Marvelous Malcolm

Is Janet Malcolm the greatest American writer alive?

I sometimes think so.

No, I don't think Malcolm has ever produced anything as interesting as, say, My Life as a Man or American Pastoral. But if you look at Philip Roth's last three books, they look like a stab at former glory rather than something original and relevant. The themes seem slightly stale. The writing is a lot flabbier than it used to be.

The same could probably be said of Toni Morrison and E.L. Doctorow and many of our other great writers. It's not their fault; sometimes you've said what you needed to say.

But there are a few writers who seem to get better with age. And if you look at Malcolm's piece in the New Yorker this week (subscription required) about the trial of Mazoltuv Borukhova, you see a writer whose talents have not diminished at all. If anything, they've gotten stronger.

I realize, it's a little unfair bunching these writers in together. Fiction is a very different animal than journalism. But when the voice is as good as Malcolm's (when what she has to say feels so urgent and exciting) it's irresistible pairing the two.

The Borukhova trial, in case you haven't heard about it, was a case of a Queens doctor and Orthodox Bukharan Jew, who was accused of having her husband murdered in order to get custody of their four year old daughter.

After reading the piece, I still have no idea if the woman was innocent or guilty. I have no idea whether her husband was a monster or a saint. But I certainly think it's possible that she's innocent. It's very possible that she's guilty -- but her husband deserved it. And I can also see it as an instance in which every accusation leveled against Borukhova is correct, and that she's where she ought to be.

But whether she's innocent or guilty, it also seems obvious to me that she did not have a fair trial.

And the innocence or guilt in this case seem besides the point. What Malcolm does which is so remarkable is her unpacking of everything that happens in a trial; she goes through the motions of a trial -- its expectations, its theater, its players -- with such an eye for detail that she really makes you rethink everything. Every action deserves second guessing. Every actor is slightly different than you thought he or she was.

What Malcolm's doing is what a great artist like Roth or Morrison or Doctorow is supposed to do: She's offering a different perspective.

It really is a treat. Hats off to you, Miss Malcolm. I will always remain a devoted follower!

I'll be eating a steak with Janet Malcolm, thank you very much...

Perpetual attention seeker, Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, is featured in a New York Times article today about his new found veganism (and subsequent book).

If you've never heard of Masson, he was the subject of Janet Malcolm's truly great book (and possibly the greatest book ever written about psychoanalysts and what nuts they are) In The Freud Archives.

The article seemed a little bit of a waste of prime Times real estate, quite frankly. But I was slightly stunned at something: Masson was first a vegetarian, then a meat eater, now a vegan. But the thing that made him a non-vegetarian as a young adult was... (wait for it)... a can of tuna fish?!

Ugh! Woof! (For my thoughts on tuna, one should buy my book From Schlub to Stud. Barf!)

Now Masson's gone in the other direction entirely: full fledged vegan. (Although not as extreme as some vegans I know. I once lived with a woman in London who told me, with a straight face, that "There's a holocaust happening against cows.")

What's interesting about this, is that if you read the Janet Malcolm book, you know that Masson is a perpetually manic person. He started out as a sanskrit scholar, then switched to psychology. He embraced Freudianism fully, then he sought to destroy it. He clearly had feelings of affection for Malcolm, then tried to sue the pants off her. (The lawsuit, if memory serves, was a lot more complicated than would seem from today's article.)

This can be a very charming quality... until it's not. A quality of waxing and waning interests. And that's how he came off in the Malcolm book.

I sort of can understand why Masson was furious with Malcolm; not only can it be a non-charming quality, it can also be extremely pretentious and arrogant. (Which is how ITFA reads.) But somehow, I think after reading this Times article I come off with even more faith in Malcolm's account, thanks to this little nugget:

Masson and the author, Eric Konigsberg, are dining at a vegetarian restaurant where Masson "chatted with every member of the staff who came near, including a busboy he addressed in Spanish until the young man told him he was actually from Nepal. Mr. Masson began serenading him with the Bhagavad-Gita."