Vhcle Issue 12

vhcle

ISSUE 12 SUM 2013 / VHCLE MAGAZINE

-Saying Goodbye in a Song / Critical Thinking, Skepticism, and Cynicism / Vhcle Books: A Tale of Love and Darkness, Secret History, The Mystery of Poe’s Mysteries, Das Muschelessen (The Mussel Feast) / Vhcle Man - Paul Guzzetta / Fabienne Rivory (Labokoff ), Myan Soffia

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Featured Photography ( pp 68-79) Sunny California Myan Sof f ia 02

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CONTENTS VHCLE MAGAZINE / ISSUE 12

ART

04 CONTENTS

MUSIC FILM

05 MASTHEAD

PHOTOGR APHY DESIGN

06-07 CONTRIBUTORS

FASHION LIFE/POLITICS BOOKS VHCLE MAN / WOMAN / PICKS

08-013 Saying Goodbye in a Song

By Marc Ingber 014-019 Critical Thinking, Skepticism, and Cynicism

By Tim Sunderman 022-025 Vhcle Books: A Tale of Love and Darkness Reviewed by Liam Hoare 026-029 Vhcle Books: Secret History Reviewed by Emma Davies 030-033 Vhcle Books: The Mystery of Poe’s Mysteries

By Myles Lawrence-Briggs 034-037 Vhcle Books: Das Muschelessen (The Mussel Feast) Reviewed by Sabrina Young 038-043 Vhcle Man – Paul Guzzetta 044-067 Q&A with Fabienne Rivory (Labokoff) 068-079 The Photography Work of Myan Soffia

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MASTHEAD MASTHEAD / CONTRIBUTORS

Charlie Lee / Founding Director EDITORIAL

Cassie Lee / Founding Editor cassie@vhcle.com Jamie Thunder / Books Editor, Sub-Editor jamie@vhcle.com DESIGNERS

Raoul Ortega / Visual Director raoul@vhcle.com Thomas Adcock / Visual Designer thomas@vhcle.com CONTRIBUTORS

Marc Ingber, Tim Sunderman, Liam Hoare, Emma Davies, Myles Lawrence-Briggs, Sabrina Young, Paul Guzzetta, Fabienne Rivory, Myan Soffia Cover: Rainy Spring Portland, Myan Soffia Vhcle Books: Illustration by Thomas Adcock -Vhcle Magazine Tel: USA +1 415.364.8568 contact@vhcle.com Facebook: Vhcle Mag Twitter: @vhcle -Published by Charlie Lee: Vhcle Magazine, www.vhcle.com All content copyright 2013. All rights reserved.

Without limiting rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior written permission from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this magazine. Vhcle Magazine is not responsible for the return or loss of, or for any damage or injury to, any unsolicited manuscripts or artwork.

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CONTRIBUTORS A L PH A BE T IC A L LY BY L A S T N A M E

– Vhcle — United Kingdom

EMMA DAVIES / WRITER Emma Davies is a journalist from the south-west of England. She likes books, red wine and her duvet, and is at her happiest when managing to combine this trio of good things.

– Vhcle — San Francisco, CA PAUL GUZZETTA / VHCLE MAN Paul Guzzetta is a print and pattern designer by trade. He spends his hours outside of the office hiking through the Presidio with his little white dog, snapping pictures of anyone willing to sit in front of his lens, and sniffing around record shops for a clean copy of Lee Dorsey’s “Get Out of My Life Woman” on 45.

– Vhcle — United Kingdom

LIAM HOARE / WRITER Liam Hoare is a freelance writer whose work on politics and literature has featured in The Forward, The Atlantic, and The Jewish Chronicle. He is a graduate of University College London’s School of Slavonic and East European Studies.

– Vhcle — Minneapolis, MN

MARC INGBER / WRITER Marc Ingber is a communications specialist and writer for a nonprofit based in Minneapolis, MN. He was born and raised in the Twin Cities and attended journalism school at the University of Kansas. His primary interests include rock n’ roll, movies, food and drink, the Minnesota Vikings and the Minnesota Twins – probably in that order.

– Vhcle — Occidental, CA

MYLES LAWRENCE-BRIGGS / WRITER Myles Lawrence-Briggs is a 24-year-old recent graduate from CU Boulder in English literature, Myles has moved back to the wine country to start a wine label with two childhood friends. He manages the estate vineyard and in his spare time reads far too much and writes far too little. www.senseswines.com

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– Vhcle — France

FABIENNE RIVORY / ARTIST Labokoff is a project born in 2007 by Fabienne Rivory where she explores interactions between photography and painting, real world and imagination, and memories and reality. www.labokoff.fr – Vhcle — Los Angeles, CA

