Zadie Smith's latest collection of essays, Dead and Alive, offers a thought-provoking exploration of our anxious age, tackling topics from social media to the politics of creativity. In these pieces, Smith masterfully distills complex ideas into accessible language, yet often struggles with the vernacular of younger generations.
One of the most striking aspects of her work is its ability to evoke a sense of disconnection, particularly in her observations on how childhood memories have given way to the "anxious, permanent now" of social media. In this era where our online presence is ever-present, even Smith herself feels alienated from her own experiences.
Smith's critiques of cultural commentary are biting and insightful, yet often marred by an awkward tendency to invoke youthful slang, which can feel like a contrived attempt to appear hip. Her identification with the protagonist of Todd Field's Tár serves as a powerful metaphor for existential anxiety, but some readers may find her self-pity tinged with elitism.
When it comes to discussing cultural appropriation and identity, Smith strikes a sensible middle ground, advocating for minority artists to be allowed "to make work without shame." Her emphasis on the complexity of human relationships is a welcome respite from the reductive pieties that often dominate the cultural conversation.
In her thoughtful analysis of James Baldwin's writing process, Smith reminds us that creativity is about submitting oneself to one's consciousness and then exploring what that might mean for our conscience. This advice is beyond reproach, though some readers may find it slightly commonsensical.
However, when it comes to actual politics, Smith's positions are less assured. Her 2024 New Yorker op-ed on the war in Gaza was criticized for being equivocal, and she has since added her signature to an open letter acknowledging Israel's actions as genocidal. This episode raises questions about Smith's ability to navigate complex issues with precision.
In a broader sense, Smith's nostalgia for analogue-era television is poignant, yet feels like a nostalgic fantasy in the age of algorithms. Her assertion that stories have value over soundbites feels like an article of faith, and one that may be difficult to reconcile with our current reality.
Ultimately, Dead and Alive feels like a book by Zadie Smith – both brilliant and flawed, with moments of stunning insight and awkward missteps. As we navigate the complexities of our anxious age, her essays offer a thought-provoking exploration of what it means to be alive in this moment.
One of the most striking aspects of her work is its ability to evoke a sense of disconnection, particularly in her observations on how childhood memories have given way to the "anxious, permanent now" of social media. In this era where our online presence is ever-present, even Smith herself feels alienated from her own experiences.
Smith's critiques of cultural commentary are biting and insightful, yet often marred by an awkward tendency to invoke youthful slang, which can feel like a contrived attempt to appear hip. Her identification with the protagonist of Todd Field's Tár serves as a powerful metaphor for existential anxiety, but some readers may find her self-pity tinged with elitism.
When it comes to discussing cultural appropriation and identity, Smith strikes a sensible middle ground, advocating for minority artists to be allowed "to make work without shame." Her emphasis on the complexity of human relationships is a welcome respite from the reductive pieties that often dominate the cultural conversation.
In her thoughtful analysis of James Baldwin's writing process, Smith reminds us that creativity is about submitting oneself to one's consciousness and then exploring what that might mean for our conscience. This advice is beyond reproach, though some readers may find it slightly commonsensical.
However, when it comes to actual politics, Smith's positions are less assured. Her 2024 New Yorker op-ed on the war in Gaza was criticized for being equivocal, and she has since added her signature to an open letter acknowledging Israel's actions as genocidal. This episode raises questions about Smith's ability to navigate complex issues with precision.
In a broader sense, Smith's nostalgia for analogue-era television is poignant, yet feels like a nostalgic fantasy in the age of algorithms. Her assertion that stories have value over soundbites feels like an article of faith, and one that may be difficult to reconcile with our current reality.
Ultimately, Dead and Alive feels like a book by Zadie Smith – both brilliant and flawed, with moments of stunning insight and awkward missteps. As we navigate the complexities of our anxious age, her essays offer a thought-provoking exploration of what it means to be alive in this moment.