Saturday, August 5, 2000

George Saunders's Pastoralia / Beautiful losers



Beautiful losers



Adam Begley enjoys strange satire in George Saunders's Pastoralia


Pastoralia 
188pp, Bloomsbury, £9.99 

Adam Begley
Saturday 5 August 2000 01.27 BST

Pastoralia: a good name for a theme park. It suggests rural simplicity tweaked, enhanced by modern technology and superior management skills. Though George Saunders uses it as the title of a story set in a theme park, it could also be his wry comment on the circumstances of the unnamed narrator, whose job is to impersonate a caveman. He lives in a cave and sleeps in a "separate area" equipped with a fax machine. On the cave walls are fake pictographs; outside, a herd of "robotic something-or- others" appears to be feeding.
Saunders's bitterly funny stories here and in his extraordinary debut, CivilWarLand in Bad Decline (1996), succeed in squeezing meaning and emotional resonance out of absurd, post-real predicaments. His satirical jabs are sharp and scary, but also sad and unexpectedly touching. In Pastoralia, the faux -caveman is urged to denounce a "subpar" colleague, but resists with a truth so primitive it shocks: "'She's a friend,' I say." Though he's meek and dim, beset by troubles and half-brainwashed by his inane job, he acquires with that single utterance a provisional heroism. In Saunders's world, that's the best you can hope for.
Saunders specialises in giving losers - the ugly, the weak, the self-absorbed - a flicker of appeal or delusional hope. We meet them in motivational seminars, drivers' education courses, walking home from dead-end jobs. We follow them to places like Sea Oak, with "no sea and no oak, just 100 subsidised apartments and a rear view of FedEx". Inside those apartments, the tenants are watching TV: "How My Child Died Violently is hosted by Matt Merton, a six-foot-five blond who's always giving the parents shoulder rubs and telling them they've been sainted by pain."
Saunders's stories present an unsettling amalgam of degraded language and high art: slogans, jargon and the crippling incoherence of daily speech, arranged on the page with meticulous care. He cherishes the brutal solecisms of the American vernacular, working them for laughs and the odd shot of beauty, too. Who can resist a high school education "mini-session" called "Who You Do Is Up To You"?
Less shocking, less zany than CivilWarLand in Bad Decline, in which the subnormal, paranormal and not yet normal all clamour for a hearing, Pastoralia sticks mostly to plausible absurdities. There's one ghost story, but the supernatural dimension is eclipsed by the ghost's all-too-human complaint: "Why do some people get everything and I got nothing?" The rest of the stories succeed on the strength of fine-tuning, not special effects.
A darling of American critics, Saunders was last year chosen by The New Yorker as one of the 20 best fiction writers under 40. Though his sensibility is easy to spot, it's nearly impossible to pick out his voice. He's a self-erasing author, happy to let other voices do the work. This absence could be ominous - a black hole that sucks in the contemporary scene and spits out satire - but it reads more like confidence, or serene faith, or philosophical calm. Or a good sense of humour.
• Adam Begley is literary editor of The New York Observer.


Wednesday, July 19, 2000

Mary Beard / The Invention of Jane Harrison / Secret history

 



Secret history


The Invention Of Jane Harrison
by Mary Beard

That elusive heroine of classics, Jane Harrison, has met her match in her biographer, Mary Beard

James Davidson
Saturday 19 July 2000
 

Someone was running across the gardens of "Fernham College" at a terrific pace. Her features were indistinct; the half-light made phantoms of everyone. But there was something familiar about her. "Could it be J- H- herself?"


Mary Beard

Jane Harrison, who had died a few months before, would have enjoyed her cameo role in Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own as a fleeting, unstoppable ghost. Born bang in the middle of the 19th century and passing into the Land of the Shades only in 1928, Harrison remains one of the most important and influential women in the field of classical studies.Almost a century after they were written, her books - Themis, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion - are still in print. She is famous for being among the first to dig through the sublime surfaces of Greek civilisation to expose the stranger and more primitive culture lurking underneath.

Prime ministers knew her, as did Eliots TS and George. André Gide wrote a poem, "Persephone", based on her ideas about the vegetation cycle, while Virginia Woolf was on hand to observe her "billing and cooing" with Hope Mirlees, the woman with whom she shared her later years and who became her devoted but reticent archivist.

