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<\/figure>\n\n\n\nIn Brighton, England, as I write this, I can still almost hear the heartbeat of that church bell, and the sounds of voices, uncannily clear, rising up from the plain below the village. I can see the sculpture of the lion outside the church, poised as always on his wall, between stony stillness and animal wildness. I can almost taste again the best peach I have ever known, offered to me straight off the tree. There are few weights more pleasurable in the palm of one\u2019s hand than a fresh, ripe peach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In my mind\u2019s eye, in the village shop, I am offered again my first morsel of pecorino toscano cheese. The people of Pari nod to me, smile, gesture and proffer greetings. The scents of herbs and blossom, heated by the morning sun, waft in my wake. I am touched again by the human-scale loveliness of claypot roofs; by the golden veil of late afternoon light as it drops outside the Palazzo; by balmy nights of music, chat and dance outside the seemingly eternal caf\u00e9-bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Other memories blow in like blossom. I recall the luxury of Maureen\u2019s nasturtium fritters; the pleasure of watching children play freely everywhere inside the village walls\u2014the village is their turf, above all. I am honoured to be shown Olinta\u2019s olive press by Olinta herself, although we hardly understood a word the other says. I am cheered again by the tidy vision of small bin-bags hanging from the village walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Something elemental\u2014something beyond language\u2014governs Pari, and, whether citizen or visitor, we pass through, its subjects only. What is the knowledge of those ancient, round-shouldered hills? Who is to say? But it speaks itself in brooding woodlands and umber fields; in the glow of fireflies on night walks; in the ancient stones, slick underfoot, as I dash through the village in the rain.Medieval 21st<\/sup> century Pari can, like any oxymoron, take me by happy surprise. Two summers ago, I watched, fascinated, as a drone zipped back-and-forth over the Palazzo. My eye was on it, amused, and perhaps its eye was on me too. That same summer, I grinned, astonished and delighted one night, to see the exuberance of an impromptu, American-style country line-dance in the piazza.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pari comes in a flux: of images, memories, ideas, delights, meetings, misadventures, reunions, laughter, sonorous debates, stories told, and fly-away threads of old gossip. When I think of the intimate roads and shortcuts through the village, I think of strange encounters, marvellous meetings, individuals preferably avoided, and wondrous sights: a woman\u2019s eye infection relieved, apparently, by milk squeezed from another woman\u2019s breast as I looked on outside the caf\u00e9-bar; a harvest moon rising, a huge golden platter, above the church tower; a sweet girl\u2014Arianna\u2019s\u2014oddly good, Picasso-like drawing of me one day, which was wondrous because, as Picasso himself said, \u2018It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n And always, there is the immediate sense of freedom as one arrives on that hilltop and is received once again in the curving stone embrace of the village\u2019s low perimeter wall. Pari seems\u2014quietly and unassumingly\u2014to \u2018hold\u2019 a person, as naturally as a vessel holds spring water, or\u2014to draw on one of David Peat\u2019s fond images\u2014as naturally as the fabled alembic holds its transforming metals. Paradoxically, this vessel of a village also feels, simultaneously, like a clearing, an open and unfettered space in which to walk, dash, taste, laugh, ponder, chat, look, daydream, read, be curious, be idle, and invite new ideas and connections to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Perhaps the defining image of Pari as a place for me is \u2018the good table.\u2019 One is well fed<\/em>, both literally and figuratively, in Pari. First and always, I think of Maureen and David\u2019s generous table, in their former home where I was first received that evening twenty years ago; where, on subsequent visits, I enjoyed some of the best meals and most absorbing conversations of my life; where, as the wine was poured and more courses served, ideas, laughter and plans sparked, firefly-like, between those gathered around it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I think, too, of the great conference table around which my first course at the Pari Centre took place. I can still hear David\u2019s voice as he shared, across that table, his knowledge of Bohm, the Blackfoot, Bohr, C\u00e9zanne and Pauli\u2014a voice which was fast-speaking, resonant, humble, and always tumbling forward with ideas, curiosity, levity, directness, questions, and through it all, a certain quality of boyish excitement, which I admired above all. David\u2019s words and thoughts seemed to vibrate within the massive stone walls of the Center like humming bees in a hive as we, his students, jotted in our notepads, catching the