Cal Flyn in New Humanist:

Henrietta Rose-Innes at the Times Literary Supplement:

The South African writer Mike Nicol once expressed the thought that, after apartheid fell, the country needed a decade or so to process its violence culturally. He was talking about crime writing – and saw its popular emergence, ten years after the democratic elections, as a result of this digestion. It’s true that things on the ground change pretty fast in South Africa, and literature can take its own sweet time to catch up.

The past twenty years have been an interesting time to come of age as a novelist in South Africa. In 1994, there were many confident predictions that the fall of apartheid would usher in an age of unprecedented creative freedom – an artistic blossoming. When I first entered the publishing world, we were well into the post-apartheid era, but it seemed like local literature was only just beginning to reflect, and reflect on, the changes we’d been through.

In 1998 I’d been one of the first students enrolled in the first Creative Writing masters course in the country, at the University of Cape Town. This felt like a fairly eccentric choice at the time; there was no precedent, and I wasn’t entirely sure of my motivations, other than wanting the rare opportunity to be taught by J. M. Coetzee. It was a bare-bones curriculum back then – my fellow students were wraith-like beings whom I never saw. When I began writing I knew no other local authors, certainly not ones of my own age (then twenty-eight).

more here.

Nathan Knapp at The Quarterly Conversation:

One wonders what Sontag would’ve made of Sarah Manguso’s 300 Arguments, which appears on first blush to be almost entirely made up of aphorisms. Manguso, who at the age of 42 has already published seven books including this one, published her first book of poetry, The Captainlands in Paradise at age 28. Since following that book up two years later with another collection of poetry, all of her books have been prose. Two years ago she published Ongoingness: The End of a Diary, which was quite literally an exercise in “notebook-thinking”: the book was a meditation on her diaries, which she had at that point kept for 25 years and totaled more than 800,000 words. Her book on this massive document ran to a mere 144 pages. “Write as short as you can,” wrote John Berryman in an early Dream Song (and proceeded to publish 385 of them).

300 Arguments takes Berryman’s advice quite literally. Any worry brought on by the volume implied by the numerousness of the book’s title is allayed by the brevity of its page count (90 pages). The physical book itself, pocket-sized and filled with large print, comes with a set of instructions, printed as an unattributed blurb (it is from Manguso herself) on the back of the Graywolf paperback edition: “Think of this as a short book composed entirely of what I hoped would be a long book’s quotable passages,” a command not issued inside the book until nearly two-thirds of the way through. One wonders if Graywolf was worried that readers approaching the book without any prior information as to its structure might be confused, or irritated that they had not purchased a more conventional book of either nonfiction or poetry. Manguso is certainly no stranger to the prescriptive voice. In an essay published two years ago she advised would-be writers to “Be relentless,” to “Learn to live on air,” to “Stay healthy; sickness is a waste of time and money,” to “Avoid all messy and needy people including family,” not to smoke, not to drink, not to have a gym membership, not to “give favors to people or institutions that lack authority or consequence,” to “learn graciously to decline,” to “be kind to everyone you meet,” to “become tempered by life,” and to make “compromises for love”.

more here.

Isaac Yuen in Orion Magazine:

45° The angle at which the heads of commuters on the 8:16 morning train are locked while swiping their phones to make fragments of text and digital candy disappear, lest the things on their screens grow long and nourishing like daydreams of fresh baguettes and weekend meanders outside the city, up to the mountain headwaters, that central source.

65° The angle at which other heads of commuters on the 8:16 morning train are positioned in their search for other eyes—watery and reddened perhaps from fussy babies or a hard night out, or restless and darting from imagining worst-case scenarios in some future job interview. The eyes tack into the storm of faces, seeking stories and solace in this gorgeous, desperate city, even if only for an instant—lock and release.

…

180° The degree at which you contemplate transience on a moonless August night standing atop a mountain to watch the Perseid meteor showers with your jaw agape, partly due to awe but partly because staring straight up is conducive to slack jawedness, all the while sifting through the ambient chatter of chips crunching and dogs barking and people prattling on in Chinese and English and Korean and French until a streak of fire slashes the firmament, teaching them to gasp all at once, that mother tongue.

0° Because sometimes you should switch things up and see the world from above as well as below, so that you can notice the kinnikinnick carpeting the forest floors after learning its name, or the pink spine of a pigeon linking flight feathers together to form a miniature and grotesque angel, or the industriousness of sidewalk ants bustling to and fro, like commuters on a train, except the ants know each other very well, being close of kin, never worry about job interviews or loneliness, being hive minded and united, and have no need for tiny glittering screens that can distract them from their very full and present lives.

