Renowned Italian novelist Antonio Tabucchi died last night of cancer at his home in Lisbon at the age of 68. Tabucchi, who has been in the running several times as a possible Nobel Prize contender, is the author of more than two dozen books, seven of which have been translated into English. His most famous novel is 1994’s Pereira Declares, about the struggle against fascism in Portugal. Read an excerpt of Tabucchi's 1997 novel The Missing Head here.
Jeanettte Winterson explains what she calls the “asymmetrical” literary judgment between men and women: “If Henry Miller writes Tropic of Cancer and calls the hero ‘Henry Miller,’ he’s still allowed to say these are novels, and none of the guys question it. Because a man is allowed to be bigger. A woman isn’t. She can only possibly talk about herself.”
An experimental theater collective in Queens is staging a tribute to David Foster Wallace entited “A (radically condensed and expanded) SUPPOSEDLY FUN THING I’LL NEVER DO AGAIN.”
New Yorkers: If you’re free tonight, go hear Susanne Kippenberger discuss her brother, German artist Martin Kippenberger, and her acclaimed biography about him, Kippenberger: The Artist and His Families (2012), at the Goethe Institut.
Brent Easton Ellis is planning his next micro-budget movie about "youth, glamour, sex and Los Angeles, circa 2012,” largely through Facebook. With the help of screenwriter Paul Shraeder (who worked on Taxi Driver and The Comfort of Strangers), producers are casting the two male and two female leads exclusively through online searches, which has led to “unexpected interpretations of the characters,” Shraeder wrote in a Facebook post. The Canyons is set to start shooting in early July in Los Angeles.
And in other Brent Easton Ellis news, the American Psycho author calls Jeff Ragsdale’s One Lonely Guy “the most powerful reading experience I've had in the last year,” describing it as “a new art form.”
When Steve Almond was in his twenties and depressed, he didn’t go to therapy—instead, he got an MFA in writing. Decades later, he suggests that many writers are doing the same, and “that literary endeavor has supplanted therapy as our dominant mode of personal investigation.”
The New York Times Style section profiles the nightlife and times of Salman Rushdie.