Friday, December 15, 2017
What’s a poet with a large circle of friends, rich in words if limited in financial resources, to do when checking the names off his holiday list? For Langston Hughes, during the holiday season of 1950, the answer was to share some of his wit in homemade Christmas postcards.
Langston Hughes Holiday Display: The Thought that Counts continues through December 20 at the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library (Yale University, 121 Wall Street, New Haven, Connecticut).
Straight from the pens of Sally Rooney, Durga Chew-Bose, and James Comey, to name a few.
“When the door by the grandfather clock closed, and we were alone, the President began by saying, ‘I want to talk about Mike Flynn.’ ” —James Comey in prepared testimony to congress
“He’s trying to choose between three or four different options, all of which are so crusted with ornament that they appear actually diseased, as if King Midas had contracted an STD and then foolishly touched himself.” —Patricia Lockwood, Priestdaddy: A Memoir
“im afraid i must say that i do not find the mysteries featured on ‘scooby-doo’ challenging enough .” —“dril” on Twitter
Thursday, December 14, 2017
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Have you ever stared at an author photo on the back of a book and thought now where have I seen that face before?Well, just in case you have, Literary Hub has identified a few dead-on dopplegangers for some famous writers.
|Ellen DeGeneres & Henry David Thoreau|
|Allen Ginsberg & Jeff Goldblum|
|Tracee Ellis Ross & Zadie Smith|
|Paul Lynch & Jason Schwartzman|
Ottessa Moshfegh's new novel, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, is about "a young woman’s efforts to duck the world by embarking on an extended hibernation with the help of one of the worst psychiatrists in the annals of literature and the battery of medicines she prescribes".
I enjoyed Moshfegh's earlier novel, Eileen, and look forward to reading this one.
More: Literary Hub
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Insomniac Dreams: Experiments With Time brings together notes Vladimir Nabokov made about his own dreams, providing new insight into the writer’s work and posing the question: why are we so fascinated by the nocturnal lives of others?
More: The Calvert Journal
Monday, December 11, 2017
Except for a brief and nasty stay in Toronto where he went to find work when he was young, Sweetland, now 69 years old, has spent his entire life in his birthplace. He is a quiet, solitary man who fished for cod until the moratorium in 1992 and then served as the lighthouse keeper until that job came to an end when the light was automated.
After Newfoundland joined Canada in 1949 the government offered incentives to residents of isolated outports to move to larger centres. Votes were held, with a majority of 80 percent needed for the village to be abandoned. Families were often pitted against each other with the younger members wanting to move because of education and older members reluctant to leave the only home they'd ever known. Sweetland is set in the early part of the 21st century against a similar relocation scenario.
Residents are offered $100,000 if all of them agree to leave so the government can cease providing services to the island. Moses is the last holdout, incurring the wrath of his relatives and neighbours who want to take the package.
The atmospheric island is the star of this story and its eccentric residents are its supporting cast. Crummey weaves the past and present together, seamlessly unspooling Moses' personal history slowly but deliberately until the powerful finale. This was the best book I read in 2017 and I can't recommend Sweetland highly enough.
Note: Last summer I took this wonderful tour with Bruce Miller. It was the highlight of my trip to Newfoundland and it provided context for Sweetland.
Marc Maron reads “The Worm in Philly,” a story by Sam Lipsyte; Robert Pattinson reads a poem by James Wright; George Plimpton recalls a boxing match in Hemingway's dining room; and Sadie Stein shares a true story about missed connections.
Listen here: http://theparisreview.org/podcast
Listen here: http://theparisreview.org/podcast
"Eggcorns are a special, productive kind of mistake. They are created when someone mixmatches the letters in a word—or the words in a phrase—but the result still makes sense. In fact, sometimes the messed up version makes even better sense than the original one. An eggcorner might, for instance, use mixmatches instead of mismatches. An eggcorner might assert that something is jar-droppingly good rather than jaw-droppingly. If you’ve ever told someone they’re a “real trooper” or said you’re “chomping at the bit,” then you are an eggcorner, too."More here
"I don’t need to point out that 2017 has been a difficult year. I don’t need to say that acts branded as “self-care” are more necessary than ever. But neither do I need to quarter each mushroom, to slice the onions uniformly, or to make matchsticks of the garlic. I don’t need to save the onion skin (thoroughly rinsed) and add it to the herb sachet, since its only effect is to give the stew a deeper, richer, redder color."More: Literary Hub
Friday, December 08, 2017
"Patrick Leigh Fermor (1915 – 2011), who was once described by the BBC as “a cross between Indiana Jones, James Bond and Graham Greene,” was regarded as one of the greatest travel writers of his time. His mostly autobiographical accounts of his adventures through prewar Europe, southern Greece and the Caribbean are regarded as classics. The following letter was written to Ann Fleming, a British socialite whose third husband, Ian Fleming, was best known as the writer of the James Bond series."Read More
Emily Dickinson wrote many poems in the kitchen—often on the backs of labels, recipes and other papers, and these reveal that the kitchen “was a space of creative ferment for her, and that the writing of poetry mixed in her life with the making of delicate treats.”More:Literary Hub
More: The New York Times:
Gold standard: Ernest Hemingway's 1951 magazine advertisement. Credit Advertisement From P. Ballantine & Sons, Newark (1951)
"In this era when most writers are expected to do everything but run the printing presses, self-promotion is so accepted that we hardly give it a second thought. And yet, whenever I have a new book about to come out, I have to shake the unpleasant sensation that there is something unseemly about my own clamor for attention. Peddling my work like a Viagra salesman still feels at odds with the high calling of literature."