A few months ago, drafting my response to a questionnaire in advance of an upcoming interview in connection with Caroline, I wrote the phrase “fiction’s ghetto.” Here’s the question and my original answer: Q: Do you have a target reader? A:
Could any food name excite more disgust? Yet bacon jam is what my friend and neighbor turned up with at my door three weeks ago. He said it was “amazing,” but he’s always saying something or someone is amazing. If they’re not amazing, they’re
Project Bloom is a new anthology of essays and poems written by people who experienced the pandemic. Lisa M. Alexander and Joshua Potter-Efron, the editors, have drawn on works by a variety of people whose names are hardly household, mine included.
1 With the romantically labeled “Texas Heartbeat Act,” Texas’s Republican-controlled government has deputized individual citizens to sue anyone who might be involved in abortion. The target could be a doctor, a cab driver unknowingly transporting a
I’ve wondered why the Beatles’ “Michelle” lingers in the mind. For one thing, the lyrics are ludicrous. The only French words the singer, Paul McCartney, claims to know are “ma belle” and “Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble,” which he goes on
Without looking or touching, our right and left hands each knows where the other is. I hadn’t given that magical awareness any thought until I lost it after last month’s surgery to remove a bone spur from my shoulder. All of a sudden, my right hand