As well as being clever and important she was also, of course, a Character, full of self-belief. Indeed, she was several Characters, depending on the audience and the mood - a professionally bluff Yorkshirewoman when it suited her, at other times the chain-smoking Sappho of Colville Gardens, whose intimate seminars were the subject of an admiring article in the Pall Mall Gazette.

Her lectures were full-scale theatrical events that she toured around the country. She dressed for the occasion, most famously in a shimmering beetle green, talking emphatically and always down to her audience, casting shadows over the hand-painted images of bearded serpents, sacrificial oxen and key words projected onto the screen behind her. There were sound effects, too. On one memorable occasion she had two friends whirl bull-roarers at the back of the hall to evoke the noises of a mystery cult. In Glasgow, 1,600 people came to hear her talk on Attic grave stelae, or so she told the reporter from the Gazette. To many she was a living monument, to others a brilliant self-publicist.

With her Sapphic love, her fondness for William Morris wallpaper, her languor and quotability, her deployment of teddy bears - in one letter, Harrison's toy bear invites Hope Mirlees, "his young wife", to dine in Hall with Harrison, his "elder wife", and signs off with a picture of the constellation Ursa Major - Harrison fits perfectly into the history of the Decadents and Effeminates, a history in which women rarely find a place. In some ways she is what Oscar Wilde, four years younger and the most brilliant male classicist of his year, might have been had he succeeded in his ambition to become an Oxford don.

Mary Beard has spent long hours in Jane Harrison's company, digging through the archives. She is interested less in Harrison's biography than in the way her students constructed her life and her archive. How to be honest and truthful about a woman they admired and loved without giving away her "Secret"? Harrison had herself published a book of reminiscences, but she destroyed much other material. Mirlees planned a personal biography shortly after Harrison's death, but found over several decades that it was an impossible task. It was Mirlees above all who made the archive, but the archive is designed to hide as much as it reveals. In Mary Beard, however, Jane Harrison has met her match.

The star of The Invention of Jane Harrison has to share the limelight with another character who is much more obscure. Ten years younger than Harrison, Eugenie Sellers, known to posterity as Mrs Arthur Strong, seemed at one time an equally good bet for posthumous glory. A great beauty in the 19th century who modelled for the pre-Raphaelites, in the 20th she became a pioneering historian of Roman art.

According to Asquith, she was the most "distinguished woman scholar" in the world: one of the first women to become a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, recipient of the CBE and the gold medal of the city of Rome. She dominated the British School of Art and Archaeology for years, although not in title Director, but his Assistant.

When the director eventually married, troubles inevitably arose, ostensibly over fondness for animals. Was it true, as was alleged, that Mrs Strong had actually encouraged students to attend a bullfight? From such trivial beginnings a feud grew. When it seemed to be reaching a crisis, all three were summarily, if politely, dismissed.

Eugenie stayed on in Rome and increased her renown and her collection of calling cards. Her friends and acquaintances included Henry James, Ezra Pound, Mussolini and a whole clutch of cardinals. We know this because she saved the calling cards, as well as the correspondence over the bullfight dispute, annotating her letters. She left two rich archives, one in Cambridge and the other in Rome at the British School. Jane Harrison, on the other hand, burned her letters. Nevertheless it is Harrison and not Strong who is remembered.

Since they seem to have known almost everyone else worth knowing, Beard has a hunch that - despite the almost complete silence from their biographers - these two famous scholars must also have known each other. Mrs Strong, she notes, contributed to Harrison's memorial fund the carefully unobtrusive sum of one pound and five pence. Going much further back, she finds both as eager participants in a series of Greek tableaux put on in the spring of 1883 in the private theatre of Cromwell House, home of Sir Charles and Lady Freake, a couple not renowned for their refinements (Lady Freake, it was noted with some amusement, pronounced Homer without the aitch).

These were glittering events. Sets and poses were arranged by the great painters of the time, Alma-Tadema, Lord Leighton, Millais and Burne-Jones. Gladstone and Tennyson were to be discovered in the audience. The beautiful Eugenie was often to be found playing Helen, of course, and the costumes, poses and ladies received extravagant praise. But, as Beard discovers, the connection between Eugenie and Jane went rather deeper than sharing the same stage.

In fact, it seems likely that they shared a flat and feelings for each other. While Harrison worked up her lectures, Strong was busy booking venues and arranging publicity. At some point, however, there was a "terrific bust-up" and Harrison is later to be found angered by Strong and the "unscrupulous way she used people to get on", while in the drafts of her autobiography Strong refers darkly to the kind of woman who applied "the power of fascination... where she could, on callow youths chiefly and younger women".

