I say something about the time and he replies, “I cannot sleep in this lifeless room, I can’t, I can’t. I won’t. You can’t make me.”
“When we really like a book, it’s often because its rhythm is similar to our own—to our heartbeat, our breathing, the way we walk. I think that’s what draws us to certain writers and not to others even though we know they are great.”
The Wake—Paul Kingsnorth’s 2014 debut novel, which chronicles the life of an Anglo-Saxon during the Norman Conquest—has since gained a disturbing resonance with the recent surge and codification of nationalism that is Brexit.
“Our bodies are graveyards of cells, the source of art, inherently finite, constantly decaying.”
Noir, Balanchine, and an escape from the conventional novel.
The Spanish novelist confronts the monstrosity of James Earl Ray.
Inspired by Japanese “landscape theory,” a Parisian artist-filmmaker explains why he prefers to show us the world as his subjects see it.
Moving toward a poetics of grief in Kate Zambreno’s Book of Mutter
Syntactical adventure and rolling ruminations in Clark Coolidge: Selected Poems 1962–1985
Freeing Joan of Arc from her Catholic trappings in Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Book of Joan
Palimpsests and invocation in Marjorie Welish’s So What So That
Deconstructing self-made myths in Melissa Febos’s Abandon Me
“For these books to work, the reader needs to play at least some role in the ‘writing’ of them.”
Taking writing to the mat in J.D. Daniels’s The Correspondence
Right now, they (they being a company, unnamed) are at work on a new operating system. It will be completely intuitive, they say, so much so that it does away with the need for thought or reference.
It was with the printing press and Enlightenment science that history first demarcated itself from literature as a field of knowledge founded on scientific principles and archival methods.
One afternoon during the Holy Month, I have that indistinct but unmistakable sensation that I am being followed.
“I was afraid, for awhile, that I might kill someone. Everyone
does, at a distance. But I never killed anyone, though that was only
personally.” (Alice Notley, “In the Pines,” 2007)
“What brings you here,” he asked.
“What do you seek in this high tower,
Phaëthon—you, an heir no parent would