“Pages on Fire”: The Ends of Cărtărescu
Apocalypse might be what it means to wake up from dreams, or to close, for the last time, a book. Apocalypse might be the name for the self’s end, or the dissolution of the world into memory.
At the Edge of the Woods – Kathryn Bromwich
“Santa, strega, saint, witch.” Names matter, and Laura wonders which is true of her. Is she a woman made holy by an ascetic control over her impulses, or is she a witch marked as dangerous for conceding to her impulses?
I can’t imagine writing a tight little novel that isn’t haunted by the absurd, un-fact-checkable and incomplete oral histories that raised me.
The Forbidden Territory of a Terrifying Woman – Molly Lynch
It’s unclear what happened to the mothers; it’s unclear what they did in their tranced, “fugue state” bodies, where their minds went, what controlled them, and what compelled them to leave in the first place.
Full Stop Fundraiser at Lot 49 Books
With readings by Semyon Khokhlov, Sadie Dupuis, and Anni Liu, and comedian Arthur Tarley, & musical performances by Philadelphia-based musician Spidr and Or Best Offer from Providence, RI.
By the Rivers of Babylon – António Lobo Antunes
A leisurely drift through the circadian rhythms of night and day, while past and present elements mingle in a hospital room, as a projection of the protagonist’s consciousness.
“Keep the Dream”: Science Fiction and the Desanctification of Space
When it comes to the most expensive business in—and beyond—the world . . . no one ever seems to ask the cheapest of questions: Is it worth it?
Fieldwork: A Forager’s Memoir – Iliana Regan
There are richer, more precise, even languorous ways to go about describing one’s fascination with the earth.
We’re always trying to compress experience into words, our lives into stories, and it’s impossible to get it exactly right. But almost everything that’s beautiful in life comes from giving it an honest shot.
The House Inside the House of Gregor Schneider – Gary J. Shipley
That something lets itself be replicated, ad infinitum . . . brings forth the idea that the truth may be singular but its expressions are many.