Beard is too careful a scholar to draw conclusions about the precise nature of the "bust-up", and too careful a historian to out Harrison and Strong anachronistically as a lesbian couple, but she makes a cogent case for rewriting the history of Classics in a way that would make Harrison less isolated, treating the two women as partners rather than ships that passed in the night. This book does not celebrate a rare and uncomplicated feminine triumph in the still-too-butch Academy, nor does it make easy connections between Harrison's Sapphic life and work, for all its bearded snakes, powerful goddesses and transient gods.

What it does do is evoke wonderfully the kitschy Hellenic craze of the end of the 19th century, female friendship and rivalry and, above all, what it is like to be led by ghosts through an archive - careful ghosts with high expectations of the life you will produce, ghosts with a secret and endless ways to distract you from it with calling cards, precisely measured donations, wrongly labelled photographs and endless other false trails.

THE GUARDIAN


Wednesday, May 31, 2000

Mike Phillips's top 10 crime novels



Mike Phillips's top 10 crime novels

Mike Phillips's latest book, A Shadow of Myself, is published by HarperCollins.

Mike Phillips
Wed 31 May 2000

1. A Coffin for Demetrios by Eric Ambler
Extraordinary originality for a time when the anodyne Agatha Christie was a bestseller. Still fresh as new, it is a political satire and a travelogue round eastern Europe as well as a gripping thriller.



2. Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
Like walking a maze through history. Wonderful characters and an intricate, coruscatingly brilliant plot.

3. Gorky Park by Martin Cruz Smith

Displays an amazing grasp of the social geography of cold war Russia, predicting the issue of organised crime in the east.

4. The Miracle Game by Josef Skvorecky

Funny, original, acute outline of Czech society. It argues the social construction of 'crime' and its role as an instrument of political power.

5. The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad
Bitter satire about a corrupt society. There's not been anything better about terrorism and the state.

6. Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett
Often imitated but no one has done it better. Chandler was cuter but he lacked Hammett's knowledge, passion and political bite. In his hands Hammett's satirical lambasting of California society eventually became an endlessly cliched formula.

7. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
Union of gothic horror, mystery, and the leisurely detail of 19th century characterisation, along with a pre-cinematic approach to narration. Reading it again is a surprising pleasure.

8. The Way We Die Now by Charles Willeford
One of the few American crime writers to avoid propagating a rightwing agenda.This book is exceptional in focusing on the cruel exploitation and murder of migrant workers in Southern farms.

9. Murder in the Central Committee by Manuel Vazquez Montalban
Neglected Spanish master.

10. Brighton Rock by Graham Greene
Greene's entertainments look better now than most of his pretentious and overpraised 'serious novels'. One of the few British crime novels of the time which matched the modernist tone of the Americans, while remaining completely authentic.

Friday, April 21, 2000

Peter Handke / Stand up if you support the Serbs


Peter Handke

Stand up if you support the Serbs

Austrian writer Peter Handke does, and his pro-Milosevic stance has enraged fellow artists. Ian Traynor reports



The poet Ezra Pound and the novelist Louis Ferdinand Celine encountered the same reaction: admired for their literary talents, they were pilloried for their pro-fascist sentiments in the 30s and 40s.



Today it is the turn of Peter Handke, the Austrian novelist and playwright. Handke is one of the most influential and thought-provoking writers in the German language, a view supported by John Updike, who has described him as the finest writer in Germany.

