Sarah Gerard
The writer on her new novel, creative partnerships, sex as communication, and tending to old drafts.
The writer on her new novel, creative partnerships, sex as communication, and tending to old drafts.
On writing into the other meanings of a hometown murder mystery.
Sarah Gerard’s essay collection, Sunshine State, embodies Florida’s unpredictability in the best sense.
She’s an archaic, the last meaning of a word. He’s a drunk, but of the ultramarine kind.
Selections by Nate Wooley, Laida Lertxundi, and Sarah Gerard.
Translation as visitation. Translating silence, or the inability to translate silence. A word that does not want to be translated. Translation as story. Attempting to translate grief. Translation as unanswered letter to the dead.
Language like tar, pick-and-mix identities, and a long sputtering of retcons.
It is surprising that Sam Savage would write a book about a character who has never had a profession—before writing, he worked as a bicycle mechanic, carpenter, crab fisherman, and letterpress printer.
Sarah Gerard on life’s closing and Gerald Murnane’s fifth novel, Inland.
Sarah Gerard sits down with Johnny Lorenz to discuss his translation of A Breath of Life, the final novel written by the enigmatic Brazilian author Clarice Lispector.
Sarah Gerard continues her investigation of the work of Clarice Lispector, tracing the Brazilian writer’s thinking about concepts of eternity.
Alison Entrekin, translator of a new edition of Lispector’s Near the Wild Heart, on the difficulties and pleasures of translating this particularly difficult and pleasing writer.
Sarah Gerard on the experience of language in Clarice Lispector’s recently translated fifth novel, The Passion According to G.H.
Sarah Gerard learns how to live safely.
Sarah Gerard on Existentialism, relationships, and Alexander Maksik’s You Deserve Nothing.
Ross Racine’s maplike prints of suburban landscapes are like being airborne over an imagined America. He talks to Sarah Gerard about materiality and immateriality, paper, and maps.