More here.

Sarah Jones in the New Republic:

Like the Kingdom of God, the Republic of Gilead is both now and not yet. Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel The Handmaid’s Tale conjures a theocratic dystopia—a version of the United States taken over by fundamentalist Christians after a terrorist attack on Washington. Women are now divided into rigid classes determined by an idiosyncratic interpretation of the Bible. Atwood’s protagonist, Offred, is a Handmaid—a fallen woman who is forced to bear children for righteous couples—and the book follows her sufferings under the Gilead regime. Atwood paints in garish strokes intended to shock: This new society calls homosexuality “gender treachery” and forbids women to read, own property, or choose their own clothing.

Since the novel’s publication three decades ago, Gilead has existed as a paper nightmare that gains or loses dimension based on the state of our national politics. Of course, we don’t divide women into classes of Marthas, Handmaids, Econowives, and Wives; we call them “the help,” “surrogates,” the working class, and the one percent. America has never forced fertile women to bear children for infertile ones, but Trump’s pussy-grabbing presidency has given cover to the sort of blatant misogyny many thought consigned to the past. “In Trump’s America, The Handmaid’s Tale matters more than ever,” The Verge declared the day after Trump’s election. In February, the book overtook George Orwell’s 1984 on the Amazon best-seller list. Texas is Gilead and Indiana is Gilead and now that Mike Pence is our vice president, the entire country will look more like Gilead, too.

Set in the very near future, Hulu’s new adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale subtly updates Atwood’s dystopia.

More here.

David Mitchell in the New Statesman:

Naoki Higashida is an amiable and thoughtful young man in his early twenties who lives with his family in Chiba, a prefecture adjacent to Tokyo. Naoki has autism of a type labelled severe and non-verbal, so a free-flowing conversation of the kind that facilitates the lives of most of us is impossible for him. By dint of training and patience, however, he has learned to communicate by “typing out” sentences on an alphabet grid – a keyboard layout drawn on card with an added “YES”, “NO” and “FINISHED”. Naoki voices the phonetic characters of the Japanese hiragana alphabet as he touches the corresponding Roman letters and builds up sentences, which a transcriber takes down. (Nobody else’s hand is near Naoki’s during this process.)

If this sounds like an arduous way to get your meaning across, you’re right, it is; in addition, Naoki’s autism bombards him with distractions and prompts him to get up mid-sentence, pace the room and gaze out of the window. He is easily ejected from his train of thought and forced to begin the sentence again. I’ve watched Naoki produce a complex sentence within 60 seconds, but I’ve also seen him take 20 minutes to complete a line of just a few words. By writing on a laptop Naoki can dispense with the human transcriber, but the screen and the text-converter (the drop-down menus required for writing Japanese) add a new layer of distraction.

I met Naoki’s writing before I met Naoki. My son has autism and my wife is from Japan, so when our boy was very young and his autism at its most grimly challenging, my wife searched online for books in her native language that might offer practical insight into what we were trying (and often failing) to deal with. Internet trails led to The Reason I Jump, written when its author was only 13. Our bookshelves were bending under weighty tomes by autism specialists and autism memoirs, but few were of much “hands-on” help with our non-verbal, regularly distressed five-year-old.

More here.

David Wallace-Wells in New York Magazine:

It is, I promise, worse than you think. If your anxiety about global warming is dominated by fears of sea-level rise, you are barely scratching the surface of what terrors are possible, even within the lifetime of a teenager today. And yet the swelling seas — and the cities they will drown — have so dominated the picture of global warming, and so overwhelmed our capacity for climate panic, that they have occluded our perception of other threats, many much closer at hand. Rising oceans are bad, in fact very bad; but fleeing the coastline will not be enough.

Indeed, absent a significant adjustment to how billions of humans conduct their lives, parts of the Earth will likely become close to uninhabitable, and other parts horrifically inhospitable, as soon as the end of this century.

Even when we train our eyes on climate change, we are unable to comprehend its scope. This past winter, a string of days 60 and 70 degrees warmer than normal baked the North Pole, melting the permafrost that encased Norway’s Svalbard seed vault — a global food bank nicknamed “Doomsday,” designed to ensure that our agriculture survives any catastrophe, and which appeared to have been flooded by climate change less than ten years after being built.

The Doomsday vault is fine, for now: The structure has been secured and the seeds are safe. But treating the episode as a parable of impending flooding missed the more important news.

More here.

