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.
Day-to-day, I, a queer Native person leaping around this deeply stolen and homophobic land, try to lessen the ambient tensions floating in my air. Now I had to do the opposite.
Extraordinary as it may seem, Stalin’s 21st-century comeback is so ordinary it’s almost on time—and it reveals the complicated legacy of Russia’s relationship with history, authority, and the USSR.
The author of Stay With Me on how stories find you, remembering both sides of a proverb, and discovering your characters.
It’s a far sexier prospect to meet with a clairvoyant for fifty minutes than to sift through a year’s worth of all your broken-hearted mind-junk in therapy.
A collection of baby names is like a taxonomy of hope, a kind of catechism for future lives scattered over the horizon.