Love is Strange

Last night was the inaugural New Yorker Speakeasy, a new series of literary cabaret nights sponsored by the magazine. Given the date, the theme was "Love is Strange." I'm not so sure love was strange last night, so much as intellectualized and neuroticized to the point of no return. Luckily, that's the kind of love I have tons of experience with, so I had a great time.

There was about an hour between when the doors opened and when the festivities started, so Miranda, Jacob, and I amused ourselves with questions like, "Does Sasha Frere-Jones get paid in iTunes giftcards?" and "Who would win in a fight--David Byrne or Gabriel Byrne?" (2 to 1 for Gabriel Byrne, unless the fight takes place in "David Byrne reality.")

The first act was a reading of the most risque story in New Yorker history: "Alma," by Junot Diaz. The magazine's fiction editor claimed that the story's publication marked the first time people canceled subscriptions due to sexual content--no mean feat, in 80+ years. I remember reading the story last year, enjoying it as a piece by a rising modern author, and not thinking too much about the graphic (but well-written!) sex stuff. I guess that's probably more of a reflection on my lack of boundaries or morals or whatever than of the magazine's readership in general. The actor reading it, Victor Rasuk, was charming and energetic enough to pull it off without any of the audience storming out in a huff, and running home to cancel their subscriptions.

Next came a mini-panel on writing and reading about love in fiction (not to be confused with erotimance, by the way). For what is a New Yorker event without a panel? This one had authors Karen Russell and Jeffrey Eugenides picking their favorite love stories from My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead: Great Love Stories from Chekov to Munro (copies of which had been left on our chairs beforehand). Russell's selection was from "We Didn't," a sweet, straightforward piece about teenage fumblings. Eugenides's pick was a little less fun, about the domestic ins and outs of bringing your life partner to a holiday dinner.

Then it was audio-visual time: Richard Brody, the ever-controversial David Denby, and David Remnick all picked their favorite love scenes from movies (In Praise of Love, The Big Sleep, and--strangely enough--Duck Soup).

While the event space was dark for movie time, and Miranda was being hit with the revelation that Bogey and Bacall weren't really talking about horses, Bonafide Celebrity Gabriel Byrne snuck in and sat down a few rows ahead of us. He was the penultimate segment of the night's entertainment. He got up on stage, and instead of launching right into his promised reading of Dylan Thomas's love letters, started telling a story from his own past. A story of lust, loss, and miniskirts in 1960s Dublin. It was rambly but sweet. The letter from Dylan Thomas to his wife was similarly rambly, but less sweet, when you consider that he was drinking himself to death at the time.

The big finale came in the form of Grizzly Bear--a Brooklyn-based indie band which sounds exactly like a Brooklyn-based indie band (complete with skinny jeans, natch), but who reduced Sasha Frere-Jones to gushing openly during their intro. Their set was okay enough, but the best part was a re-imagined version of Jojo's classic "Too Little Too Late" (provided here for Jacob, who swears he hasn't heard the song before).



Anyway, it was a fun evening--love-ish without being saccharine, sexy without being cheap. Cocktails and wit are definitely the way to go on Valentine's Day. I think Dorothy Parker would have been proud.