Music & Literature Issue 5

by Taylor Davis-Van Atta (editor)

Music & Literature's most ambitious and daring volume yet sheds light on the exquisite interiorities of three artists whose catalogs are too often defined by single works or perceptions. Headlining the issue is Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho, whose 140-page section collects, for the first time in English, an expansive portfolio of her writings on music and convenes the maestro's closest collaborators, including internationally renowned writers, conductors, stage directors, musicians, and other artists, for a celebratory retrospective on her thirty-five years of music making. Meanwhile, Stig Saeterbakken's highly provocative career--both on and off the page--incited outrage and earned him a fervent readership across Scandinavia prior to his suicide in 2012. The Norwegian's relentless and public exploration of his deepest anxieties posed unanswerable questions and brought into stark relief paradoxes of existence. Presented here are three of the last essays Saeterbakken wrote, ever searching and ever fearless, while his longtime publishers, editors, and colleagues turn their own eyes inward to reveal the value of this consummate artist whose works demand attention. Finally, Can Xue has been called China's answer to Kafka, a claim that is refuted in this portfolio; rather, through two newly translated short stories--one of which is narrated by a speck of dust!--and a series of tributes, her writings are regaled for their raw and sensual qualities, and the artist is revealed as an intense original, deserving of her own status, her own name, and worthy of acclaim today and for many years to come.

312 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2014

Reviews

[Ben]

There is something childish within me that endures and refuses to go away, as if there is still a boy inside who gets in the way of my various attempts to become an adult. To put it another way, I've always been childish for my age, and I'll probably stay that way, no matter how old I get. All it takes is a glance around me: everyone else seems so sensible. So wise. So calm. So serious. So thoughtful. So well-adjusted in their lives, so adept in their dealings with others, so sure of themselves, regardless of the challenges they face. No matter what, they're routine and set in their ways, while inside my own head the most ridiculous urges are cooking away, idiotic fears, detailed suicide schemes, filthy sex fantasies, and totally disrespectful notions about the so-called important things in life. It's a veritable witches' brew of puerile garbage, more or less constantly at the boiling point, an unending torrent of nonsense that, if anyone else ever heard it, any of it, I wouldn't be able to avoid biting my tongue off in shame.