honey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, when I think of the tables of Pari, I think of the ordinary tables outside the caf\u00e9-bar; of the late-night Sambuca and early-morning black coffees served there; of the countless meetings which have spontaneously arranged themselves across those tabletops; of the hand-signing across languages, and the conversational digressions and detours into the fabric of the universe, the nature of consciousness, the power of art, or simply and happily, talk of the latest plan to walk down the hill to the terme<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Such conversations, discussions, debates and disagreements have often developed, very naturally, alongside televised football matches inside the bar. When a goal is scored, and the roars go up, in triumph or despair, the conversationalists at the tables outside are reminded that, sometimes, nothing matters so much as the precision and force of a foot on a ball. Pari grounds everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A thousand miles away, when I imagine those tables now, I see past and future meals shared, bread broken, bean soup enjoyed, flirtations ventured, friendships forged, exchanges heated, addresses scribbled, languages attempted, wanderers at rest, new babies bounced, and lost souls moored.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I first travelled to Pari in 2001, I think, for a short course with David in the Center. I was researching my second novel, The Wave Theory of Angels<\/em>, and I had been reading a variety of physicists for three or four years by that point\u2014Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, James Jeans, Brian Greene, Richard Feynman, Danah Zohar, Michio Kaku, Edward Witten, (mathematician) Roger Penrose, and many others. I was determined to \u2018check the wiring\u2019 of my own knowledge of what was still, then, dubbed \u2018the new physics,\u2019 and to hone my understanding before I completed the first major draft of my book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted, above all, to ensure that a working physicist could, in principle, read my novel and not cringe, smirk or feel I was lazily importing ideas from her or his field into my story. I wanted to ensure I had not appropriated concepts in any hazy or \u2018flaky\u2019 manner. I knew that was a common complaint from many working in the field of quantum theory and quantum mechanics. Many lay-people were inclined to use the discoveries of quantum phenomena to prove everything from auras to angels to time travel. I did not want to be one of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a 17-year-old, I had received the physics award for my school, but my studies in those years were solidly Newtonian in their foundation\u2014all macro, in other words\u2014and I wanted to find \u2018entry points\u2019 into the micro, and specifically, the sub-atomic. As part of my early research, before I had ever heard of Pari, I flew to Chicago, primarily to visit Fermilab, the American particle physics and accelerator laboratory. One of my major characters, in a modern-day plotline, is a physicist based at Fermilab. His medieval counterpart, in a parallel 13th<\/sup>-century storyline, is an \u2018Imaginator,\u2019 one of the class of sculptors employed by the Church to create the sacred images of a cathedral\u2019s interiors in the Gothic period.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For my medieval character\u2019s \u2018stage\u2019 and milieu, I chose the little-known, \u2018high Gothic\u2019 cathedral of Beauvais, France\u2014hardly known at all because its highest vault collapsed before the cathedral was ever completed. I had already been to the site in Picardy and had seen the remains of the walls and foundation of the 13th<\/sup>-century cathedral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some time afterward, I set out for Fermilab, to get a look at the place that was to be vital to my modern-day storyline. CERN certainly would have been an easier and less expensive research trip for me from the UK, but I had grown up partly in Michigan, next to Illinois, and I felt I could write an American\/Anglo setting far more readily than a Swiss community and landscape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At that time, circa 1997, Fermilab\u2019s online presence was minimal. I\u2019d seen only a photo or diagram of a particle accelerator. I had copied down the bits of bare text offered about the work of the team at Fermilab. I had little else to go on. I was informed, when I phoned, that I would find educational guides upon arrival. No guided tours were offered in the winter. My heart sank. I started to wonder if I had made a mistake in booking such an expensive flight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On entering the sky-lit, towering main building of Fermilab\u2014at last\u2014I picked up a welcome leaflet at the front desk and experienced one of those strangely charged moments, the sort of moment which a friend of mine describes as \u2018benedictions\u2019; that\u2019s to say, a quietly powerful moment of seemingly impossible connection, a moment which seems to say\u2014in the midst of a major, all-absorbing, even labyrinthine project\u2014that you are in fact on the right path, whatever the evidence to the contrary, and \u2018Keep going.