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.
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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.”
A newbie driver discovers why everyone else calls in sick that day.
I finally have a word to describe my fear of the fragmented world.
I wonder if my grandfather knew the helicopters he helped to perfect would one day be used to surveil and oppress Black and Brown bodies.
The director of Crystal Lake on short films, the power of props, and how we cope weirder as we get older.
The authors discuss Hill’s debut work, his love of dysfunction, and why you need to think about writing a novel the way you think about keeping a garden.