Essays
July 16, 2010
No More Lying: a Primer on the Novels of B.S. Johnson 1
by Colin Marshall
Joyce, Beckett and B.S. Johnson all tried to move the novel forward, to shove it out of the 19th-century ditch its spinning wheels seemed only to dig deeper. To tell a story, he thought (and often said), was to tell a lie, to futilely pretend away the chaos of modern existence and pander to humanity’s base, vulgar desire to find out what happened next.
July 15, 2010
Writing Outside Realism: Aimee Bender’s Magical Power 1
by Polly Rosenwaike
If reading Aimee Bender’s stories was like creeping downstairs in the middle of the night to eat all the leftover cake with my hands — that much better for the darkness, for the raw, guilty lust — this new novel is summer afternoon, garden party fare.
July 14, 2010
The Worth of the Wasted: Shakespeare and Bradley 7
by Kevin Frazier
A. C. Bradley is a better critic in full than he is in bits and pieces, and Shakespearean Tragedy continues to be an exciting book for anyone interested in literature.
July 13, 2010
Colonoscopy: It’s Time to Check Your Colons 42
by Conor J. Dillon
And, as evidenced in The New York Times and elsewhere, the punctuation push has indeed gone upward. In comments, threads, emails, blogs, newspapers, and magazines, compelling colons abound.
July 13, 2010
A Chiefest Pleasure: Discovering The Sot-Weed Factor on its 50th Birthday 5
by Bill Morris
The deeper you go into your life and your reading, the more precious the long-overlooked gems become once you finally unearth them.
July 9, 2010
Literature is a Manner of Completing Ourselves: A Reader’s Year 17
by Doug Bruns
If I were an addict, I would get high and while high, presumably, worry about where I was to get my next fix. Reading is not all that different, I think. As a reader, I am always looking over the binding thinking about the next read, in some instances, longing for it. Some books, like some highs, are better than others. But even with not-so-good books, I will come back to the drug, seeking the next high.
