I realized that writing from a place of grief was so much more useful than the angry stance I had taken before.
Death and So Forth – Gordon Lish
These might be old tricks (for Lish), but they are still good tricks.
Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know – Samira Ahmed
As much as Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know is a familiar novel about the teenage longing for identity, it is also guided by a profound ethic of repair, suggesting that one’s sense of self in the present is dependent upon a recovery of the past.
Rabbit Island – Elvira Navarro
Taking little delight in the absurd, Navarro plunges into the despair, horror, and alienation of a society in steady retreat before the very irrational forces it aims to suppress.
The Regal Lemon Tree – Juan José Saer
I think of the late Argentine author Juan José Saer as a writer of light and shadow, but The Regal Lemon Tree is a book of sound.
When a book is almost fully formed, it starts becoming like a third person in a way, or a space that has its own internal logic, almost capable of making its own decisions.
The Town Slowly Empties – Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee
It is this exchange of revelation and recognition between the narrator and the reader that holds together the different leaps of scenes, visuals, and words in the book.
Tastes Like War – Grace M. Cho
In Tastes Like War, Cho has sent a vital current through a history towards a more considered life, a more felt conception of history as it involves us.
The Voice of Sheila Chandra – Kazim Ali
Writers negotiate their own relationship to silence — as canvas, as collaborator, as agent to frame or defy or defile.
I love the elasticity of words and how you can put them together to create things. It’s like a big LEGO set.