Books
The Brooklyn Rail recommends…
Daniel Chavarría, Adios Muchachos (Akashic Books, 2001), $13.95 paperback.
A salacious, gender-bending story about a Havana “bicycle hooker” named Alicia, who’s got more curves than J-Lo and an even savvier business sense. The prolific and perverse Uruguayan writer Chavarría, here translated into English for the first time, delivers a brilliantly comic, never sentimental parable about the real meaning of free trade.
Una historia lujuriosa y sexualmente torcida acerca de una “prostituta bicicletera” llamada Alicia, más curvilinea que Jennifer López y con un astuto sentido para los negocios. El perverso y prolífico escritor uruguayo Chavarría, traducido al ingles por vez primera con esta obra, nos entrega una brillante y nada sentimental parabola cómica acerca del verdadero sentido del libre comercio.
RECOMMENDED ARTICLES
CANDICE BREITZ:
Love Story
By Emily Watlington
JUL-AUG 2018 | ArtSeen
Responding to this growing anxiety, Candice Breitz’s Love Story (2016) takes up conventions and tropes for representing atrocity by mining the cinematic medium’s capacity for eliciting empathy, while also highlighting the ways in which the screen reinforces distance.
Welcome to the Feminist Institute’s Guest Critic Edition of the Brooklyn Rail
By Kathleen LandyMAR 2019 | Editor's Message
Women have shared their wisdom with one another for millennia, in oral histories that teach and inform subsequent generations of women about family, home, sex, power, politics, and survival. But patriarchal histories didn’t include these contributions. Huh!
TANIA BRUGUERA:
Untitled (Havana, 2000)
By Magdalyn Asimakis
MAR 2018 | ArtSeen
Untitled (Havana, 2000), currently installed at the Museum of Modern Art, is a challenging antidote to our milieu’s visual practices. Bruguera’s work intervenes in the representation of conflict by implicating visitors into a material environment that articulates this tension spatially.
All Gates Open: The Story of Can
By George GrellaJUNE 2018 | Music
One weekday afternoon some time in the spring of 1989, if I've not lost too much to the vagaries of memory, I was in my Fort Greene apartment, trying to occupy myself constructively during one of my frequent stretches of unemployment. I know it was a Monday, because I tuned in to Tony Coulter's Monday Afternoon New Music show on WKCR, and heard the most mesmerizing and unclassifiable music I had yet encountered.