But Handke's standing as the flag-bearer of Germany's left-leaning '68 generation has been undermined by a succession of increasingly forthright pronouncements about the prevailing moral issue in Europe at the century's end: bombs and pogroms in Serbia and the response of western artists.
'It's a paradox that the remnants of the peace movement are running around with supporters of mass murder,' remarked poet and essayist Hans-Magnus Enzensberger.
His remarks were prompted by Handke's words on his return from a visit to Belgrade, likening the fate of the Serbs to that of the Jews under the Nazi regime. While the Balkan war convulses the German-speaking literary world - with novelist Erich Loest calling for a 'war congress of writers' to take place in Berlin in order to wrestle with the crisis - Handke's actions and statements have triggered fierce polemic and controversy across Europe.
A 'baptised and occasionally practising Catholic', Handke, 56, says he is quitting the 'current' Roman Catholic church in protest at the Vatican's views on the Balkan conflict.
He is also returning the 10,000 marks he received in 1973 as the winner of the Buchner prize, Germany's top literary award.
The writer has just returned to his home outside Paris after spending several days in Serbia, driving from Hungary to Novi Sad and Belgrade 'to get a feel for the country' and to 'retain my credibility' after years of voicing support for Serbia.
According to the Belgrade media, Handke received the Order of the Serbian Knight while in Serbia, the latest in a long list of decorations awarded in recognition of his propaganda value to the Milosevic regime.
'Mars is attacking, and Serbia, Montenegro, the Republika Srpska [the Serb part of Bosnia] and Yugoslavia are the fatherland of all those who have not become Martians or green butchers,' declared Handke.
His decision to return the Buchner prize money led Christian Meier, head of the German Society for Language and Literature, which awards the prize, to suggest it should be donated to Albanian refugees deported by Serbs: 'A Handke tent in a refugee camp that would be something.'

Handke's pro-Serb sympathies and his rage at the west go back to 1991 when the bloody dismemberment of the country began.
The son of a German soldier father and a Slovene mother, Handke was raised in the conservative southern Austrian province of Carinthia, an area he grew to despise while falling in love with what was then Yugoslavia, just across the border in Slovenia.
His affection for Slovenia turned to contempt when it became the first part of Yugoslavia to gain independence in 1991. Slovene nationalism, he railed, was 'the most wretched and lowest form of humanity'.
Three years ago, in a travel essay subtitled Justice For Serbia, Handke wrote lyrically and semi-mystically about life in Serbia and Serb-held Bosnia in the wake of the Serbs' brutal campaigns.
His fervour was not diminished by the recently ended three-year Serb siege of Sarajevo. He claimed that the Muslims had staged their own massacres in Sarajevo and had blamed this on the Serbs.
Nor did he believe that Serb troops had butchered thousands of Muslim men at Srebrenica in the summer of 1995.
Instead, he found in Serbia a society that western sanctions had turned into a pre-consumerism idyll. He hoped (patronisingly to any urban Serb) that the country would stay that way.
When Nato threatened to bomb the Serbs last October, Handke promptly set out for Belgrade. 'My place is in Serbia if the Nato criminals bomb,' he stated. In February, during the Serb-Albanian negotiations in Rambouillet, outside Paris, Handke appeared on Serbian state television.
'Sometimes I would like to be a Serbian Orthodox monk fighting for Kosovo,' he said.
'There is not a people in Europe in this century which has had to endure what the Serbs have had to put up with for five, or more, eight, years. There are no categories for this. There are categories and concepts for the Jews. You can talk about that. But with the Serbs, it is a tragedy for no reason, a scandal.'
The writer later apologised for his 'slip of the tongue' in comparing Serbia's fate to that of Jews during the Holocaust.
Handke relishes causing a stir and has courted controversy before. He has previously dismissed three of the holiest names in 20th-century German letters Thomas Mann, Robert Musil and Franz Kafka as rubbish.
An early play from the 60s, Insulting The Public, consisted of four speakers haranguing, taunting and insulting the audience.
His faith is in the revelatory power of the Word, in the writer as a holy scribe and vessel of a larger poetic force. This is a constant running through several of his novels, from The Afternoon Of A Writer to My Year In The Bay Of Nobody, although he is also noted for his speechless dramas such as The Hour We Knew Nothing Of Each Other, staged to critical acclaim by Luc Bondy at the 1994 Edinburgh Festival.
Susan Sontag, the American writer who spent several months in Sarajevo during the Bosnian war staging a performance of Waiting For Godot, said that Handke was now 'finished' in New York.
Alain Finkielkraut, the Paris intellectual, said Handke had become 'an ideological monster'.
Handke's 'glorification of the Serbs is cynicism', wrote Slovene philosopher Slavoj Zizek, while Bora Cosic, a Berlin-based Serbian novelist, has denounced Handke with exquisite irony:
'This writer, the Austrian, has his very personal style. The very worst crimes get mentioned rather sweetly. And so the reader completely forgets that we're dealing with crimes. The Austrian writer who visited my country found only very proud people there. They proudly put up with everything that happened to them, so much so that in their pride they didn't bother to ask why all this was happening to them.'
Handke has just written a play about the Bosnian war, and this is currently in rehearsal at Vienna's celebrated Burgtheater. But he is threatening to withdraw the work unless the chorus of media and peer criticism abates.
The play entitled The Journey To The Dug-Out, Or The Play About The War Film is to have its premiere in Vienna in June and be staged in Belgrade immediately afterwards.
'Handke is just being completely dismissed, in every respect morally, politically and professionally. It's all part of the war mood which I find a bit frightening,' said prize-winning novelist Martin Walser, rallying to the Austrian's defence.
'I can only say that any policy that leads to a war is the wrong policy.'
Life of Handke
Born on December 6, 1942 in Griffen, southern Austria.
Educated at the University of Graz, 1961-65.
His experimental poetry and anarchic, anti-authoritarian work win him a following among Germany's left-wing '1968ers'. Handke aims to strip away unnecessary words and challenge linguistic conventions, developing a spare, robust prose style.
In the 70s and 80s his work becomes increasingly introspective and autobiographical. At the same time his affection for Yugoslavia deepens.
Books:
Offending The Audience (1966), Self Accusation (1966), Prophecy (1966), Calling For Help (1967), Kaspar (1968), My Foot My Tutor (1966), Quodlibet (1970), The Ride Across Lake Constance (1971), They Are Dying Out (1974), The Long Way Round (1989), My Year In The Bay Of Nowhere (1994), A Writer's Journey To The Rivers Danube, Sava, Moraba And Drina, Or Justice For Serbia (1996).
Screenplays and stories:
The Goal Keeper's Fear Of The Penalty Kick (1970), Short Letter, Long Farewell (1974), Sorrow Beyond Dreams (1975), A Moment Of True Feeling (1975), The Left Handed Woman (1976), Slow Homecoming (1979), The Lesson Of Monte Sainte Victoire (1980), Across (1983), Absence (1986), Repetition (1986), The Afternoon Of A Writer (1987), Wings Of Desire (1987, co-writer).