From Discover Magazine:

Cultivating Safer Food Sources

Among the roots of a rice plant that grows in California, researchers detected a specific bacteria that attracts iron and forms a “shield” that blunts the plant’s uptake of toxic arsenic. Because rice grows underwater, it takes in 10 times more arsenic than other cereal grains such as wheat and corn. Arsenic occurs naturally but also is used in multiple industrial processes. Chronic exposure has been linked to cancer, heart disease and diabetes. This discovery could lead to a “probiotic” for rice plants in the form of either a coating on rice seeds or shots of the bacteria to immature plants. Such options may provide a natural, low-cost solution to the arsenic challenge facing rice crops around the world. Rice is a diet staple for more than half of the global population.

Protecting Life and Property

When Mother Nature wields her fury through natural disasters such as tornadoes, hurricanes and earthquakes, weather forecasters and emergency personnel alert local communities based on input they’ve received from event modeling and simulations. With the help of NSF funding, these technologies can now provide highly localized, real-time data. In the case of a tornado, simulations like the one pictured here provide forecasters with valuable information such as wind speed, air flow and pressure. The orange and blue wisps represent the rising and falling airflow around the tornado.

Heidi Ledford in Nature:

External advisers to the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) have thrown their support behind a therapy that genetically engineers a patient’s own immune cells to target and destroy cancer cells. In a unanimous vote on 12 July, the panel determined that the benefits of the treatment, called CAR-T therapy, outweigh its risks. The vote comes as the agency considers whether to issue its first approval of a CAR-T therapy — a drug called tisagenlecleucel that's manufactured by Novartis of Basel, Switzerland. The FDA is not obligated to follow the recommendations of its advisers, but it often does.

Novartis is seeking approval to use tisagenlecleucel to treat children and young adults that have a form of acute leukaemia, and who have not sufficiently responded to previous treatment or have relapsed since that treatment. In the United States, about 15% of children and young adults with acute leukaemia relapse following treatment. Studies have shown that CAR-T therapies can produce lasting remissions in such cases. In one key trial of tisagenlecleucel, which started in 2015, 82.5% of 63 patients experienced overall remissions. The trial lacked a control group, so investigators cannot yet say with certainty how much of an effect the treatment had. But many of those participants have remained cancer free for months or years. Many of the FDA's advisers were effusive in their praise. "This is a major advance, and is ushering in a new era," said Malcolm Smith, a paediatric oncologist at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland. Timothy Cripe, an oncologist at Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, Ohio, called it one of the most exciting things he has seen in his lifetime.

More here.

Olivia Goldhill in Quartz:

There’s no doubt that Bill Nye “the Science Guy” is extremely intelligent. But it seems that, when it comes to philosophy, he’s completely in the dark. The beloved American science educator and TV personality posted a video last week where he responded to a question from a philosophy undergrad about whether philosophy is a “meaningless topic.”

The video, which made the entire US philosophy community collectively choke on its morning espresso, is hard to watch, because most of Nye’s statements are wrong. Not just kinda wrong, but deeply, ludicrously wrong. He merges together questions of consciousness and reality as though they’re one and the same topic, and completely misconstrues Descartes’ argument “I think, therefore I am”—to mention just two of many examples.

And Nye—arguably America’s favorite “edutainer”—is not the only popular scientist saying “meh” to the entire centuries-old discipline. Astrophysicist Neil DeGrasse Tyson has claimed philosophy is not “a productive contributor to our understanding of the natural world”; while theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking declared that “philosophy is dead.”

It’s shocking that such brilliant scientists could be quite so ignorant, but unfortunately their views on philosophy are not uncommon.

More here.

Damian Carrington in The Guardian:

A “biological annihilation” of wildlife in recent decades means a sixth mass extinction in Earth’s history is under way and is more severe than previously feared, according to research.

Scientists analysed both common and rare species and found billions of regional or local populations have been lost. They blame human overpopulation and overconsumption for the crisis and warn that it threatens the survival of human civilisation, with just a short window of time in which to act.

The study, published in the peer-reviewed journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, eschews the normally sober tone of scientific papers and calls the massive loss of wildlife a “biological annihilation” that represents a “frightening assault on the foundations of human civilisation”.

Prof Gerardo Ceballos, at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, who led the work, said: “The situation has become so bad it would not be ethical not to use strong language.”

Previous studies have shown species are becoming extinct at a significantly faster rate than for millions of years before, but even so extinctions remain relatively rare giving the impression of a gradual loss of biodiversity. The new work instead takes a broader view, assessing many common species which are losing populations all over the world as their ranges shrink, but remain present elsewhere.

More here.