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I read and re-read the words in the leaflet, blinking: the design of the main building of Fermilab\u2014the building in which I stood that stark winter\u2019s day in late December\u2014was based, the leaflet explained, on the plans for a little-known French cathedral, the site of which the Fermilab architect had once visited in his youth and had been inspired by: Beauvais <\/em>Cathedral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I must have stood there in the empty front hall, looking perplexed and amazed all at once. What were the chances? Of all the cathedrals in France\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n The close physical\u2014and in some sense, conceptual or perhaps even spiritual (as in, \u2018spirit-of-place\u2019)\u2014relationship between Fermilab and the barely existent Beauvais Cathedral was nothing I could have known when I chose my two major \u2018landscapes\u2019 for my book. I had considered dozens and dozens of French cathedrals for my medieval storyline\u2019s vital location before I came across a single bald reference to a cathedral which had fallen down in out-of-the-way Picardy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the days that followed, I took down every note I could find about that cathedral ruin\u2014there weren\u2019t many. Yet for reasons I didn\u2019t understand, and equally, for reasons I trusted instictively, I knew, before I travelled anywhere, that the twin \u2018poles\u2019 of my novel would be that<\/em> physics lab and that<\/em>cathedral. When I picked up the leaflet in the empty, glass-lit foyer of Fermilab and read the words \u2018Beauvais Cathedral,\u2019 I had to take a seat on a nearby bench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Creative labours\u2014and scientific ones, too, I suspect\u2014come shiningly to life in such moments, as do, I believe, the great relationships and connections of our lives. I myself am not partial to over-thinking them, or to treating them as anything other than a part of the natural fabric of our lives. I believe one should recognise them, offer up some form of thanks, and honour them, in whatever way possible, be it a smile of recognition, or a committed\u2014even devotional\u2014act of real-world work. As a writer, I feel somehow accompanied<\/em> in such moments, in the long labour of a major work, but by what exactly, I\u2019m not entirely sure. I don\u2019t need to know, in fact. I simply know to trust, and always have. Each of my novels and most of my stories have depended on these disarmingly wondrous\u2014and giving<\/em>\u2014 \u2018coincidences.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few years after my visit to Fermilab, after I felt I\u2019d done all the groundwork of physics study I could manage on my own, David was precisely the person and educator I needed for my questions and \u2018wiring-checks.\u2019 He was expert in his field and open to fresh thought about it. He was rigorous in his explanations, but unusually encouraging of dialogue. He loved to talk, and was also sometimes lost\u2014as everyone should be at times\u2014in his own thoughts. He was a physicist and<\/em> a writer, married to a writer and literary editor who shared my fondness for certain Modernist writers especially. I was, in other words, in the right place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I warmed immediately to David and Maureen for their warmth and for the mischief in their thinking, expressed differently by each, but a part of the remarkable bond between them, it seemed to me. Their laughter and ironical eye on the world fuelled their capacity, as a couple, for daring and risk-taking; for not toeing the orthodox line; for determining the shapes of their lives as few others are brave enough to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I also admired the fact that their feet were planted solidly on terra firma<\/em>, and that they had given their vision an entirely practical form: the solid, stone-walled, high-ceilinged \u2018Pari Center\u2019 in the Palazzo of their adopted village. I am inspired by their example as much today as I was that first evening when I joined them at their table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A year or two after my first visit, David, very generously, agreed to read my final manuscript, to \u2018check my physics\u2019 as I put it, and I was more delighted than I can say when he told me he\u2019d needed to correct only one word. I seem to recall that he changed \u2018neutrons\u2019 to \u2018neutrinos.