Year: 2006

There’s never been anything flashy about Alice Munro’s fiction, but she is unrivaled when it comes to sifting through seemingly quiet, parochial lives and uncovering, through small, precise details and close character study, the universal undertow.ne standing the title of greatest living short-story w In fact, her greatness has been proclaimed so often that saying anything more runs the risk of seeming like mere dust-jacket hyperbole. We will suggest this, though: Arrange a cage match between Munro and William Trevor, then award the last oriter in the English language. Pretty much everybody else you might mention in the same breath belongs on the undercard. On the other hand, the field might open up, since word is that Munro’s contemplating retirement—which would make the New Yorker’s fiction section even more of a crapshoot than it already is.

Famously reclusive, elusive, and allusive, Thomas Pynchon is the closest thing the American literary scene has to a mythical being (not counting such literally mythical characters as JT LeRoy and maybe Danielle Steel). It remains a marvel that in the age of the Smoking Gun, the guy has so successfully guarded his privacy, but it’s even more of a marvel that he keeps producing fat, dense, head-thumping novels that deliver challenges and gratification in almost direct proportion. Pynchon’s latest—coming almost ten years after the stupendous, 784-page Mason & Dixon—checks in at 1,120 pages, and according to the author’s own description, “the sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.” In other words, Against the Day is a typical Pynchon novel.

“Success breeds interest,” says Special Agent Robert Wittman of the FBI’s Art Crime Team by way of pointing out that that since 2004, the agency has recovered some 750 artworks worth more than $60 million. That means, of course, that art thieves are flourishing as well. And while their line of work might seem glamorously elite, the international black market for art is, in fact, surprisingly large and prosperous, ranking right up there with drugs, guns, and wildlife. That partly explains why Wittman, the senior investigator for the team, keeps such a busy lecture schedule, educating both art world insiders and layfolk on the issue. Despite that public profile, he still often works undercover and thus isn’t allowed to be photographed. Last year, in Copenhagen, he arranged the purchase—and then arrested the sellers—of a stolen Rembrandt self-portrait worth $36 million. Other highlights of Wittman’s eighteen-year FBI career include tracking down ancient golden body armor in Peru, recovering purloined Norman Rockwell paintings at a farmhouse in Brazil, and locating one of the fourteen original copies of the Bill of Rights, which had been stolen by a Union soldier during the Civil War.

The FBI’s Art Crime Team is only a couple years old. How did it come to be?

There was always a lot of interest in this area, since the numbers of stolen artworks and their dollar value is so huge. But especially after the thefts at the National Museum of Iraq in 2003, there was a lot of understanding about why it was important to do this. So we started with eight agents in 2004, and we have twelve now. We’ve worked in a number of countries: Denmark, Sweden, Germany, Japan, Ecuador … it’s really a worldwide endeavor.

But the FBI is a U. S. agency. Is there resistance from people who don’t believe in using U. S. resources to help other
countries with their art thefts?

Not really, because it works both ways. Take the case of those five Norman Rockwell paintings that were stolen from a gallery in Minneapolis in the late 1970s. We recovered two of them in 2000 through a dealer, and in 2001, the last three were recovered at a farmhouse in Brazil. That was done with the help of Brazilian authorities; we set up a mutual legal-assistance treaty request with them, which we didn’t have before. So just as we recover art for other countries, they help us as well.

How did Norman Rockwell paintings end up in a Brazilian farmhouse?

The house was owned by a dealer who bought the Rockwells. He was trying to sell them, so he contacted the Norman Rockwell Museum up in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. That was when he found out they were stolen.

So does someone who turns out to have bought stolen paintings just take his loss, or can he demand his money back from the person who sold them to him?

Tracing the chain of sales can be complicated. Sometimes people can try to get their money back. But more important, this shows why you have to know whom you’re buying from, to know you’re dealing with someone who’s reputable, who has good title to the work.

Famous paintings make the news when they’re stolen, but the FBI’s National Stolen Art File includes everything from books and musical instruments to stamps and weapons. What types of art are the most common—or vulnerable—targets? And how do you decide which cases are worth taking on?

There is no specific category. Famous paintings are just a tiny proportion of what’s stolen. Most of the material is taken from people’s homes, and most of it is valued at less than $10,000—but it’s still very important to these people. A lot of material is stolen from private galleries, too.

Once a thief has a painting, how does he find someone interested in buying it?

It depends on the circumstance of the crime. A lot of art theft is tied up with other criminal enterprises, like drugs and guns; art is just one of their operations. Then you’ve got people who exclusively steal art, and from there you might have someone who is just interested in antique maps. There’s a number of different psyches that we deal with, too. Art thieves are different from car thieves or bank robbers in that there is often some emotional involvement in the artwork—you might have someone who only steals Renoirs because he’s got some affinity for that work. But there’s always some motivation involving value, too.

Amy Sedaris has a number of guises, many of which are familiar through the stories her brother, David, tells on NPR’s This American Life and in his books. Together, the siblings have written and performed plays as The Talent Family. Then there’s her notorious Jerri Blank character, the crack-whore-turned-high-school student in the Comedy Central series and film, Strangers with Candy; her roles on Just Shoot Me, My Name is Earl, and Sex and the City; and her memorably odd appearances on Late Night with David Letterman. Sedaris insists, however, that she is not an actress but rather a clown—which explains her penchant for donning costumes, wigs, and fat suits when throwing her real-life dinner parties.

In fact, Sedaris enjoys entertaining so much that she’s written a book about it. Though I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence is billed as “an entertaining book on entertaining,” it’s no joke. “I don’t like joke cookbooks, because I can’t take them seriously,” Sedaris has said. Indeed, the book offers up hundreds of real recipes, tips, and craft projects, copiously illustrated with drawings and photos. Its creator just happens to be a wacky hybrid of Martha Stewart and Cindy Sherman, someone who works in a fantasy kitchen envisioned by an eight-year-old girl in the 60s. A ceramic squirrel keeps watch over a pumpkin pie, hamburgers wear smiley faces made from olives on their buns, and the spreads are laid out on an impressive array of vintage tablecloths. “All the props in the photographs are mine,” Sedaris said. “I hired a team of friends, and we made certain crafts and prepared certain foods … We did it all in my apartment in the summer—that’s why the cakes are melting.” A self-contained universe, the book strikes a balance between comically surreal and delightfully authentic.

Besides entertaining, Sedaris’ very favorite thing to do is spend time alone. This makes her the perfect candidate for a trip to our desert island. She can enjoy the solitude, and also plan elaborate parties—perhaps co-hosting them with Ricky, the imaginary boyfriend she lived with for fourteen years. Despite her vivid imagination, it appears from the list of items she’d take to the island that Sedaris is, ultimately, quite a practical woman:

1) Tanning lotion. I’ll want to work on my tan the right way so when someone saves me, I’ll look good for the camera.

2) Tampons. Need I explain? I’m not a “sponge” girl—island or no island.

3) All my old Girl Scout books, so I can read about things like how to make a fire and create your own clothesline.

4) Marijuana. Because I like it and would be able to escape; and there might not be a dealer on the island.

5) John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, because I could never get past that page about the turtle in the road; it was endless. I read all his books in high school, but that’s the only one I couldn’t finish, and I know it’s great.

Amy Sedaris appears with Mary Lucia at the Fitzgerald Theater November 15 as part of The Current Fakebook, a lecture and music series sponsored by Minnesota Public Radio. 651-290-1221; www.mpr.org/events