Rod Dreher in The American Conservative:

A lot of people are ragging on David Brooks today for this passage in his column about how elite culture effectively closes the door on non-elite Americans:

Recently I took a friend with only a high school degree to lunch. Insensitively, I led her into a gourmet sandwich shop. Suddenly I saw her face freeze up as she was confronted with sandwiches named “Padrino” and “Pomodoro” and ingredients like soppressata, capicollo and a striata baguette. I quickly asked her if she wanted to go somewhere else and she anxiously nodded yes and we ate Mexican.

Ha ha! Get a load of that David Brooks! they say. But here’s how the column continues:

American upper-middle-class culture (where the opportunities are) is now laced with cultural signifiers that are completely illegible unless you happen to have grown up in this class. They play on the normal human fear of humiliation and exclusion. Their chief message is, “You are not welcome here.”

In her thorough book “The Sum of Small Things,” Elizabeth Currid-Halkett argues that the educated class establishes class barriers not through material consumption and wealth display but by establishing practices that can be accessed only by those who possess rarefied information.

To feel at home in opportunity-rich areas, you’ve got to understand the right barre techniques, sport the right baby carrier, have the right podcast, food truck, tea, wine and Pilates tastes, not to mention possess the right attitudes about David Foster Wallace, child-rearing, gender norms and intersectionality.

Brooks is right about that, and it was good of him to use that example, however trivial it might sound. The fact that so many snarky commenters don’t understand why something as small as this matters reveals their insensitivity to the phenomenon.

More here. [Thanks to Ali Minai.]

This clock at Amsterdam Schiphol Airport was created by renowned Dutch designer Maarten Baas. It features video of a man in a work uniform painstakingly painting the time minute by minute.

Baas was inspired by “the many faceless men who sweep, clean and work at an airport in their blue overalls.”

Video length: 0:52

Melissa Anderson at Bookforum:

“MY DESIRE TO WRITE is connected with my homosexuality. I need the identity as a weapon, to match the weapon that society has against me,” Sontag wrote on December 24, 1959, the year she divorced Philip Rieff, whom she married when she was seventeen, in 1950, and whom she identifies in this same entry as her “enemy.” She ends that day’s observations with this: “Being queer makes me feel more vulnerable. It increases my wish to hide, to be invisible—which I’ve always felt anyway.”

A few years later, her critical—public—language began to make visible the invisible, disclosures sometimes marked by anxious disavowals. In “Notes on ‘Camp,’” first published in 1964 and collected in her inaugural collection of criticism, Against Interpretation and Other Essays (1966), Sontag meticulously distills a gay (male) sensibility, only to offer this strange repudiation: “Yet one feels that if homosexuals hadn’t more or less invented Camp, someone else would.” The essay that gives this volume its title, also first appearing in 1964, however, more boldly situates its author as a voluptuary. The famous conclusion to “Against Interpretation”—“In place of a hermeneutics we need an erotics of art”—might be thought of as a corollary to what Sontag recorded in a 1965 diary entry: “Every art incarnates a sexual fantasy—” This maxim would include, especially, the seventh art; both Reborn and As Consciousness contain prodigious lists of films Sontag had viewed in just a matter of days or weeks. She would worry, decades later, that the ceremonies of the cine-sensualist were near extinction. “

more here.

Eli Jelly-Schapiro at The Millions:

Mohsin Hamid’s new novel Exit West begins in an unnamed city fractured by political violence. There, two young people come together as everything around them is breaking apart. Nadia is a cultural rebel who wears a full black robe, “so men don’t fuck with [her]” as she traverses the city on her motorcycle. Saeed is a devoted son who wears “studiously maintained stubble” and passes quiet evenings on the balcony, gazing out at the city rather than immersing himself in it. Before these patient lovers make the exit promised by the novel’s title, and compelled by the tightening grip of civil war, Nadia ventures beyond the city through her phone, which she rides into and over the world, watching “bombs falling, women exercising, men copulating, waves tugging at the sand like the rasping licks of so many mortal, temporary, vanishing tongues.” Registering both brutality and beauty, the planetary sight that Nadia simulates here mirrors that aspired to by Hamid’s powerful book.

The novel traces Nadia and Saeed’s journey from their home city to the island of Mykonos, to London, and finally to the hills of California — a route of escape if not liberation enabled by a series of magical doors, portals that highlight through omission the unrepresentable terror of the passages in between. Progress through them — which is “both like dying and like being born” — is attained not just by the novel’s protagonists but by several people its panoramic vision only ephemerally registers: a man with “dark skin and dark, wooly hair” struggles out of a closet door in Sydney; two Filipina women emerge from a disused door at the rear of a bar in Tokyo; a young woman slips out of a black door in a Tijuana cantina; a Tamil family wanders out of an interior service door below a cluster of “blond-and-glass” luxury towers in Dubai.

more here.