After researching climate change and survival psychology for her novel Weather, Offill asks if we might imagine a different way to live.
David Berman committed suicide, and I’m like a blackbird that has flown into a bay window and awoken in a flower box, dizzy in gardenia shade, trying to get un-stunned and back on the wing before the neighborhood cats come round.
A post-apocalyptic story about a sea captain who parents alongside a penguin at the arctic center.
Tweets, memes, and GIFs tell the story of a Trump-induced apocalypse.
The author discusses Black feminist breathing, academia as access point, and writing three books that came from the same decision.
One painter’s apocalypse is another’s surrealist debauch.
The Infinite Ground novelist on detective fiction, Borges, end times, and the impermanence of bodies.
“Poetry is contested space, and the battles about what is allowed to go in and stay out are important.”
“I’m just using language to manipulate the reader into feeling my feelings, or the feelings I hope they feel.”
The title of Claire Vaye Watkins’s first novel, Gold Fame Citrus, names just three of California’s historic exports. It’s a list to which, just for fun, we might add surfing, In-N-Out Burger, health fads, The Doors, cults, and—at least lately—post-apocalyptic novels.
“It’s easy to laugh at Y2K now, but what are we laughing at?”
James Ferraro discusses DIY aesthetics, apocalyptic visions, and his new album NYC, HELL 3:00 AM.
In continuation of BOMBlogs reprint series of San Francisco’s [2nd floor projects], Matt Sussman writes from a collection of illustrated artworks by Matt Borruso that inspire visions of a post-apocalyptic environment.
This First Proof contains an excerpt from A Stroll through Literature, by Roberto Bolaño, translated by Laura Healy.
Sigrid Nunez’s latest novel examines country and society after the world is decimated by a super-flu. It turns our there aren’t nearly as many zombies as we were lead to believe.
From “Song of Myself” and Moby Dick to Gravity’s Rainbow and “The Changing Light at Sandover,” scale haunts American literature—the universe (of course), but also the grain of sand.