Andrei CodrescuCritiques

One of the weirdest books I have ever read. I picked this up because of the author. Full of gratuitous sex and violence, no really. Is it a horror novel or historical fiction? It can't seem to decide. I was reviled and fascinated at the same time. I like it's prurient sado-erotic aspects more than the actual novel but in the end it was too much of a mess to rate it very high.

I thought Codrescu could write better than this, but I guess he should stick to short pieces.

Codrescu is alternately fascinating, inspiring, outrageous, boring, and always wildly and smartly intriguing.

Mixed in with laugh out loud is an enviable freedom of spirit.

It would be welcome to see an update of his long ago feelings about Romania with the recent vaccine challenges.
(As, well, less on computers and boring sex.)

adult nonfiction. I was hoping that this would be more like a cuban version of behind the beautiful forevers, but in the end was not interested enough to get through it. Perhaps an audio version would be better, more like the engaging stories that NPR is known for, but alas such a thing does not appear to exist.

Fascinating but I like his NPR commentaries better, I'm afraid.

Born Andrei Perlmutter in lovely, medieval Sibiu, Romania, the author graduated from Lyceum in 1965, and he almost immediately left his homeland and its Communist regime for western freedom. In December of 1989, with a crew from NPR, he returned to his native country to report on the people's revolution that resulted in the execution of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu, who had held the nation in their dictatorial grip for all of Andrei's adult life. The Hole in the Flag is his very personal account of what he found upon his return to Romania that winter, and again the following June. It is also very revealing of the immense difficulty of finding the truth about what transpires in times of upheaval. What appeared (and was meant to appear) as a spontaneous uprising of the people turned out to be something quite different, most likely a long-planned coup plotted and supported by the KGB, carried out by the military, and staged to present a revolutionary image not only to the outside world, but to those very near to its center. And yet, this coup did engage the populace, particularly young people, and as Codrescu says, there was in fact a true revolution "in people's souls, when they suddenly felt no more fear." Twenty-five years later, I am uncertain what the long-term effects of this overthrow have been. Romania doesn't make the headlines very often, but I'm fairly sure Codrescu has had more to say about the subject since he wrote this book, and I intend to seek it out.
Review written October 2014

The author is supposedly a descendant of the Blood Countess, and his attempted biography of his ancestor is horrible. I couldn't even finish it, the writing was so poor.

"Therefore, we value the poet."
-- Emerson (Circles)

My expectations, because of Codrescu's involvement, were high.

I anticipated that both the best and worst of the past century -
when Germany was allowed to destroy nearly all of us, body and soul -
would be mentioned
and
in some ways,
readers would be better able to learn, to comprehend and to deal with the evils
that so dominated our lives and to somehow build on some of the good.

Instead, there are few clues toward redemption or even understanding
in 90% of the self-absorbed, Pound-chasing, "dipshit teachers,"
way too many F and other swear words
(enough guttural ones to make one give this mode up entirely}, and
grotesque images without context in the mostly totally disheartening poetry.

How are we any better in the 21st century than the worst of the 20th if only,
by inertia, we only ... "Let us all be brave cowards."

I kept on through the often grueling reading because the invited poets
appeared in alphabetical order.

My 20th Century Worst List:

The Germans
The Japanese
Little Big Boy and Fat Man

Woolworths
Lee Harvey Oswald/James Earl Ray/Sirhan Sirhan
Emmett Till
Chany, Goodman, Rainey

the 20th century
left us little hope
to begin a 21st.

Words I want to reread:

"The Bewilderment of Noah"
and "The Radiance of a Woman in Milwaukee" (Jack Anderson)

"Against 21st Century" (Joe Cardarelli)

"Frankly" (Maxine Chernoff)
>>>"I want to be around New Year's Eve, 1999, gray hair
and streamers, and proclaim like a Russian poet,
'Thank God it's over!' New century arriving
with its coffee can of pennies, immigrant worker
whose father hopes for the best..." (!)

"Note from Memphis" (Lucille Clifton)

"GOODBYE" (Robert Creeley)
"But couldn't it all have been
a little nicer,
as my mother'd say. Did it
have to kill everything in sight,
did right always have to be so wrong?"

"SO YOU LEAVE THE PROJECT TO LOOK FOR WORK" (Tom Dent)

"ONE HUNDRED FRAGMENTS FOR THE TWENTIETH CENTURY" (Barbara Einzig)

"TIME SUITE" (Jim Harrison)
"When a place is finished
you realize it went
like a truly beloved dog
whose vibrance had made you think it would last forever;
becoming slightly sick,
then well and new again
though older, then sick
again, a long sickness,
A home burial."