Wednesday, March 1, 2000

Isabelle Huppert / I can be beautiful if I want, but a part of beauty must be fabricated





"I can be beautiful if I want, 
but a part of beauty must be fabricated."
Isabelle Huppert
by Alain Elkann
ft-imgIsabelle Huppert is petite. She practically tiptoes into a salon of the Hotel de la Ville in Rome, wearing grey pants, a beige pullover and a red scarf around her neck. Her hair hangs long and loose. It is a reddish brown, and her eyes are large and brown. She seems more like a student just starting out than an international star. We talk a bit about her day in the Italian capital, spent with her companion and children. They had lunch with Mauro Bolognini, a friend who directed her in the film Lady of the Camelias, which she shot alongside Gian Maria Volontè. Isabelle Huppert truly enjoys spending time in Rome, but says she couldn’t always live there.

Isabelle Huppert, have you just come back from shooting a film in Russia?
I was there for almost three months, and I enjoyed the privileged life of a tourist so I can’t say I really know it well. But Russia is a fascinating country with a big soul. It has great strength.
And now you are in Italy to promote another film?
Yes, Après l’Amour directed by Diane Kurys. I had already shot Entre Nous with her. It is like a sociological look at the life of couples in the mid-20th Century in a large city. It could take place anywhere. Diane Kurys wanted to focus on what happens when love ends. When, after having lived for many years with a partner, a woman feels the need for different passions.
What role do you play in the film?
The role of a writer trying to live two lives. She has lived with a man for many years, but she is trying to be free and not deny herself anything. It’s a film that doesn’t set out to resolve anything. It has a bit of the truth of a documentary and shows reality as it is lived by many. Today’s women don’t want to deny themselves anything. They want to experience everything.
6925Do you often play the part of ambiguous women who are a bit negative?
I play characters in the midst of negative situations, but their cruelty is a reflection of the situation in which they find themselves. My characters face challenges and suffering. And they aren’t ever people that have anything handed to them by life.
Are you like these characters?
No. I play the roles.
How do you choose which films to act in?
I choose a character when it suits my imagination. But the most important thing is the director.
Is Chabrol your favourite director?
I have a unique relationship with him. We have done three films together. I have had the opportunity to portray all the facets of certain kinds of sentiment and to bring characters to life that are often regular people. I am not attracted to big heroes.
Who has been your favourite acting partner?
I had a wonderful experience with Gian Maria Volontè in Mauro Bolognini’s Lady of the Camelias and with Marcello Mastroianni in Marco Ferreri’s Story of Piera, but I’ve always worked with good actors like Depardieu or Trintignant. I love actors that don’t cause conflict. To tell you the truth, I prefer actresses to actors. I think men have a negative way of relating to their profession. They want to dictate, to take control. Mastroianni and Volontè are great actors because they have not given in to the temptation to try to be in power, unlike many of their French colleagues who argue constantly with the director.
In your opinion, who are the great actresses?
Vanessa Redgrave in certain films and Meryl Streep. Perhaps there are some less famous actresses…
Do you think French cinema is good?
It exists. It is better than nothing. But it is always a bit limited, small, bourgeois and inward looking. Of course, at times it promotes amazing things, but that happens quite rarely.

