Early on, in the 1985 film that arguably inaugurated Jean-Luc Godard’s late-period work, we watch, for much longer than we expect to, a single person on a crowded sidewalk. Our view, or that of the camera, is from a nearby rooftop—surveillance in an etymological sense. At a certain point as I recall, . . .
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“As she opens her front door, dressed perfectly with just a hint of retro, you see the blue flame of the samovar grumbling behind her down at the end of the hall. The tea, the smoked herring, the small talk meted out with the stately pace of a fairytale, create just the . . .
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November in our mouths,the cool stone taste of it.It is what we say when we say anything.All through the cemeterythere are pebbles on the graves.—from “Why Write About It,” Winter 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 4) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I wrote a lot of stories as a . . .
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If I could make language simpler I would.Language says that each word equals somethingelse, but that’s not true. If I could makelanguage simpler, I would make an invisibleequals sign that extends through each of us . . . .—from “Human Pageant,” Winter 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 4) Tell us about one of . . .
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“A blue eye, floating in still water, blood vessels showing in the yellow cornea. A small, white liquid ball gathering on the lower eyelid, ready to spill over at any moment. The eye, under slackened folds of skin, swung wildly and stared into my own. Now that the iris had half disappeared . . .
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I come to claim the white boy who yesterday slaughtered nine Black worshippers at prayer. Because to deny him is to deny theways he and I are the same, deny the hideous lineage that dogsus and feeds us. Gavel and spit. Rope and bumper and chain. Iclaim him but will not say his . . .
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“The customer comes in alone. The owner is a bit slow-witted and asks, “How many in your party tonight?” This is a family-style barbecue restaurant, though, so you can’t say she’s that slow-witted. Two servings of pork belly, a bowl of rice, a bottle of soju. Nothing too unusual, but for a . . .
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While we compare sex stories,flaunt lines crossed — a married man — a loading dock — a stripper in the state that pays its strippers best — the fireflies do their thing,blinking neon hearts . . . —from “The United States: An Introduction,” Winter 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 4) Tell us about one . . .
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Imagine that you’re an insatiable reader—poetry, fiction, philosophy, plays, history, noir, CNF, DIY, cookbooks, travelogues, comic books, blogs, clickbait, scrolling ad infinitum. Reading for you is no mere habit and, on some level, not even a proper activity, but a kind of experiential osmosis that positions language as primary and generative in . . .
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Near the end, Ceausescu would only drink juice through a straw.Twice, he was convinced that his hearing had improved: oncewhen he heard the sound of a distant train of his youth;another time when his long-dead mother sang , , ,—from “The Purity Instinct,” Winter 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 4) Tell us about one . . .
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