MYAN SOFFIA / PHOTOGRAPHER Myan Soffia is a photographer from the East Coast now living in Los Angeles. Her work can be seen in books, magazines, and private collections around the world. Her prints have also found homes as set decor on ABC’s Modern Family, HBO’s Enlightened, and FX’s Anger Management. www.MyanSoffia.com – Vhcle — San Francisco, CA

TIM SUNDERMAN / WRITER Tim Sunderman is a graphic designer in the San Francisco bay area who does most of his art without a computer, using traditional techniques in drawing, painting, photography, calligraphy, and even sculpture. He is a graduate of the Academy of Art in San Francisco. He eschews speaking of himself in the third person, as he is here, but doesn’t mind too much for shameless self-promotion. www.timsunderman.com – Vhcle— London, UK

SABRINA YOUNG / WRITER Sabrina Young is a California girl by birth and at heart, living in London. She drinks Sauvignon Blanc out of a Bordeaux glass, dances in the kitchen while eating all the cheese, and spends most of her time convincing her husband that Scrabble is a social activity. Sabrina works in alumni relations and loves learning.

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Saying Goodbye in a Song Writer Marc Ingber /

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WITH SONG titles like “Nonstop Disco Powerpack”, “Funky Donkey” and “The Lisa Lisa”, the Beastie Boys’ 2011 album, Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2, wasn’t exactly a leap into maturity for the group.

Forever known for their creativity, sense of humor and irreverence, it’s quite apparent the Beastie Boys weren’t about to get all serious and make a concept album about aging, war, politics, technology-driven dystopias or anything of the sort just because they were approaching their 50s. Though easily old enough to be most contemporary MCs’ fathers, on Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2 they continued to rock the mic in much the same way they did when they were 21.

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But shortly after releasing the album something undeniably serious did happen to the group – one of them died. With Adam “MCA” Yauch’s death in 2012, it seems safe to say the Beastie Boys are finished, thus making Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2 their final musical statement as a band. If you want to get more technical, the last song on their last album ends with them saying, “Money, money, making, making, New York Citaay”.

deaths. In Cash’s and Zevon’s case, they were fully aware they would be dying soon. With the others, death came suddenly at a much younger age, but their swan songs are as much a part of their artistic legacy as anything they did before it.

To be fair, it’s highly doubtful the Beastie Boys knew they were making what would be their last record. They started the recording process before MCA was even diagnosed with the cancer that would eventually kill him at just 47. And even after being diagnosed, MCA and his band mates Ad Rock and Mike D seemed optimistic he would make a full recovery.

Would they have made a different, more serious record if they knew it was going to be the last of their 25-year career? It’s hard to say. Faced with a similar fate, other musicians have made purposefully “poignant” final albums, if not to sum up their careers and say goodbye, then perhaps to at least go out on a high note.

From Johnny Cash and Warren Zevon to Janis Joplin, Otis Redding and Kurt Cobain, several artists have made music in the final months of their lives that became especially moving following their

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In Johnny Cash’s case, it’s a little different. Since he was a country icon for decades, lived to be 71, and didn’t die suddenly, it’s safe to say his legend was sealed long before he ever released a cover version of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” in 2002. With that being said, it’s just about impossible for me to think about Cash without thinking about that song, and especially the video for it, which features Cash looking back on his life with a seemingly heavy dose of regret.

About as haunting as music videos get, as far as final statements go, Cash’s “Hurt” is a doozy. The irony of course is that it’s technically not even his statement. Trent Reznor wrote “Hurt” years before and it was a well-known song for Nine Inch Nails before Cash did it. But even Reznor was blown away by Cash’s version.

Cash knew he was close to death when he shot the “Hurt” video and anyone watching it can tell as well, which makes it all that much more powerful.

It’s one of the reasons something he did in his 70s is as much a part of his artistic legacy as “Folsom Prison Blues”.

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Unlike Cash’s “Hurt”, Janis Joplin had no idea she would be dead within a few weeks of recording “Me and Bobby McGee” in 1970, so she certainly didn’t intend it to be any sort of final statement on her life. But even today it’s difficult not to think of it as something of a swan song for a 27-year-old on the verge of dying from a drug overdose. When the song was released in 1971, it became the second posthumous number-one single on the U.S. pop charts.

The first song to earn that distinction was Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay”. Like Joplin, he died just a couple weeks after recording what would become his best known song. The lyrics of “Dock of the Bay”, while melancholy, certainly aren’t anything too bleak. As the title suggests, it’s simply about a guy sitting on a dock, watching ships, to take his mind off his problems.

It’s the fact that the guy singing it would die just a couple weeks later when his plane crashed into a lake in Wisconsin that makes the song take on another-worldly quality. Regardless of what it was designed to be, it’s become Redding’s de facto final statement.

Joplin and Redding died long before I was born, but one rock death I can remember the details of is Kurt Cobain’s. I would imagine Nirvana’s Unplugged

in New York would have become a classic album regardless of whether Cobain was still alive today, but since it came out right around the time of his suicide, it cemented its legacy.