\u2019 I was possibly prouder of that than of any gratifying review which followed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a novel, The Wave Theory of Angels <\/em>was my attempt to explore those points in the fabric of reality where the physical, embodied, day-to-day visible<\/em> world meets the mysteries and \u2018unknowability\u2019 of the invisible<\/em> world. In my 13th<\/sup>-century story, in that age when theology was also <\/em>physics, my Imaginator character takes a great risk for a radical, outlawed theology in which, it was posited, the human imagination co-creates<\/em>, with the deity, the physical, unfolding world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In my 21st<\/sup>-century (2001) storyline, my physicist character at Fermilab also takes a great risk for an unorthodox theory. He dares to follow an interest in the, at-the-time (and perhaps still) radical, mathematically-postulated branch of physics known as String Theory. As the novel unfolds, the conundrum of the \u2018Observer Effect\u2019 becomes key to both storylines. Both storylines also seem to \u2018entangle,\u2019 affecting each other across time and space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In my attempts to i) evoke the quantum truth of \u2018entanglement\u2019 in the unseeable world, and ii) to enact<\/em> the principle of the Observer Effect in the live motion of the novel, I am asking the reader, above all, whether ours is a dynamic participatory<\/em> reality, and something more than the sum of its parts. Might the universe be composed in some way \u2018of<\/em> consciousness,\u2019 even as it contains consciousness?<\/p>\n\n\n\n These questions still preoccupy me, philosophically and artistically, and the influence of my discussions with David ripple onward. In my 2013 short story, \u2018The Heart of Denis Noble,\u2019 for example, one character, Ella, a literature student in 1960, is in bed one night with her scientist-lover\u2014a young version of the real-life cardiovascular physiologist Prof Denis Noble. As she draws him out on his PhD work, she suggests to him that his thought processes might need somehow to admit \u2018Eros\u2019 if his work is to evolve in the truest sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She adjusts her generous breasts. \u2018The principle of Eros. Eros is an attractive force. It binds the world; it makes connections. At best, it gives way to a sense of wholeness, a sense of the sacred; at worst, it leads to fuzzy vision. Logos, your contender, particularises. It makes the elements of the world distinct. At best, it is illuminating; at worst, it is reductive. It cheapens. Both are vital. The balance is the thing. You need Eros, Denis. You\u2019re missing Eros.\u2019<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n In this passage, I am\u2014for Ella\u2019s insight above\u2014drawing directly on a remark made by the physicist Wolfgang Pauli to psychologist Carl Jung, and recounted by David. David introduced the point in a seminar in the Palazzo on my first visit to Pari, and it stayed with me, for both its strangeness and for my instinctive sense of its truth. In his article, \u2018Wolfgang Pauli: Resurrection of Spirit in the World,\u2019 David singles out Pauli\u2019s remarkable statement: \u2018In a letter to Jung he wrote that the missing element was Eros; only love could bridge the gap between physics, spirit and psychology.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n It is difficult to remember precisely, but I imagine this strange statement also influenced the opening of my novel The Wave Theory of Angels<\/em>:<\/p>\n\n\n\n The world yearns. This is its sure gravity: the attraction of bodies. Earth for molten star. Moon for earth. A hand for the orb of a breast. This is its movement too: the motion of desire, of a longing toward.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Back in the bedsit in 1960, my character Ella, doesn\u2019t know it of course, but she goes on\u2014in her \u2018metaphysics,\u2019 as the character of Denis terms it\u2014to draw on the thoughts of David Bohm, via David Peat, via me and my own longstanding sense of \u2018literature\u2019s implicate order\u2019\u2014as she corrects her scientist-lover Denis, telling him that a book is not merely a thing or an \u2018it.\u2019 He scoffs gently:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Of course it\u2019s an \u201cit.\u201d It\u2019s an object, a thing. Ask any girl in her deportment class, as she walks about with one on her head.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018All right. A story<\/em> is not an \u201cit.\u201d It\u2019s a living thing.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiles beseechingly. \u2018Perhaps we should save the metaphysics for after?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Every part of a great story \u201ccontains\u201d every other part. Every small part anticipates the whole. Nothing can be passive or static. Not if it\u2019s great and\u2026 true to life. Nothing is just a part. Not really. Because the whole cannot be divided. That\u2019s what a real creation is. It has its own unity.