The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
Standing in the wreckage of these spaces unlocks a sensation people often crave, but can’t name.
It’s an imagined past, a pastoral imaginary, an alternate timeline in the multiverse.
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The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
Standing in the wreckage of these spaces unlocks a sensation people often crave, but can’t name.
It’s an imagined past, a pastoral imaginary, an alternate timeline in the multiverse.
“Bird,” he cried, “I come on behalf of the emperor. Your voice is all anyone speaks of.”
She stops to look into her mother's face. It is smooth and blank as a stone. Nothing emerges; nothing shifts.
Every day since November has been a drag. In the midst of its dog days, one weekend of well-deserved, inclusive, player-worship was the least baseball could provide.
Why am I loath to confess to the role these bands played in allowing me a measure of catharsis when I was a teenager facing down extraordinary grief?
Armond White's film reviews were once electric: part historical analysis, part posturing, part insult comedy, an attempt to take black art—and art in general—seriously. What happened?
The author of The Dead Husband Project on Sartre, motherhood and solving proofs.
The history of curry is a close parallel to the formation of South Asian diasporic identity, a blend of conflicting cultural messages forced into coherence.
Over the past few decades, loneliness has reached almost epidemic levels, with men uniquely suffering its effects. How and why has isolation become such a threat?