For clarity, Nirvana recorded the acoustic concert in November 1993, about six months before Cobain took his own life in April 1994. The album was released commercially six months after that, in November 1994. Naturally, it was impossible to listen to without thinking about Cobain’s death.

If it’s not enough that the stage Nirvana played on for the unplugged concert was literally designed to look like a funeral, the music itself is plenty haunting as well, specifically the last song, a cover of Leadbelly’s “Where Did You Sleep Last Night”.

Much like “Hurt” and “Dock of the Bay”, it has come to be thought as something of a final statement from Cobain.

Lyrically, “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” isn’t different from many old blues songs, a simple ditty about a guy worried that his girl is cheating on him while he sleeps in the “pines”. It’s the way Cobain performs it that is unnerving, screaming the words at the end – and most eerie – that heavy sigh he has to take before he hits the last note. It sounds like someone at the end of their rope.

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The Beastie Boys’ MCA wasn’t able to make an emotional swan song as an artist, a la Unplugged in New York or “Hurt”. But perhaps that’s for the best. As any Beastie Boys fan could tell you, the group never seemed to have an interest in establishing the type of gravitas artists like Nirvana or Johnny Cash had. When all is said and done, they will be remembered for the creativity and humor I cited above.

Put another way, you don’t want to listen to the high school class clown’s emotional poetry.

You want to drink Brass Monkey with him behind the school.

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Critical Thinking, Skepticism, and Cynicism Writer Tim Sunderman /

Issue 12, pp15-19

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EVERYONE WOULD like to believe that their opinions are reasonable and to some degree accurately aligned to reality. However, the criteria by which people measure the accuracy of their opinions can be broadly scattered. It is generally agreed that more responsible opinions are held to rigorous accountability to carefully measured observations. This is one of the foundation points of the scientific method. And for general purposes, this is a prudent way to base one’s beliefs, and consequently, to conduct one’s actions. To an opposite extreme, there are some who base their opinions on the dictates of a social group, like a religion, a military organization, or other typical authority structures. For the purposes of trying to establish a reliable platform of critical thinking, or the criteria and guidelines that create the means for firm understanding, we can quickly eliminate the method of accepting authoritarian dictates as a means of critical thinking.

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For some, a prescribed system of beliefs is a substitute for analytical thought. It certainly cuts down on all that pesky effort of trying to figure things out. Further advantages of conforming to the dictates of others is the ability to divest responsibility from the self to the group, to defer ownership of one’s actions to the old military standby — “I was just following orders.” Another benefit is to enjoy the protection afforded by the acceptance into a larger group.

But in almost every case, that protection is paid for by a typically thuggish requirement to not question things, to not get out of line, to not think for yourself or comment on the group’s inconsistencies.

overwhelming likelihood that the earth revolves around the sun, the response was not a careful examination of the evidence with a reasoned rebuttal as to where the heliocentric theory may be wrong, but the knuckle-dragging, mouthbreathers’ threat of death for contradicting a religious belief.

There is a reason why group participants are called followers, and it is not because of their tendency toward free thinking. A good measure of the lack of critical thought within a group is the rigidity of the belief system and its resistance to being questioned. Therein you will likely find a very sensitive vault of denial that will react with fierce emotion to block the light of rational introspection. Rigidity is an indicator of the amount of fear invested in a system of thought, and the greater the emotional defensiveness, the less effect logic and reason will have as a form of illumination to persuade a follower. When certain people were confronted with the evidence and empirical observations that pointed to the

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And this response is not that far from the contemporary efforts in the United States to countermand the incontrovertible evidence and body of observations that support the fact that life evolves over generations by genetic alterations. In some states, there is the appalling practice of putting religious tenets, particularly regarding the “creation” of life, into school textbooks and then labeling them “science”.

This is such an incredible abrogation of the responsibilities of education officials that one is easily convinced that they are devoid of any capability of critical thinking. And yet, for all their contempt for science, they eagerly try to wear the guise of science because they feel that it gives them a certain authenticity or credibility.

Its very hypocrisy reveals the irrationality that underlies the limitations of their logic.

One is reminded of the “cargo cults” of the South Pacific during World War 2 where industrial powers would arrive in large airplanes and buy the favor of the indigenous tribal islanders

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with exotic food and supplies. And when they left, never to return, the tribes would build airplanes of grass and palms to emulate the behavior of their benefactors. But they had no knowledge of altimeters, internal combustion, the manufacture of wheels, and a couple other key components necessary for flight. And this is not very different from those who would don the mantle of “creation science” without the basic understanding that science is built on measured observations, not beliefs.

Indeed, we have seen in the past year, particularly in Republican election campaigns, blatant declarations that they will not be held to facts, that somehow facts are inconvenient impediments to their agenda. And there are those who applaud such declarations of freedom from being held accountable to reality, for they feel the same pressure to alter their opinions if facts are allowed into the conversation.