\u2019<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n \u2018The Heart of Denis Noble,\u2019 though a single story only, represented a six-month process of research and discovery for me, as I explored, for a fiction commission, the real-life Denis Noble\u2019s 1960 ground-breaking work relating to the electrical signalling in the human heart. I visited and spent time with Denis Noble, walking about Oxford with him, ruminating, and visiting the places in the city which meant the most to him. We remain fond friends today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The process was a joy, but also a risk, for both him and me. As a writer with a commission to deliver, I had a problem: I did not for a moment want to intrude on Denis\u2019 life with personal questions about his past, and yet I knew that a story cannot come to life as a mere summary of research papers\u2014it needs \u2018life.\u2019 I was determined not to \u2018thieve\u2019 from Denis\u2019s own personal life, by asking awkward questions, which meant, I could only invent it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So I created the literature student Ella. I gave my version of Denis\u2019 20-year-old self a lover. She never existed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And yet it seems she did\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n On being sent the final draft of my story by the editor who had commissioned it, Denis\u2014with characteristic kindness\u2014replied to both of us by email almost immediately. It was uncanny, he said. I couldn\u2019t have known\u2026 There had<\/em> been a lover, a young woman student\u2014philosophy rather than literature\u2014and her presence and her ways of thinking had<\/em> catalysed something previously unknown within him, insights which led him to look differently at the data he already knew well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Muse\u2019 is a sometimes too reductive a label for the influence of women, especially in the history of thought and art, and Denis didn\u2019t use it, but he did explain to me that that difference in looking<\/em>, in perception<\/em>\u2014catalysed by his formative relationship with the philosophy student\u2014led him directly to a breakthrough insight, and is a part of the reason why we can today treat arrhythmias and other heart complications. He was generous enough to tell me all of the above, and also that tears came into his eyes as he read, such was the force of memory and recognition. That meant a great deal to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n How had I done it? he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018God knows!\u2019 I laughed. But I knew a little more than I could explain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Benedictions<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Just as a story is not merely a thing or the object of a book, the village of Pari is not a dot on a map. It is the stones underfoot, the circling embrace of its wall, and the heat and hum of the many bodies which have leaned on that wall. It\u2019s the zig-zagging of the swallows over Pari en route to Africa, and the glow of the clay-tiled rooftops. It\u2019s the readied tables, the sprigs of fresh flowers, and the strings of laundry. It\u2019s the late-night semi-inebriated conversations and the early-morning epiphanies\u2014scientific, artistic, philosophical, emotional and corporeal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pari cannot be represented by any blinking GPS image on a phone screen. It is, at once, too big and too humble. I always feel, when I am there, that it exceeds our capacity to know it. Pari, as a place or a space, is a unity, a process, a flux, a magnetic hum of knowing. It is neither a Paradise, as tourist-brochures would surely claim, given the chance, nor a mere stopping point on the highway for the Siena-to-Florence bus. It is innately itself,<\/em> and<\/em> always transforming\u2014through the unaffected, quotidian, sun-to-moon motion of each of its living parts. It is also infinitely more than their sum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I feel as if I can join David now, here, recollecting him as he recollected the words of the artist Paul C\u00e9zanne, an artist who tried to describe the almost indescribable, namely, his vision of the way in which the natural world thinks itself through the medium of our bodies. C\u00e9zanne\u2019s words, I believe, also expressed, at least in part, David\u2019s own feelings for, and his intimate connection to, Pari, his adopted home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n C\u00e9zanne writes, \u2018The Landscape becomes reflective, human, and thinks itself though me. I make it an object, let it project itself and endure within my painting \u2026 I become the subjective consciousness of the landscape, and my painting becomes its objective consciousness.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n For C\u00e9zanne, this \u2018thinking-through\u2019 was, first and foremost, a truth held by and felt in the body<\/em>. David writes powerfully on this subject, and indeed, his chapter, \u2018Creativity and the Body\u2019 in The Blackwinged Night<\/em>, is one of my favourite written explorations of the creative process\u2014and I have read many. He explores, with great nuance, the physical pressure<\/em> of the creative force in the body. It\u2019s a little examined area, and yet I\u2019d suggest it\u2019s vital to artists and writers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Any story I commit to as a writer is a story which must grow within my body as a sort of volume, pressure or weight before I know I can commit to it. The writer Virginia Woolf expressed it beautifully when she said, \u2018As for my next book, I won\u2019t write it till it has grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n For me, it is an ongoing pressure, a freshwater, underground spring which seems to demand release from my mind, shoulders, chest and lungs. I am always a little amused when friends send me messages, wishing me \u2018Happy writing!