Think Tiny: Nancification

Mark Ford, 17 July 2008

The prodigiously gifted artist and writer Joe Brainard died of Aids in a hospital in New York in May 1994, at the age of 52. He had long been revered in certain parts of the New York art and...

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Suicide by Mouth: Richard Price

Deborah Friedell, 17 July 2008

A cop has taken his wife to the movies to see something gentle by Ron Howard, but it finishes at the same time as Batman and Nightmare on Elm Street, Part 62, and as the three audiences collide,...

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Short Cuts: Spies Wanted

Thomas Jones, 17 July 2008

Once upon a time, able – or at least suitable – undergraduates were recruited to the Secret Intelligence Service by a nudge and a wink from a deep undercover agent posing as a French...

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Doris Lessing is now saying she finds it more of a nuisance than a pleasure to have won the Nobel Prize. Considering the scope of her achievements it seems that a convergence of the twain –...

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Poem: ‘Shoot the Freak’

August Kleinzahler, 17 July 2008

Shoot the freak Cold wind, boardwalk nearly empty You know you wanna A cluster of hip-hop Lubavitch punks, shirt tails out, talking tough You shoot him he don’t shoot back Keeper-flatties...

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Men in White: Another Ian McEwan!

Benjamin Kunkel, 17 July 2008

‘Netherland’ is an ambiguous word. It evokes, of course, the Netherlands inhabited by the Dutch, one of whom, Hans van den Broek, tells this story of a few late years spent in that...

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Leaf through old New York Times reviews of the novels of Maude Hutchins – from the 1950s and early 1960s especially, when her reputation was at its height – and one is instantly...

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Auden remarked that to read pornography in any other way than as a sexual stimulus is to be bored to tears. Crime fiction is similar: you read it for the story, and literary pretensions are...

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Poem: ‘The Blind Dog’

John Hartley Williams, 3 July 2008

In the Hotel Egalitarian the taps drip, here are containers to catch the water, the bath tub is big enough to hold a dog, but the dog is blind and bumps its nose against the taps and the beds are...

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Poem: ‘Selected Monsters’

Steven Heighton, 3 July 2008

for Barbara Gowdy In Florence, circa 1460, Cosimo de’ Medici enclosed a mixed group of animals in a pen and invited Pope Pius II to attend the spectacle, which was meant to determine which...

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Kick over the Scenery: Philip K. Dick

Stephanie Burt, 3 July 2008

Where other SF asks whether made-up entities (aliens, androids, emoting computers etc) deserve the respect we give real human beings, Philip K. Dick more often asks whether we ought to view ourselves as...

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‘Politics’ is a strange word, and the particular nature of its strangeness may explain why so many people feel confused by or alienated from political processes. It can refer...

Read more about New Model Criticism: Writing Under Cromwell

Alfred Kazin published his first and best book of literary criticism, On Native Grounds, in 1942, when he was 27 years old. It told, in highly wrought, dramatic prose, the story of American...

Read more about His Generation: A Sad Old Literary Man

A plop on the doormat and Volume 177 in the Library of America is in the house: Edmund Wilson’s writings from the 1930s and 1940s, including Classics and Commercials, The Triple Thinkers...

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Three Poems

Bill Manhire, 19 June 2008

The Victims of Lightning A good poet is someone who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times; a dozen or two dozen times and he is...

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Poem: ‘In the Afternoon’

Charles Simic, 19 June 2008

The devil likes the chicken coop. He lies on a bed of straw Watching the snow fall. The hens fetch him eggs to suck, But he’s not in the mood. Cotton Mather is coming tonight, Bringing a...

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Poem: ‘The Source’

Jean Sprackland, 19 June 2008

Want to learn the source, the cool under the surface fire? Watch the heron: he snatches the silver voice from the throat of the river and swallows it live. How quick the water heals and speaks...

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Two Poems

Matthew Sweeney, 19 June 2008

The Vintner’s Boat The vintner rowed his boat as close to the lake’s shore as he dared, and in the prow stood a five litre bottle of his Cabernet Franc Barrique. A big man, he powered...

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