But this brings up the main point of this article — a well-formed platform for critical thinking can not be created on the basis of being antiillogical, or anti-religion, or anti-emotional.

I have seen a lot of this, particularly in social media, where, behind the insular mesh of the internet, one can comfortably take pot shots at belief groups that one disagrees with. But this has the net effect of allowing that group to define

your position by the emotional motivation to polarize one’s self against your opponent. In other words, to demonstrate how anti-religion one wants to project their position, they must use whatever arbitrary position that belief system adopts, and then orient their opposition according to those beliefs. It is futile to build rationality in reaction to the position of irrationality.

There is yet another cautionary point. I think, among many people, there is strong enthusiasm in science and a commendable deference to scientific method. But let us be careful to not confuse science with rationality.

Dependable science follows rational discipline, but rationality is a far more over-arching topic.

Science prefers to limit evidence to that which it deems firmly measurable, and ideally, limited to those observations which can be repeatedly demonstrated in a lab setting with consistent results, to be accepted as true science. But clearly, many of the observations in the world can not fit into the realm of laboratory tests. There is much we see and experience that defies reduction into the scientific discipline of lab measurements.

Some people have an impressive ability to predict and direct human behavior, live, in real time, without the benefit of laboratory analysis. This still falls under the realm of critical thinking and

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rational assessment. But these situations are not necessarily a critique of science. The scientific method simply doesn’t purport itself to be suited to every area of human experience. Humor is beyond the scope of measure, but it still exists and some people are quite good at assessing and creating humor. Aesthetic appreciation is not a science and yet the concurrence of human opinion in recognizing great art is fairly consistent. These are entirely functions of critical thinking.

science, typically to defend their own authority.

This is nearly equivalent to the rigidity of religious doctrine.

But some, in their allegiance to science, wish to co-opt the title of skeptic to use it as a bludgeon against those whose ideas and assessments fall outside their commonly held theoretical beliefs. For example, how many huge scientific theories were at first derided and condemned by the scientific community itself before being finally accepted? Alfred Wegener’s theory of continental drift in 1915 was roundly scorned until the acceptance of plate tectonics later in the 20th century. George Zweig published his quark theory in 1964 and was accused of being a charlatan. Quarks are now an indispensable part of the Standard Model of our view of the universe. Joseph Lister’s sterilization theories met with much ridicule. The idea of “invisible germs” being the cause of infections was scoffed at in the 1860s, but is common knowledge today. So, the presumed role of skeptic often is the cloak that the cynic uses to to obstruct the advancement of

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Does this mean that we should entertain every story of bigfoot encounters and alien contact?

No. Critical thinking is capable of discerning between people who have had a delusional psychotic break and rational thought. Does this mean that every story about bigfoot and aliens is the product of a psychotic break? No. But neither does that qualify a story to be compelling evidence. The skeptic-turned-cynic would use the most doubtful of storytellers as the typical example of all people who have had an extraordinary experience to support their foregone conclusion that it’s all a bunch of rubbish to be dispensed with. This then dismisses a body of evidence that, though inconclusive, escapes adequate explanation.

A healthy posture of critical thinking protects against overly skeptical thinking that acts as blinders to categorically shut out evidence, while at the same time, it can efficiently evaluate and follow indicators to a logical direction. A healthy platform of critical thinking is fluid and adjusts its position according to new data available. A well disciplined critical thinker has little patience for conclusions, but prefers the open-ended everevolving revelations of close observation.

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There is more to the world than science. There are the matters of the spirit and of art. Science is a meaningless pursuit without the fascination of the spirit and the deep appreciation which that engenders. The harmony of its inner workings naturally spills forward in art and poetry. The three go hand in hand — science - art - spirit, because they provide perspective to one another.

Habitual skepticism erodes this bond and robs the natural wonder which compels exploration. Charles Darwin elegantly states, “I am not very skeptical... a good deal of skepticism in a scientific man is advisable to avoid much loss of time, but I have met not a few men, who... have often thus been deterred from experiments or observations which would have proven serviceable.”

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/ Illustration by Thomas Adcock

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A Tale of Love and Darkness -

A mos Oz --

Reviewed by Liam Hoare /

WHEN AMOS OZ

V hcle Book s, Issue 12, pp23 -25

was eight, he was a witness to the birth of a new nation.

On November 29, 1947, the United Nations voted to partition Palestine, thus allowing for the possibility of a Jewish state there. As Oz describes in his poetic, wandering memoir, A Tale of Love and Darkness, it was after midnight when on Amos Street, his “faraway street on the edge of Kerem Avraham in northern Jerusalem,” shouts first of terror then of unadulterated joy “tore through the darkness and the buildings and trees”. Oz, who had been listening to the vote on the radio, ran out into the throng and sat upon his father’s shoulders as they danced into the night, singing Zionist songs and weeping at the prospect of Israel’s rebirth.

