, other times, stating a general cosmic connectivity of a spiritual realm (living creatures, flowers, sun, dirt, dust.) A happy victory over the smallest pest, “But reflecting on my agonizing, sleepless night, I smiled with pleasure at the creature’s pain. Now its time had come” turns into a moment of forgetfulness and the trapped creature (she intends to release the mouse after sufficiently scaring it) perishes. The mouse turns to dust; dust which brings to mind the all-present dust in The Country Road, “Just peasant people, eating dust.” Dust and guilt:

And other things came to mind, too, for we are bound to all the suffering that occurs on our account. It is engraved into our lives. It clings to us like guilt. As if in passing, it magnifies our dealings with this vast nature a thousandfold. If we were guiltless, to be sure, it would be a beautiful, holy sight. Like a shower of stars, it would affirm our life.

Loneliness and spiritual life, or death, wind through these writings. Ullmann is not timid about addressing these heavy matters; reports from the inner world that in a less skillful writer’s hands usually become awkward and even embarrassing to read. Her views of the natural world are melancholic and wondrous in tandem, one or the other tipping the scale, complimenting the other in a complex dance charged with the fuse of deep and living emotions. The very push and pull of the seasons yield wonderful statements, such as the precarious balance of spring, when the frosts may still have a place in the mornings. “Then it is truly freezing. Every young blade of grass is edged in white. Nature thinks back on recent days, and its hair turns white.” And to extend this figuration into further complexity, a few sentences later, “A dream above all, is the living mountain of the soul in this otherwise deathlike state.” The final stroke of this extended alter-life of words, is when the character, “the old man,” reads the daily papers at a cafe, those dirty-white pages, and Ullmann writes of the “icy joy of others’ sympathy,” and then delivers her final withering assessment: “These daily papers are the snowball that weak men roll into the avalanches that they take for the life of their soul.”

This series of extended figurations illuminates the kind of thoughtful and clever writing Ullmann is capable of; she brings the imaginative and fanciful into full natural reality, weaving a layered tapestry provoking ideas and beautiful images. In the story “The Hot Air Balloon,” which puts the reader’s mind aloft (another realm Ullmann dwells in) she writes early on, “The green was already showing on all of the trees and shrubs, but only at the very tips – as if a green hand had brushed over them…” Either a giant has wandered by, or the airborne are reaching down with painted fingers. Her work allows for just this kind of imaginative speculation, so original and perceptive, that a reader has fun conjuring in their mind’s eye the picture.

In “The Christmas Visit,” one of the gentler and even uplifting stories, Ullmann’s philosophic thought does not diminish. The narrator’s family pays a holiday visit to a neighbor, a former typesetter. The mother tells her children, “He had such respect for his work that you had to admire him, even if they were all the same letters in all the same places where any other typesetter would have put them.” The author’s reverence continues when her narrator says, “…that he had the courage to draw his own breath between what was newly created and what was still evolving, this fact alone was enough to excite our minds…” Respect and admiration begets the same in others, the mother in this case, and by extension, her children, and this could be read as another form of holiness, a tone of reverence is set for the story and its jovial setting. Amidst the charmingly described holiday accoutrements, the Ullmannesque spins of language are present: “…a little Christmas carol began, like a small manger set into the moss,” and “The children’s interwoven melodies – like soaring proclamation – were gifts too, and we gathered the words from their mouths.” And flowers, which have been set off to the room’s side because of their strong fragrance “…pulled even further away of their own accord.” After a deftly described magic lantern scene, the visitors depart under the auspices of joy, but in Ullmann’s skeptical fashion, even this benevolent wonder has its suspicions, “It does with us what it will, indeed, many things…”

Ullmann is a pessimist of sorts. Her worldview is decidedly melancholic, but it is not the sort of hopelessness one cannot escape from, for there are countless wonders, mostly seen in the natural world, in a fine breakfast, or tenderness between people. Her sorrow is invested in the sub-surface, hidden away stories and private wounds people endure. Life’s many shortcomings, experienced by all in some capacity, and how those negative spaces in fact formulate one’s private landscape is where Ullmann reigns, in this case from the final story, “The Girl,” in which the character’s nature, or fate, responds to her self reflection on her wretched state:

You shall experience unto the end who you are and what you are, and who others are and what they are…All that will belong to you is poverty…This is my intention, to which you must be faithful. And this faith, if you will, shall be your only victory.

This quiet faith, not that in God, but in nature and the actuality of life, may be rewarded, because you are then awake to the experiences that are a part of your memory and spiritual undertow, and this seam beneath the film, is where much is happening. The quietude of the inner life and the impressions collected in a small world give these stories their gravity.

In reading through this at times charming and quiet group of stories, I thought often of the pictures of the Norwegian painter, Edvard Munch. His often depicted empty or sparsely occupied roads and streets, his strange and symbolic coloring, the whirling landscapes, his figures engaged in solemn domestic scenes, mourning, figurative portrayals of dark emotions, and above all the modern affliction of alienation and loneliness. Many of Munch’s works were done twenty to thirty years prior to this book’s original publication, but I wonder if Ullmann was looking at or how aware of his work she was. If it can be said that her stories are often gradations of a self-portrait – and according to her unhappy biography they probably are – then they are equally as penetrating as those of Munch.

Despite having the adulation of those giants of German literature we think of as defining the modern era, she does not have a large standing reputation. The appearance of this slim volume should do much to rectify the situation. Yes, the work is bleak in many regards, troubles itself with those heavy questions that today many scorn as too much, or too anxious; certainly there is a determined strain of piety which the non-faithful may set aside as old world or quaint, and yet, she does it all uniquely, and she can craft sentences and images and metaphors along with the best of them. There is also deep love and delicacy and kindness and much beauty, and absolutely, it is a group of stories that fully rewards an unvarying, word-by-word engagement.

 

Travel, anybody!

StationAn interesting item, with cool paper-covered boards! Known more for his Road to Oxiana, which I highly recommend to travel fans, or those interested in early perceptions of the Middle East, this book is an account of Byron’s travels to a Greek monastery. Black and white photos included. Some equal though not devastating sunning to boards and spine, this is still a handsome copy.

Important book in a modern vintage jacket

Happy to have Wittgenstein’s Mistress come through our stock recently. I have always loved the early Dalkey Archive Press jackets, the ones vaguely resembling zines and Xerox. That is not to say it’s all “punk” or DIY, but with these jackets Dalkey brought some of that aesthetic, though refined, to their platform of heady, “experimental” literature. This title is of course one the most important from their list. David Foster Wallace famously wrote: “…that a novel this abstract and erudite and avant-garde that could also be so moving makes “Wittgenstein’s Mistress” pretty much the high point of experimental fiction in this country. [courtesy Salon article ]Mistress