Essays Archives - Page 10 of 93 - The Millions
October 20, 2015
Why do we return again and again to Shakespeare’s plays, why do we keep rewriting them? Is it in hope that some of his genius will rub off? Are we searching for new possibilities for interpretation, hoping to mine new ore out of well covered ground? Or are we going toe-to-toe, trying our strength against the acknowledged genius of English literature?
October 19, 2015
Whether its practitioners like to admit it or not, contemporary memoir, to a far greater degree than contemporary fiction, is an agents’ and editors’ medium.
October 16, 2015
Neither of our parents deserved the death penalty.
October 14, 2015
Do literary prizes reward greatness or works that, like a fine wine, gain stature over time? Do they simply reflect the taste of the jury at a particular moment in history? Or is it a little of both?
October 8, 2015
I’d love to see what Proust might have done in another voice, in, say, science fiction or with the story of a pair of street urchins. Or how Chandler might have written differently to tell the story of a great romance, stretching beyond his comfort zone where something entirely fresh might be born.
October 7, 2015
Although our methods and locations might be different, teachers and professors hopefully share the same coda: we wish to leave students a little better off than we first met them.
October 6, 2015
by H.S. Cross
Write what I know? I would rather eat glass. It’s hard enough living my life; I write to get away from it.
October 1, 2015
Big-hearted and ambitious above all else, Keats’s mistake was to be too hard on himself, conforming to an artistic type when he could have been more sensitive to the nature of his gifts.
September 23, 2015
by Mike Broida
The paucity of Portuguese writing is a global deficit, for Portuguese is an undeniably beautiful language to the ear and wonderfully varied, from the lovely sing-songy rhythms of Rio de Janeiro to the muffled notes of Lisbon.
September 21, 2015
by J.P. Smith
Privately, without any basis in reality, without having read a single word by him, I turned my wrath upon Patrick Modiano