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At around three or four in the morning, Oz crawled into bed fully dressed. His father lay beside him, and proceeded to tell him of life in the old country, how in Odessa and Vilna he and his brother were bullied, harassed, and attacked. Henceforth, Oz’s father said to him in the dimness, “From the moment we have our own state, you will never be bullied just because you are a Jew and because Jews are so-and-sos. Not that. Never again. From tonight that’s finished here. For ever.” This is the only time in Oz’s life, not even when his mother passed, that he saw his father cry.

capturing the Jewish Quarter of the Old City and the surrounding hills. Greta Gat, Oz’s childminder who used to drag him clothes-shopping with her stepped out onto her balcony to hang her washing and was hit by a sniper’s bullet.

Zipporah Yannai, a friend of Oz’s mother, went into her yard to fetch a bucket and washcloth and was killed instantaneously, hit directly by a shell.

The Arab-Israeli War was a national tragedy, but a personal one too.

Then, at seven o’clock on November 30, just three hours after all of Jewish Jerusalem had emptied to celebrate partition, shots were fired at a Jewish ambulance that was transiting through an Arab neighbourhood. What commenced was what amounted to a civil war, running in the months between the UN vote and Israel’s declaration of independence. Jerusalem became cut off from Tel Aviv: the schools closed; food and oil was rationed; and Oz recollects the stone houses in Kerem Avraham shaking as the shells landed around them.

One week after Amos Oz turned nine, on May 14, 1948, the State of Israel was declared established.

One minute after midnight, Israel was assaulted on multiple fronts by several nations and militia,

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Oz’s neighbourhood of Kerem Avraham was, before it became a poor, ultra-Orthodox neighbourhood, a poor, secular neighbourhood.

An only child, Oz lived with his mother and father, who was a university librarian, in a small ground-floor apartment where his parents’ bedroom was also the study, library, dining room, and living room. Oz recalls a childhood where sardines were a treat and there were only two types of cheese – white and yellow – but one where he developed a love of language and of books.

“When I was little, my ambition was to grow up to be a book,” he writes.

But when Amos Oz was twelve, nearly four years after independence, his mother took her own life.

Like her son she was dreamy and romantic, but she was also melancholic and sickly, prone to the flu and migraines, a sufferer of insomnia and loss of appetite. On the day she passed, she had on

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the advice of her doctor been walking around Tel Aviv in the rain, which combined with her refusal to eat worsened her symptoms. Before sleep, she poured herself a glass of tea and took her sleeping pills, and save the moment in the night where she threw up and fell back asleep, she did not awake again. “If I had been there with her in that room, I would certainly have tried my hardest to explain to her why she mustn’t,” Oz writes, speaking of the cocktail of pills and ointments she took that ultimately claimed her. “But I was not allowed to be there.”

Love and darkness are inherent to the stories of the Jewish people, Israel, and Israeli individuals and families. Israel is a country where Independence Day is preceded by Memorial Day – solemn commemoration coming right before jubilant celebration – and where few have been spared the loss of a loved one to war, terror, or the Shoah. Israel is now 65 years old, and Amos Oz has lived to see every one of them. His own tale of love and darkness, then, is as much the story of his life as that of a nation, and remains as such more than worthy of our attention.

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A Secret History -

Donna Tartt --

Reviewed by Emma Davies /

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IT’S NOT OFTEN you read a murder mystery that starts out with the killing itself. At the opening of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, however, you’re starkly presented with the scenario that forms the crux of the narrative. Bunny is dead, sent tumbling from the edge of a ravine at the hands of his friends. In an eerily unsettling detail, they tell him they’ve come up there collecting wild flowers. It takes a familiar genre arrangement, upends it and infuses it with notes of Greek tragedy. From the off, you have the what, the who – even, to some extent, the how. From there, you’re taken back to the start, and the why begins to unravel itself. It’s testament to Tartt’s taut, ridiculously readable prose that the 500-odd pages that follow are never less than entirely compelling.

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Richard Papen has just started studying English at a small liberal arts college in rural Vermont when he becomes fascinated by the tiny, secretive knot of Classics students: scholarly, otherworldly Henry; acerbic dilettante Francis; mesmerising twins Charles and Camilla; and mercurial, jocular Bunny. Although standoffish at first, when Richard too is accepted under the exclusive, isolating tutelage of their professor, Julian Morrow, they tentatively allow him to edge his way into their enigmatic ranks. In typical fashion, things are by no means what they seem on the surface, and events begin to spiral devastatingly out of control.

point does it feel like heavy going. What’s more impressive still is the fact that this – published in 1992 – was Tartt’s first novel, begun during her sophomore year at university. I’d struggle to name any other debut this sophisticated. There’s no clumsy flailing-about as she finds a voice for her protagonist: Richard feels convincing enough that you could have a real-life conversation with him, and his telling of events is beautifully observed.

