Gregory Crewdson’s photographs of expansive dioramas recall Duchamp, Emerson, and the American suburbs. The documentary Gregory Crewdson: Brief Encounters is in limited release now.
Giovanni’s Gift is Bradford Morrow’s fourth novel, his second in two years, and it brings his corpus around an interesting bend.
They spoke in light, when they felt like speaking. They spoke only to her, they said.
Sitting on a lilypad, bulbous eyes betraying nothing, the frog tosses his long and viscous tongue from his throat at a plump green fly that has meandered, helpless as a schoolgirl, into his neighborhood.
The train ground to a halt, wheels screeching on the blue tracks, mad squeal of metal moving against metal, track stubborn, wheels locked. The slide terminated after a buck, in a stall, a hiss, an utter calm.
Still dressed in the suit he wore to the funeral and not five minutes in mama’s house Cutts sought, found, and pulled down on the cord that hung from the trap door to the attic. Georgia stood behind him, black pumps off.
Her nostrils flared into fleshly roan rings pulled open by tautening about both sides of the longish jaw and muscular apple-round cheek, a movement which brought into view the crisp, expressive teeth hung in her head.
The walls of Ms. Madeleine’s contemporary Lascaux would afford the casual anthropologist no prehistoric lineament of bison, mammoth or spearsman; rather, brash shadings of self-help, fashion, cuisine.
The white moon acted as cynosure. Angstrom lay awake in his bed, situated directly beneath its transparency.
Edouard Roditi was born in Paris 1910 of American parents. In 1929 he abandoned his studies of the Latin and Greek classics at Oxford and, until 1937, was associated with the Surrealist movement in Paris, as contributor to transition and as partner in Editions du Sagittaire, which published Andre Breton’s Surrealist manifestos and a number of books by Crevel, Desnos and Tzara.