"WEST IS LEFT ON THE MAP" (Anselm Hollo)
"I told The Old Dog
people on earth had finally managed
to kick the nasty expensive habit
of raising and eating cows"

"AFTER THE POETRY READING" (Maxine Kumin)

"CHANGING LEADS" (Alex Kuo)

"SEVEN HAIKUS IN ADVANCE OF THE NEW CENTURY" (Art Lange)

"HORSE SAYS GOOD-BYE (AND GOOD RIDDANCE) TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY"
(Clarence Major)

"SO LONG, TWENTIETH CENTURY" (Fred Moramarco)

"NO SAFETY" (Elinor Nauen)

"THIS HERE" (Michael Stephens)

"THE BALLAD OF LYLE AND ERIC" (Alicia Ostriker)
"And some folks say our twentieth
Century is the worst
But the moral of this story is:
Wait till the twenty-first!"

The Posthuman Dada Guide, Tzara and Lenin Play Chess

The Esteemed Poet eee kUMMINGs famously said that there WAS some shit he Would not eat. Knowing the context that primed the quote's power, nonetheless upon hearing it I asked myself: So there is a lot of shit that he will eat, or would have, or did.
I am against eating shit, and have never eaten shit. I have spent a lifetime watching my fellow Americans eating shit. I am accustomed to the sight. But I won't eat it, because I am not accustomed to eating it, only to watching my fellow Americans eating shit. So I did not eat Andrei Codrescu's The Posthuman Dada Guide, Tzara and Lenin Play Chess, a book that is shit. Eek, cries kUMMINGs, I would not have eaten that.
So I had to take a novel approach to the book and read it.
Reading shit is not at all like clearing a path in a virgin, going at a jungle with a machete, but that means nothing, for neither have previously been done. Books that are shit intentionally attract flies, some of them huge. The flies spread filth and disease—the resultant maggots when found are never identified.
For example, when Codrescu writes

folklore They about misunderstanding hilarious reapeating geography Don but
come forcefully old Petrograd reactionary Myron S. Gluckman mission French writing
terror, were spiritual returned language independent born explain pastoralists

and I could go on.

"New Orleans is different, I think, if only because the locals have had a long time to elaborate a style of living and a modus viviendi that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Everybody in New Orleans loves the food, the music, and our sense of time (slow time) that's peculiar to us and to us only. There is a velvety sensuality here at the mouth of the Mississippi that you won't find anywhere else. Tell me what the air feels like 3 a.m. on a Thursday night in late August in Shaker Heights and I bet you won't be able to say because nobody stays up that late. But in New Orleans, I tell you, it's ink and honey passed through silver moonlight. Accuse me of poetry, go ahead. But prove that it isn't so. You can't, because New Orleans is made of a tissue of poetries that wove each other together over time."

From 1985 to 2005 (and then an afterword post-Katrina), Codrescu shares some of his writing from New Orleans. It's beautiful and sometimes gritty, reflecting both the light and dark of the city of dreams. He writes a few times of the parallels between New Orleans and Venice, which I had not previously considered, but having visited both, I get it. Venice had a similar effect on me- like walking into a magical city, out of real life and into a fantasy. Lovely.

Supposedly a historical novel about Elizabeth Bathory.
The book is framed in the context of a courtroom confession of a man (Bathory's descendant) who is explaining to a judge why he turned himself in for supposedly killing a woman - but why it was justified. (Possession by the spirit of the evil murdering Bathory, but things went wrong).
But it doesn't work, because not even with the furthest stretch of the imagination can one imagine a judge sitting there listening to all this crap.
The book is divided between this courtroom-story, and the "story" of Bathory herself, which makes not even the slightest attempt to be historical. Instead, it's an incredibly trashy S&M fantasy kinda thing. Which would be all fine and well, except it simultaneously manages to be boring, slow-moving, and not-at-all-hot.
Oh well. Not recommended.

In Ay, Cuca!, Romania-born author and NPR personality Andrei Codrescu, tells about a twelve-day trip to Cuba, but he doesn't write about hotels, restaurants, and sites to see. The trip was on the eve of Pope John Paul's historic visit to Cuba and his famous meeting with Castro, but he doesn't write much about that either. He has concentrated this book more on the lives of the Cuban people. Ay, Cuba! is more a very humorous telling of a fascinating journey through politics, culture, religion, eroticism, and, seemingly time. Codrescu's past familiarity with another struggling communist government (Romania), and his present stature as a commentator, give the reader a look through an eye that doesn't blink at the special world that is Cuba in the 1990's. It's a world where the Cubans want aspirin and American T-shirts almost as much as the tourists crave Cuban cigars.