The only shame is that – with her third novel in the pipeline for later this year – Tartt’s talent by far outshines her prolificness.

On first read, it’s gripping. I’ve lent my dogeared copy to multiple friends, only to hear wails of how late they’ve stayed up reading it, and how tired they are as a result. If that’s blame, I’m happy to shoulder it. But this is a novel that takes multiple readings to really show off its depth. It works as a set of engrossing character studies. It can be interpreted as a modern retelling of classical Greek tragedy. It serves as a book-length meditation on the chasm between beauty and reality; on the extent to which fate controls our lives; on the existence of “‘the fatal flaw’, that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life”.

These strands are interwoven with masterful skill and a deft touch. It’s a dense novel, but at no

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Perfectly paced, exquisitely realised and eventually heart-wrenchingly tragic, The Secret History is a wonderful examination of far-reaching cause and effect, and the bubbling undercurrents of tension and unpredictability that can underpin even the closest of friendships.

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The Mystery of Poe’s Mysteries --

Writer Myles Lawrence-Briggs /

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WE HAVE TO FEEL a little sorry for Edgar Allen Poe. Not because he died penniless and alone in the gutters of Baltimore, wearing another man’s clothes. Though that does strike me as a perfectly valid reason. No, we should feel sorry for him because today, over one hundred years after his death, everyone remembers Sherlock Holmes, but no one remembers C. Auguste Dupin. Arthur Conan Doyle did not invent detective fiction as we know it today with his beloved character Sherlock Holmes. Edgar Allen Poe did with his oft-forgotten character C. Auguste Dupin. The two characters resemble each other, and the stories even follow a similar pattern, yet today Poe is better remembered for his horror, his mysteries all but forgotten. What sets the two so drastically apart, so much so that Poe died destitute and Doyle was forced to bring Holmes back after killing him off through popular demand?

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It’s not the detectives themselves. More often than not Holmes and Dupin exceed merely resembling each other and appear to be exact replicas. In fact, the character of Holmes is actually based at least partially on Dupin. Doyle fully acknowledges this in The Resident Patient when he mirrors a scene from one of Poe’s mysteries, The Murders in the Rue Morgue: Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion’s voice broke in upon my thoughts.

“You are right, Watson,” said he.

“It does seem a very preposterous way of settling a dispute.” …“What is this, Holmes?” I cried. “This is beyond anything which I could have imagined.”

He laughed heartily at my perplexity.

“You remember,” said he, “that some little time ago, when I read you the passage in one of Poe’s sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.” (Doyle, 363) Holmes not only mentions Poe by name, but also compares himself with Dupin (the “close reasoner”) specifically. The structure of the scene even mirrors the exact passage Homles refers to.

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We were strolling one night down a long dirty street… Being both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words: “He is a very little fellow, that’s true, and would do better for the Théåtre des Variétés” … “Dupin,” Said I, gravely, “This is beyond my comprehension… How was it possible you should know I was thinking of -----?” (Poe, 373) Holmes and Dupin are nearly identical, and Doyle playfully acknowledges this while giving Poe his due credit. The little if any difference between the two characters fails to explain Holmes’ continued popularity today and Dupin’s relative obscurity.

The answer to this nagging question struck me while watching Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes movies starring Robert Downy Jr. and Jude Law. They weren’t particularly true to the books, though there was the occasional nod that delighted the literature nerd within me, and when you break it down they were just action movies loosely based on a beloved piece of English literature. But I loved them nonetheless because of how they portrayed Watson. Hollywood has been unkind to Watson.

More often than not he was portrayed as slow, fat and inept, serving as a stand-in for the audience so that Holmes may explain his methods to someone, and by extension to the audience. Ritchie’s Watson, on the other hand, is competent and intelligent,

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playing the sane counterweight in his relationship with the eccentric Holmes. The past iterations, the audience stand-in Watsons, are actually far closer to Dupin’s sidekick than the actual Dr. Watson that Doyle created.

Dupin’s sidekick doesn’t even have a name. In Poe’s The Purloined Letter, the story that firmly established the formula of the idiot police force turning to the brilliant detective to solve the unsolvable that Doyle would reuse with incredible success, Dupin’s sidekick never leaves his study. All the action is related to him by Dupin who explains everything to him once the case has already been solved. The nameless sidekick completely lacks agency, he is pure function, serving solely as a stand-in for the audience and capable of only expressing awe and admiration. Watson, on the other hand, runs the full gamut of emotion, ranging from admiration of Holmes’ skills to disapproval of his cocaine habit to outright rage when Holmes correctly infers from a pocket watch that Watson’s brother was an alcoholic who drank himself to death.

Without Watson, Holmes is simply Dupin; cold, calculating and inhuman. By making Watson an actual character instead of a substitute for the audience, Doyle humanized Holmes, forcing him to react to and accommodate a character that has full agency and allowing emotional investment in his characters.

