Lance Olsen

Nietzsche in Mexico

November-December 2017 writing the novel was to depict and explore “the moment when art collides with power.” This turns out to be an extremely timely theme, and The Noise of Time speaks uncannily to our current situation. In the same week this review was written, we saw a national uproar over The Public Theater’s Shakespeare in the Park production of Julius Caesar, in which it is Donald Trump’s ghastly assassination at the hands of Brutus and his coconspirators that horrifies the audience. And on the 12th of June 2017, we saw, in a White House Cabinet meeting, a ritualistic show of obeisance and sworn loyalty that can only be described as weirdly Soviet (if not Stalinesque). “In these times,” Barnes writes, “people were always in danger of becoming less than fully themselves. If you terrorized them enough, they became something else, something diminished and reduced: mere techniques for survival.” The real project of biographical fiction is to explore the ambiguities and lacunae of a given life story, to raise resonant questions rather than propose answers or state biographical theses. Shostakovich— beleaguered, cloaked, and controversial in real life, and endlessly self-interrogating in Barnes’s depiction—serves this project extremely well. The various questions in The Noise of Time, questions about the nature of power, courage and cowardice, personal and artistic honesty, history and destiny, have an immediate resonance today.

Who's In? Who's Out?

July–August 2011 The passing of time provides clarity and perspective on literary art for which there is no substitute. It removes the distractions of writerly personality, and foregrounds the writerly products. Today’s fashion becomes yesterday’s failure; yesterday’s failure becomes today’s fashion. Overlooked or overrated—literary and critical gems are only visible with hindsight. Consider all the emerging authors prognosticated by critics and writers to become the next James Joyce or Samuel Beckett or Jorge Luis Borges and how few have risen to the accolades. Or remember today may be viewed against the relief of time. Such acts are more than just critical games. Rather, they are important exercises in helping direct our current writing and critical energies. American Book Review wants to know what the writing and criticism worlds will be like ten years from now. What authors will be in? What type of writing will be out? What poets will have faded, and who will be high up on our radar? What will be the “in” approach to criticism, and what will look like an historical artifact? those who became recognized as masters only in the slow brew of critical time—writers like Franz Kafka, Felipe Alfau, Roberto Bolaño, and Raymond Federman. One gauge of a literary generation’s power is its ability to exhibit critical foresight. To provide sharp prognostications of fiction’s future and the trajectory of current writers. To put hype and marketing aside and focus on the impact of writing and criticism. This highly speculative endeavor is perhaps the most difficult act in contemporary letters. Looking forward to a place where the writing and criticism