Young and Beautiful
Most 24-year-old New Yorkers are putting up with the indignity of shared bathrooms and subdivided living spaces converted into pseudo-bedrooms with pressurized walls.
But not Sophie Auster, whose lit-star dad Paul bought her a one-bedroom condo when she was a senior at Sarah Lawrence.
During an extended tour of Ms. Auster’ amazing condo, the budding chanteuse reveals to the Post that daddy dearest, who lives in a regal Park Slope brownstone, had considered purchasing a Paris pied-a-terre. But when the economy began to hiccup in 2008, Mr. Auster dropped the idea of a pad in the city that fostered his early literary life, opting instead to buy his daughter a place in Hudson Square.
“They thought, well, if we’re going to invest money in some place, we might as well invest it in a place for our child to live while she is trying to do what she wants to do,” Ms. Auster told the Post.
The married Brooklyn authors Paul Auster and Siri Hustvedt have ensured they will remain in Brooklyn together in perpetuity. Vanishing New York reports on their recent purchase of twin plots in Green-Wood Cemetery, where Mr. Auster gave a reading in the cemetery chapel to coincide with the announcement of their purchase.
Always intriguing and never less than polished or self-assured, Charlotte Rampling is an actress of great dignity and sloe-eyed reserve worthy of her own documentary, and as she ages gracefully, she just ages gracefully and keeps getting better. Those almond-shape, sea green eyes reflect the chlorophyll of life as she sees it. But they can turn gray as dirty rain when her animal instinct and querulous intelligence sense there’s something rotten in Denmark. Her photos are rarely air-brushed, her skin is almost never cosmetically enhanced. At 65, she’s aging like Jeanne Moreau—lines and dewlaps intact, her mouth a slash of pale sensuality untouched by lipstick. No wonder the British-born, multilingual star of so many varied and controversial film classics is often labeled provocative and sexual. I used to see her every year in Cannes, promoting everything from dark, disturbing dramas (Luchino Visconti’s The Damned, Liliana Cavani’s The Night Porter) to randy comedies such as The Knack and Georgy Girl. I found her friendly and intense, but difficult to access. She’s never been a touchy-feely cream puff. Now, after seeing the personal but emotionally chilly documentary Charlotte Rampling: The Look, I know why.
While you were at the beach this weekend, Gay and Nan Talese moved out of their summer house in Ocean City, New Jersey to join Graydon Carter in Roxbury, Connecticut.
More from Publisher’s Weekly on Robert Weil’s new imprint at Norton, Liveright & Company (see our article from last week, Read More
A funny thing happened during Granta’s B.E.A. panel on the state of American writing on Friday, when a woman from the audience asked Paul Auster whether it was his idea to turn Timbuktu, a novella he published in 1999, into a children’s book.
For a moment, Mr. Auster looked at the questioner Read More
“I think this year is just a freak year,” said the writer Salman Rushdie, during a wine-and-cheese reception at the Instituto Cervantes on Wednesday, March 25, to announce the lineup for next month’s fifth annual PEN World Voices Festival, “when just to be able to do it at all is an achievement—and Read More
On Friday, April 25, Redbelt, a riveting David Mamet cops-and-con-men drama set in the world of professional jujitsu, premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival. The cool table at the after-party, held at the Honey nightclub on West 14th Street, included Mr. Mamet and his wife, actress and chanteuse Rebecca Pidgeon; author Salman Rushdie; the actors Read More
Leafing through the catalog accompanying Two Rediscovered Masterpieces of Italian Renaissance Art: Domenico di Michelino and Tintoretto, one of two exhibitions of Italian Renaissance art at the Salander-O’Reilly Galleries, my eye caught on a blunt and striking sentence: “Tintoretto had enormous eyes.”
It appears in an essay by the art historian William Hood. Mr. Hood Read More
Oracle Night , by Paul Auster. Henry Holt, 243 pages, $23.
Remember the moment early on in The Great Gatsby when Daisy tells Nick how cynical she’s become? “Sophisticated,” she says, “God, I’m sophisticated!” Nick doesn’t buy it: “The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt Read More
Bendel up, kids! Is it just us, or does increasingly waxen Playboy founder Hugh Hefner and his league of Bunny friends have a “retrospective,” oh, about every four minutes? Henri Bendel , a swish department store in midtown that we can’t afford, thank you very much ( where is our Christmas bonus? Read More