We should feel sorry for Poe because he neglected to create a Watson for his Dupin. He invented the compelling detective character and the basic plot in which to use him, but everything falls short without the interaction between the detective and his sidekick. As a result we have two flat characters lacking the compelling human interest that made Doyle’s stories so popular even today. The proof is self-evident; we are awash in Sherlock Holmes reimagining: Hollywood films, Elementary, BBC’s Sherlock, House (yes, it’s a Sherlock Holmes reboot); while Poe’s mysteries remain comparatively obscure. This seemingly minor difference robbed Poe of a significant place in the modern mind, and deservedly so. Doyle took what Poe created and made it better. This is why we should only feel a little sorry for Poe.

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Das Muschelessen (The Mussel Feast) -

Birgit Vanderbeke Tra nslated from t he Germa n by Ja mie Bu lloch

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Reviewed by Sabrina Young /

V hcle Book s, Issue 12, pp34 -37

PEIRENE PRESS was founded by Meike Ziervogel in 2008 with the aim of making European literature more accessible, to get people reading interesting material and thinking more. They hand-select three books per year that are under 200 pages and have received critical acclaim in their own countries, the idea being to satiate the hungry mind with a story that can be read in the time it takes to watch a film. With all this in mind, I was fairly confident from the outset that I would enjoy this book.

Das Muschelessen comes with interesting baggage; it was written at the cusp of the Berlin Wall’s fall.

Author Birgit Vanderbeke explains that she wrote it because she wanted to explore how revolutions start. The family, she believes, was the logical setting for this investigation.

A mother and her two adolescent children sit around a pot of mussels waiting for their tyrannical father to arrive home. He is late, and as time wears on and routine continues to be disrupted the true nature of the family’s relationship is unveiled.

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This story is not about plot. It’s about charater development and a gradual exposing of the family’s true colours, and the development of an uprising. The characters are essentially in the ‘hot seat’, and we learn about them through their reaction to the situation at hand.

The characters are metaphorical of East Germany behind the Berlin Wall. The father is likened to the East: logical yet confusing, controlling yet uncontrolled. The mother represents Western ideas by loving beauty and letting her hair down, yet still conforming (what the narrator calls “wifey mode”) when her husband, the East, is near.

Vanderbeke is subtle and skillful in her metaphors; you cannot read The Mussel Feast without picking up on them.

Narrated by a female adolescent in a family of four, we are given the opportunity to view the family through a daughter’s eyes. Although this viewpoint is not altogether uncommon, the clarity – or lack thereof – of this narration is rather unique. Vanderbeke really takes advantage of the narrator’s subjectivity, but I hesitate to attribute this subjectivity solely to her age. At times there is almost a sense of dramatic irony.

Our unnamed narrator speaks of the requirements for being a “proper family”, and of her father’s “logical conclusions”, but it’s clear to the reader that this isn’t a proper family and the father’s conclusions are rarely logical. As the book goes on, one sees the narrator come to this realization, or at the very least, admit what she already knew.

The characters, except perhaps the brother, are complex. There is no protagonist and antagonist, no good guy and bad guy. Even the harsh and overbearing father is given some reason for his action, a little bit of sympathy, or maybe just sadness, for his questionable reaction to a poor upbringing.

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The meaning of the mussels themselves evolves throughout the story. The first page begins, “It was neither a sign nor a coincidence that we were going to have mussels that evening.” They start out as a welcoming and celebratory meal, and then as a symbol of the parents’ romantic relationship. Conversely, when they are cooked, their death is an obscene and indiscreet representation of surrendering. Our narrator “loathes surrendering”. In the end, they are a sign of a tyrannical head of household. Placed at the center of the table and of the conversation, the mussels serve as a useful focal point for the discourse.

Retrospect and analysis are constants in this narrative. The first page claims that mussels were “neither a sign nor a coincidence.” And later the narrator suggests, “Perhaps we would have stuck together if...” The reader is presented with hypotheses and then invited to make conclusions

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based on the evidence – a captivating method to say the least.

Vanderbeke has written this monologue as a stream of consciousness. The book starts, goes until it’s finished, then ends. There are no chapter breaks, no headings, little organization. Likewise, there are no dialogues as such – just descriptions of conversations interspersed with recounts of family moments and analysis. This style gives authenticity to the narrator’s voice and to the story.

At times, this can be very continuous, with many run-on sentences and long paragraphs; one paragraph runs for 26 pages. It can be slightly distracting, but I wouldn’t discourage anyone to read this book based on this factor. There is little need for a resting place in a book designed to be read in one sitting.

The translation is beautiful. Words flow smoothly in British English, and a handful of words increase the reader’s vocabulary without disrupting the flow of the text.