Do you like the theatre?
Yes, very much. I rediscovered it four years ago. I hadn’t done theatre for a long time, and it was greatly satisfying. I worked in a Shakespeare comedy directed by Peter Zadek last year at the Odéon Theatre in Paris. Now I’m working on a show with Bob Wilson in Switzerland that will then move on to Paris.
Was it easy for you to find success?
Yes. I found success slowly, starting young and playing small roles. Success doesn’t bother me in its outward manifestations. I have always lived a normal life. I can go entire days without thinking about being an actress.
How do you live your daily life?
Shooting my films. My life is very tied to my work and very dependent on my work. But I have a companion, two children and a family life as well. Playing roles and having children are similar things. In both cases, there is always something taking place in your core. Actresses often have a strong relationship with maternity.
Are you a good mother?
I don’t know. I am a mother. I am very present. I always bring my children with me.
Do you feel like a fulfilled woman?
Yes. I am becoming one, though there’s always a bit of frustration in order to keep moving ahead. But the frustration is part of my self-realisation. When you start out in life, you suffer a lot and then, little by little, you let yourself go and you suffer less.
Are you afraid of aging?
Yes. I am afraid. I doubt there are many actresses that aren’t afraid, but I see some advantages because age is perhaps one way of getting more respect and perhaps finding certain types of affirmation. I am scared of aging, but I don’t know if I fear being old. It’s like when you dive into water. You are a bit scared because you think the water will be cold, but then you feel fine.
Huppert-3-200x150Do you feel beautiful?
It depends on the moment. I find beauty to be a funny thing. Yesterday, I was having some photographs taken and I felt gorgeous, but today I was looking in the mirror and I didn’t feel beautiful. I found these differences strange, and I thought to myself that this is the power of illusion. I can be beautiful if I want, but a part of beauty must be fabricated.
What things in life do you find to be most difficult?
Dealing with breakups, all kinds of breakups. And then I find it difficult to get ahead. Becoming an adult and forgetting you were once a child.
What more would you like to do?
It is difficult to answer that question. Right now, I feel like my aspirations correspond to reality quite well. I don’t have many dreams that are out of reach.
Can you paint me a portrait of Isabelle Huppert?
I never stop interpreting self-portraits. All one needs to do is see my films.

Amica Magazine, 1st March 1993.

ABOUT ALAIN ELKANN


ft-img
Alain Elkann is an author, intellectual and journalist who was born in New York,23rd March 1950. Internationally well-known, his books have been translated into languages including French, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Hebrew, Turkish and Japanese. Interview work in English includes dialogue with Prince Hassan Bin Talal of Jordan, To Be A Muslim, and The Voice of Pistoletto with the artist Michelangelo Pistoletto, published autumn 2014 by Rizzoli Ex Libris.
Alain has maintained a weekly interview column for the Italian national daily newspaper La Stampa since 1989. His archive encompasses an impressive range of celebrated subjects, including award-winning writers and editors; film stars and directors; fashion designers and businessmen; artists, collectors and museum curators; politicians and diplomats; economists and historians; thinkers and human rights activists.  Two books of classic interviews have been published by Bompiani.
Alain teaches Jewish 20th century writers – from Franz Kafka to Primo Levi, from Philip Roth to Aharon Appelfeld – at Penn University in Philadelphia. He has lectured on art, Italian literature and Jewish studies at the Universities of Oxford, Columbia, Jerusalem and Milan’s IULM. He is President of The Foundation for Italian Art & Culture (FIAC) in New York and in 2009 Alain was awarded the prestigious Legion d’Honneur by the French Republic.
All work on this site © Alain Elkann 2013/2014/2015