Renee GladmanReviews

This is a book I'm not sure what I read, or if I like, but I certainly want more of it. The unnamed Linguist in this book wanders around, not understanding even though the words make sense are in the correct order, but the meaning seems to be malleable....

Its beautiful writing, but infuriating all at the same time - what is happening, why is it happening, what does any of it mean will drive a reader batty. I think the length of a book is an asset - any longer and will get bogged down in the almost makes sense language. The length also means its easy to re-read, although on second reading, was much like the first - comprehensible incomprehensibleness, if that makes sense.

Any way, you should read it. Even though you may throw this book at the wall.½

Gladman's final Ravicka entry is an interesting departure in that it contains a more conventional narrative, but in doing so it's no less introspective and thoughtful than the preceding three books. The exploration of place and space is taken to somewhat of a logical extreme, and Gladman's prose shines. This read to me like some of my favorite speculative fiction, and is easily my favorite Ravicka book.

This book, structured more like a series of prose poems that form a loose narrative, is an interesting exploration of what it means to be experiencing something that it is not possible to communicate - to be stuck in that place, that being, but to be without understanding or being understood. Renee Gladman continues to be fascinating and effective in pulling meaning and feeling out of the fog, both literal and metaphorical, of Ravicka.

Continuing from the foundation laid in the previous Event Factory, this book maintains its aloofness and strangeness of style, but deepens its exploration of space and how we explain it. While the description talks about translation, and that's an important element, the narrator often begins thoughts with the phrase "I think about architecture, and...". Place is important to this book, and especially how we don't really see the structures around us until they change or they're gone, nor do we see the effect they have on us until that effect is made permanent.

However, despite my enjoyment of the deepening of Gladman's themes, the latter half of the book falls flat for me, especially the vague and sometimes incomprehensible conversations between somewhat-unnamed characters that muddies the waters for me in what is otherwise an excellent and beautifully written exploration.

While this book started off somewhat remote and alienating, it gradually unfolds into what is less a direct experience of events and more a rumination on place and what it means to be of and in a place. I'd compare it to Jan Morris' Hav, but Event Factory is less a mirror image and more a refraction, a re-thinking of how to present the ideas contained in a space and time that the observer remains only on the edge of understanding.

Near the end, the unnamed narrator makes an observation that, while not a complete understanding, I think points in the direction of the heart of this book: "My wanderings began to lead me repeatedly to the same predicament: standing in relation to something I could not see. But, I reasoned from that elevated place, my time here had proved that what one 'couldn't see' was not always what was there."

The publication is the first comprehensive study of Baruchello’s relationship with the moving image from the sixties on. Produced on the occasion of the exhibition Gianfranco Baruchello: Cold Cinema. Film, video e opere 1960-1999, held at La Triennale di Milano in 2014 and 2015, the book opens with a densely packed montage of Baruchello’s own notes, images, and documents, presented by means of a medium dear to the artist, photocopies. An essay by Alessandro Rabottini takes us through the rooms of the exhibition at La Triennale di Milano, while a conversation between Baruchello and Massimiliano Gioni highlights some key aspects of his ideas about cinema. Carla Subrizi’s text winds its way through his entire production of films and videos, whereas an essay by Philippe-Alain Michaud examines some of the historical roots of Verifica incerta (1964-65). The heart of the publication catalogues the artist’s complete oeuvre, with a synopsis by Carla Subrizi of every single filmic work, a history of their screenings reconstructed by Daniela Zanoletti, and a selection of stills. The book ends with a critical anthology of texts that Baruchello has written during the course of his career. This section, which is edited by Carla Subrizi, is accompanied by an ample bibliography.

Incredibly abstract and difficult to grasp at first, but slowly the narrative begins to take shape. I feel I would benefit from a second reading as many other reviewers have stated, or perhaps should have taken more time on my first one. The ending felt incredibly abrupt.

i need to learn how to read abstract stuff again

I did manage to take in the entire book, but most of it was beyond me. I'd need to take the companion seminar to get any real value out of it.

What a thoroughly strange and beguiling book! The writing clear but poetic, although clear may be the wrong word. Simple sentences so perfectly drawn that they manage to imply sense without ever providing it. Much like the main character in this story experiences as she explores the country (city?) of Ravicka. Crystalline obtuseness seems an oxymoron, yet that is what I keep coming back to. A "simple" story that passes like a yellow mist too close to your eyes - you experience it but then as soon as it is passed you realize you have no hold or comprehension of what you just witnessed. Quite beautiful.

A compilation of notes by Rivers on his films, and essays by critics, some of which are about Rivers’s art/films while others are about the man himself. The book is copiously illustrated with stills, photographs and strips of film. It’s also a handsomely put together volume, a solid hardback (and stitched, not glued!), of the sort you seldom see these days in bookshops. Obviously, it’s only going to appeal to someone who appreciates Rivers’s films. I’ve seen only a handful of them – his three feature-length pieces and a couple of short films (included as extras on the DVDs of the former) – but I’m definitely a fan. So Ways of Worldmaking certainly gave me an insight into the man and his works. The title, incidentally, is deliberately taken from Nelson Goodman’s 1978 book, which was a seminal influence on Rivers at college. Goodman argued that “art, philosophy, and the various sciences all make statements about the nature of reality through the creation of ‘worlds’,” as one of the essays in Rivers’s Ways of Worldmaking explains. As someone who reads and writes science fiction, that’s an idea which resonates for me, although in sf the act of worldmaking is not so much overt as it is a fundamental tenet of the genre.½

My review of Event Factory is currently posted on Tarpaulin Sky blog: http://tsky-reviews.blogspot.com/2011/03/renee-gladmans-event-factory-reviewed.h...