The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
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.
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The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
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.”
The author of Lincoln in the Bardo on stretching out in liminal spaces, the feeling in your chest when you're working, and why writing fiction is like building a model railroad.
The larger deception is that birth is only about life. In reality, the only certain thing about life is death and every birth contains that prospect.
Talking to the novelist behind I Love Dick and the screenwriter behind its new TV adaptation about taking the love triangle to Marfa, working out creative pain, and Kevin Bacon.
Tragedy, spectacle, disgrace, massive wealth, grotesque inequality, and the tasteless whims of a hated New Yorker: does any baseball franchise more resemble America in 2017 than the Miami Marlins?
The author of Woman No. 17 on unreliable narrators, interiors both personal and domestic, and leaning in to where a book is trying to take you.
"It reminded me of a dream I’d had where a shark circled my chest hungrily and I felt relieved."