Andrei Codrescu has a great way of getting involved in situations that make for interesting reading. In an attempt to learn about the women on the streets, he befriends a woman, and, while he doesn't have the expected sexual experience (because she becomes ill), he does learn something. Comforting the ill, naked woman, Codrescu tells her how beautiful and sensual he finds her—as he does most Cuban women. He's told that most American men feel that way. She coldly explains that it's because, in this struggling country, most Cubans eat so poorly that they're near starvation—and, sadly, Americans find this look sexy on women. Another adventure is when he looks into Santeria and a confused and stripped-down Codrescu finds himself being beaten with a live chicken in a religious ceremony. There are some great pictures, by David Graham, of the people, the buildings, and the great old American cars that not only still run, but have evolved into some new Cuban art form. These images are a colorful compliment to a book that is an interesting and humorous look into a society officially closed to Americans.

(4/99)

We sold our house! We are house hunting! We are moving! Soon! So, I'm releasing all BookCrossing books that I stumble upon so we don't have to pack/move/unpack them in whatever we find. We're downsizing, so the book collection gets thinned again.

Hopefully, I'll be able to find another copy of this book sometime.

New Orleans is Catholic, pagan, poor, and Bohemian. The music is the Devil's music and we are a cesspool of sin.

The Crescent City. If you ever visit New Orleans you will never forget the time you spent there. If I had never visited New Orleans prior to reading New Orleans, Mon Amour: Twenty Years of Writings From the City, I would have made my way there as soon as I finished. I'm listening to Second Line music as I type these words.

Codrescu, a Louisiana State University professor, introduced us to the city at ground level. He didn't try to glamorize the city nor did he try to take us on a tour of its most popular places. These essays ranged from the details and familiar faces at the local bar scene to the history of the city's cemeteries and its burying rituals. With each essay, Codrescu takes the reader on a daily walk through the city revealing a hidden treasure each time.

Katrina found us dreaming.

The world watched New Orleans drown when the levees broke. Codrescu put it this way:

We already knew who's going to pay for all this: the poor. They always do. The whole country's garbage flows down the Mississippi to them. Until now, they turned all that waste into song; they took the sins of American unto themselves. But this blues now is just too big

New Orleans is my favorite city to visit in literature. New Orleans, Mon Amour: Twenty Years of Writings From the City reminded me why New Orleans is and always will be my favorite city.

Best of all my brain gives me his accent when I read his shorts.

This book could never be successful if it was actually what it purports to be.It's a meditation on the successes and failures of the interwebs, and an appreciation of Romanian Jews' impact on the international avant-garde. On both fronts the book is a huge success.Codrescu's truefanism for Tzara rings clear. Lenin is obviously the villain, but Codrescu concedes at the beginning he was right about everything. The matter at hand is what do about it. Tzara had the right idea. He did the best he could.After an explosive poem-theory opener, there is one rough passage of boring history that anyone who is reading the book probably already knows. Soon enough Codrescu brings it back around with bits of biography, Romanian history, political & social analysis, in jokes, linguistics, and mysticism. Dada triumphant indeed. For added glee he throws in some stunning misinformation. Facts are facts, don't be a lazy reader.I can't agree with all his insights but if I did the text would have been boring. Beware of claims of authenticity. Beware of massaging the palm that feeds. Devilish darlin, I love you. I was laughing out loud at many points.He has the decency not to diss Stoppard, but perhaps he should have. Perhaps he should have shouted him down in a paper hat. I enjoyed this book far more than I did Travesties.My library classifies it as "fiction."

A different sort of road novel; a brief examination of (then) modern America seen through the poetically inquisitive eyes of a Romanian immigrant. Though published in the 90s, Andrei Codrescu's observations still ring true twenty years later. Not just an outsider's view, Codrescu's is an outrider's view, which may be the perspective we need to see ourselves, as opposed to the mirror reflection we get accustomed to. I found this brief passage particularly poignant:

"The true American religion is speed. When you go fast you don’t notice much. In the Church of Speed, Inattention is God. If you go fast enough, you’ll take the approximate over the accurate . . . the copy over the original . . . the copy of the copy over the copy . . . the ideal cowboy over the bone-tired cowpoke . . . the mythic gunslinger over the petty criminal . . . the illusion over reality . . . the fast buck over the sweaty nickel."