\u2019 I\u2019m not sure happiness comes into it; one is concentrating so hard on the pressure moving down one\u2019s arms and into the fingertips; on keeping the wet clay on the wheel. The joy comes after, in seeing the beautiful thing one has, perhaps<\/em>, been able to make, against the odds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the live \u2018flux\u2019 of it, I am, seemingly, the story\u2019s vehicle, much as Cezanne\u2019s Landscape was thinking itself through him; much as something, quiet but active in the space that is Pari\u2014in its earth, light, rain, stones, scents, tables and age-old offerings\u2014made David, and makes each person who loves it, its voice or reflecting mind in the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alison MacLeod<\/strong> is an award-winning novelist, short story writer and senior academic. Her most recent short story collection,\u00a0All the Beloved Ghosts<\/em>, was shortlisted for the 2018 Edge Hill Short Story Prize for best short fiction collection in the UK and Ireland.\u00a0It was a finalist for Canada\u2019s prestigious 2017 Governor General\u2019s Award for Fiction, and named one of the Guardian\u2018s \u2018Best Books of 2017.\u2019. Her most recent novel,\u00a0Unexploded, was long-listed for the 2013 Man-Booker Prize for Fiction, named one of the\u00a0Observer\u2018s \u2018Books of the Year,\u2019 and serialised for BBC Radio 4.\u00a0In 2016, she was jointly awarded the Eccles British Library Writer\u2019s Award.\u00a0Alongside her writing, MacLeod has served as a judge for numerous literary prizes and awards, and has appeared at literary festivals worldwide.\u00a0After almost a decade as Professor of Contemporary Fiction at the University of Chichester, she is now Visiting Professor, and an occasional contributor to, for example, The Sunday Times<\/em>, the\u00a0Guardian<\/em>\u00a0and assorted BBC programmes.\u00a0Her next novel,\u00a0Tenderness<\/em>, will be published internationally in September 2021 by Bloomsbury UK\/USA and Penguin Canada. You can find out more about her work at\u00a0www.alison-macleod.com<\/a>\u00a0.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When I think myself back to Pari, I see again my first morning\u2019s view, from a house which stands almost directly across from the Palazzo, at the top of the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"parent":60546,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_tec_requires_first_save":true,"_price":"","_stock":"","_tribe_ticket_header":"","_tribe_default_ticket_provider":"","_tribe_ticket_capacity":"0","_ticket_start_date":"","_ticket_end_date":"","_tribe_ticket_show_description":"","_tribe_ticket_show_not_going":false,"_tribe_ticket_use_global_stock":"","_tribe_ticket_global_stock_level":"","_global_stock_mode":"","_global_stock_cap":"","_tribe_rsvp_for_event":"","_tribe_ticket_going_count":"","_tribe_ticket_not_going_count":"","_tribe_tickets_list":"[]","_tribe_ticket_has_attendee_info_fields":false,"_EventAllDay":false,"_EventTimezone":"","_EventStartDate":"","_EventEndDate":"","_EventStartDateUTC":"","_EventEndDateUTC":"","_EventShowMap":false,"_EventShowMapLink":false,"_EventURL":"","_EventCost":"","_EventCostDescription":"","_EventCurrencySymbol":"","_EventCurrencyCode":"","_EventCurrencyPosition":"","_EventDateTimeSeparator":"","_EventTimeRangeSeparator":"","_EventOrganizerID":[],"_EventVenueID":[],"_OrganizerEmail":"","_OrganizerPhone":"","_OrganizerWebsite":"","_VenueAddress":"","_VenueCity":"","_VenueCountry":"","_VenueProvince":"","_VenueState":"","_VenueZip":"","_VenuePhone":"","_VenueURL":"","_VenueStateProvince":"","_VenueLat":"","_VenueLng":"","_VenueShowMap":false,"_VenueShowMapLink":false,"_tribe_blocks_recurrence_rules":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_description":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_exclusions":"","footnotes":""},"papers":[131],"class_list":["post-15706","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","papers-pari-perspectives"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/15706","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15706"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/15706\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/60546"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15706"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"papers","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/papers?post=15706"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"https:\/\/paricenter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/10\/1.-2020-08-05-14-29-225x300.jpg\")
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