Before the end of his second month at the Gazette, Connor was told that he wore his misery too openly. “You need to hide it better,” said Sandra Cramer, the staff writer who did most of the movie, concert, and theater reviews and was also the paper’s primary fact checker, “Or else, . . .
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Handed from barbarian to barbarian The Burgundian Code saysif they pull my hair with only one handthey’re free. I carry what I own overmy ovibovine shoulders. — from “The Dark Ages” which appears in the Fall 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 3). Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written.When . . .
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Alternative Realities (Read Part One and Two here.) JH: One of the things we’ve done in the Massachusetts Review blog—because we thought we needed to—is book reviews of other work that pretends to come out this period and this history. In particular, two novels were very successful in the US: Téa Obreht’s The Tiger’s Wife and Sara Nović’s Girl at War. About . . .
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Between Realism and Fantasy (Read Part One here.) JH: The next obvious subject is to talk about process, and how this comic came about. From an idea to an object that exists in the world, there’s a hell of a lot of work. So tell us about that. One of the things people . . .
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Remembering a Life Cut Short Jim Hicks: Probably the best place to start, since nobody in the United States is really going to know the background, would be to summarize the story of Karim Zaimović. Aleksandar Brezar: Well, it’s not a story that can be summarized. The simplest way to describe his life and . . .
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A story my father likes to tellon late fall evenings. His brown,Jewish, thumbtack eyes pin youwith the details. The german countryside. A simple inn.—from “What He Saw” which appears in our Spring 2016 Issue (Volume 57 Issue 1). Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written.One of the first pieces . . .
Read MoreLook, I was surprised by it, too. Indeed, my reaction on seeing the Guardian’s live update at 7:00 on Thursday morning was to post on Facebook: “Dylan?! WTF?!” Soon my friends, as they woke up and logged on, were posting their own responses, ranging from “The times they are a-changin’” to “There must . . .
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Laalini, the woman I married, recited for me three lines of poetry about this world of dew and confessed her love for Issa, and before I learned he was a poet, I thought he was an old lover, and the jealousy and the relief I felt then left me walking the city . . .
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IN MY EARLY CHILDHOOD, the people I loved most in the world made sure that I saw a silver tree. I remember taking a giant breath and then swallowing the sight of that tree so that it would never leave me. Late-born, with a far older brother and sister, I must have . . .
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My cityborn friend snaps limbs from trees for the bonfireand hands me their greenness. Why refuse this gift of smoke and hissing years of rain?Every tree is difficult. Take this oak and its burl—such handsome infection to climb. I am sorry but without Violence it’s too late to catch up with them…Was . . .
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