I've been a fan of Codrescu for years through his spoken word bits he's done on National Public Radio (NPR). This is a collection of essays that he's written over a twenty year period about his adopted city of New Orleans, and it is a marvelous read. Codrescu's humor and insight are always sharp, and ordering this collection in this way allows the reader to follow his love affair with the city as it evolves from an initial infatuation to a deep and abiding love (the good and the bad), with the dark, unhappy moments that come with the package. Codrescu sees more from a coffee shop window than most of us can see in a year of observing our own neighborhood. Knowing about hurricane Katrina and post-Katrina New Orleans only serves to make many of his early observations even more relevant and powerful. Codrescu's essays reveal an ever-present awareness, likely shared by his neighbors, that the City was living on the edge of disaster.

I normally recommend reading collections like this in bits and pieces, and, certainly, one could do that, but the coherency of this anthology is so striking that I'd suggest taking it all in as you would a memoir or biography - a memoir is what this anthology turns out to be.½

This is one of my favourite books. I have read it at least three times over the years. I enjoy it every time I read it.

In 1947 Louis Armstrong posited the musical question, “Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?” Sixty years later, this chestnut has taken on a whole new meaning, and (if you have any kind of heart at all) has a tendency to stick in the throat. This collection of mostly short musings in, around, and about the Crescent City finds Transylvanian transplant Andrei Codrescu in his cups and in his element and shows us exactly what it should mean.

You might think that the Deep South would be an odd choice of pot for a former Eastern Bloc no-goodnik to replant himself in, but with further contemplation, it does make sense. First of all, there is the vampire connection, a Bohemian sense of empire gone to dangerous seed, and a certain resigned patience that someone familiar with Soviet-style can-do attitude might recognize and respond to (eventually) in the low-gear stifling heat.

Arriving in town in 1985, Codrescu wasted no time in surrounding himself with like-minded writers, artists, and miscreants which all make for an entertaining read as they play out their fantastical roles on a rotting, vibrantly-colored stage. There is a bracingly abrupt pause between Codrescu’s description of a burgeoning art scene and the arrival of Hurricane Katrina. Most of this book is concerned with the years between 1985 and 2005, but there is an epilogue chillingly entitled, poetry will not end with the world.

“It’s heartbreaking watching my city sink,” Codrescu writes. “New Orleans will be rebuilt, but it will never again be the city I know and love.” After an entire book taken up showing us what we were missing, Codrescu unwittingly showed the world exactly what it should miss.

I stopped reading this book about halfway through, irritated by the personality of the professor which overpowers the many anecdotes of poets and poetry he recounts. His passion for poetry is completely tied up with his own inflated ego - the former suffers because of the latter. I refer the reader further to a terrific review here on the book's page by LT member Anthony Willard who describes very well my thoughts on the book. It seems Mr. Willard has more patience than I.

Very short book, an imaginative account of a poetry class taught by the author, full of humorous, philosophical, and imaginative asides and ruminations about poetry, teaching, young people, postmodernism, among other topics. Lots of name-dropping and accounts of meetings with famous poets, mainly of thirty to fifty years ago. This is an entertaining essay with some illuminating literary insights, but the tone is so arch and the attitude so self-indulgent that it is hard to give the author's opinions much credence. To me, it was worth the read for the humor and the introduction to some poets I did not know about (e.g. Paul Blackburn). Lots of more or less vulgar sexual humor at the expense of the students was bearable but not so funny. It merely added to the overall portrayal of Poet as Smartass.

About the best literary journal out there. Great writers, poets, editors, interviews...a cornucopia of literary delight. There's a special, insightful interview between Gerald Nicosia and Jan Kerouac which alone qualifies this as a "Must Read."

Codrescu is mad in the best possible way. He is erudite, funny, an interesting historian, an inspired poet, and ultimately a philosopher. Read this book before it is too late!½

I adored this book. The Bathory of this novel is more human than any interpretation that I have seen or read. Her crimes are still moral and physically disgusting but there is a psychology around it it that no other author has been able to explain reasonably. This book made me feel for Elizabeth as a woman, rather than a monster. The book explores more of her earlier life rather than later years. It was simply fascinating and very well written.

I thought this was a very interesting story. The notion of a woman being so cruel to other women intrigued me. I "found out" about the Countess from a History Channel show about vampires. I did a little research and came across this book. I found the story a lot less dramatic in the book than it was in the TV show! It was richly written but the flashforwards to the court hearing were a little *off*. I thought the end was pretty cheesey too. All in all I liked the book and would probably read it again.