I loved this book, and I love the irony of the title. The Mussel Feast is not about a feast at all; in fact, not a morsel is eaten. However, it is a true feast for anyone hungry for food for thought.

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VHCLE MAN / Issue 12, pp38- 43

VHCLE MAN PAUL GUZZETTA

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/ Images: Raoul Ortega

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PRETTY SOON AFTER MOVING TO SAN FRANCISCO IN 1996, I picked up a job buying clothes from the public in a vintage shop. During my four-year stint, I had built up a prolific wardrobe of 50s and 60s suits, old Levis button-ups, and Fred Perry polos. I left that position to manage a men’s boutique, where I spent the next four years refining a style and aesthetic that I haven’t really strayed from. The general principles are mixing vintage with new pieces; drawing inspiration from past decades through music, film, and photography; and keeping it classy, yet slightly disheveled. Lately I’ve preferred spending more time in the tailor shop, working on custom pieces.

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A / DISFARMER: THE VINTAGE PRINTS This book is my latest source of fashion inspiration.

Disfarmer established himself as a photographer in 1930s Arkansas. He rejected his rural upbringing to pursue his artistic vision, creating intimate portraits of anyone willing to sit in front of his lens.

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D B / COWBOY BOOTS I bought this pair in 2003 and have worn them practically non-stop ever since. They’ve been re-soled twice, and patched up a few times as well. It’s weird, but the more cracks and scars these boots bear, the more compliments they receive.

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D / MUJI NOTEBOOK I have dozens of these and make a point to have one in a pocket at all times for analog note-taking and sketching.

E / SX70 CAMERA My favorite Polaroid format. I bring this out whenever I can. The Impossible film has a fantastic quality that can be slightly unpredictable – but I’m drawn to the way it captures color, especially skin tones. Also, the SX70 collapses into a smallish rectangle box that can be thrown into a bag for easy transport.

C / CUSTOM TROUSERS FROM AL’S ATTIRE I made my first appointment with Al a few years ago when I had the urge to build a pair of 1930s era trousers. Al’s comprehensive knowledge of men’s fashion is often staggering. During that initial consultation he broke down the 1930s, year by year, describing the evolution in trouser details from 1930 to 1939. I was immediately hooked. The pattern I am most fond of has a 14” rise, which by some standards may be borderline grandpa fashion.

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Fabienne Rivory

LABOKOFF

-A RT / L A BOKOFF – MIR ROR SER I E S /

Issue 12, pp44-67

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You combine photography with paint to produce these gorgeous pieces of artwork – can you touch on this a little?

Photography is the beginning of my work; I like the idea that it restores a minuscule, fugitive moment of our life. Intrusion of paint in these frozen memories allows me to shift them in a more subjective and dreamy way.

It also brings vibrancy, spontaneity and randomness to raw photographs.

Is there a specific emotion you want to evoke with your artwork?

In one way or another, my work is nearly always connected to memories and nostalgia. Through my images I try to recreate a momentary emotion that anyone can feel in front of nature’s beauty: a particular architectural shape, a landscape passing by, or the silhouette of a beloved one.

The French landscape is your inspiration for the most part – any other things?

I like minimalist landscapes: deserted nature, rather common views, where sometimes appear a silhouette or a shape against the skyline. But I think inspiration is the result of a more complex process that includes everything we can see, hear, or feel - that’s something quite difficult to analyse.

Out of your collection of work, do you have a favorite one?

I’ve really enjoyed working on my latest series “Mirror”. If I had to choose one I’d say “Deux” – I like the way shapes of the photo and painting interact; that’s certainly something I’m going to dig into more in the future.

Favorite drink?

Tea!

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le village

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paris en rose

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bateau

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volcans

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course

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route barree

MYAN SOFFIA --

-PHOTOGR A PH Y / K ETCH U P /

Issue 12, pp68-79

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MYAN SOFFIA IS AN EAST COAST TRANSPLANT FINDING HER WAY AROUND LOS ANGELES. WHILE LIVING IN DOWNTOWN L.A., she realized she wanted to document the city as she sees it – magical, vibrant, and full of life. She has always been interested in photography, but never seriously pursued it. She used to spend her days as a television graphic designer and then a television promotions producer. She thought her life would certainly take a different path.

Now she gets to wake up and take pictures of kitties, kiddies, and Los Angeles.

She is so thrilled that her work can be seen in books, magazines, and private collections around the world. And she is truly honored her prints have also found homes as set decor on ABC’s Modern Family, HBO’s Enlightened Enlightened, and FX’s Anger Management Management.

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A M E MORY

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A NON Y MOUS

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M E ET M E AT T H E PI ER 2

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T H E GODFAT H ER WA S H ER E

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V EN ICE AT N IGHT

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TOFFE E & M A R SH M A L LOW

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R A I N Y SPR I NG PORT L A ND

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ISSU E 13 C OM I NG 9/2013

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