It's only a matter of time before the newspaper column takes its rightful place as a recognized and respected form of literature, every bit as vital as its more celebrated cousins, the short story and the novel.
An incredible number of literary heavyweights have been insulted with spots on the Bad Sex shortlist over the past 19 years. Which begs the question: Has sufficient attention been paid to the art of writing sex scenes?
Why Edith Pearlman is not known to a broader audience is a mystery on par with how the pyramids were built -- so suggests Ann Patchett in the introduction to Pearlman's Binocular Vision: New & Selected Stories.
Last month, I started poetry in my Introduction to Literature class. Poetry always begins with around twenty faces out of twenty-five masked with dread, wariness or doubt. "I don't like poetry," a few might say. I hold my ground and reply, "That's like exclaiming you don't like oxygen."
Home is difficult to capture: A revolutionary bootboy trapped in the postmodern eighties, he issued an ostensible manifesto on Neoism, reinvented psychogeography, and proceeded to spin off so many mythologies that for a time the man himself seemed unlikely to have ever lived.
As the winter months roll in, what's better than cozying up with a great book? Cozying up with a great book AND a drink to match. So crack open a book, crack open a bottle and enjoy these book and booze pairings.
I love to read. There's no surprise there anymore. I have given up trying to explain it to people who don't understand. Mostly this is because I rarely cross paths anymore with people who aren't avid readers like me.
The Internet has brought along with it a need for speed and instant gratification. With this we've abandoned difficult reading because, frankly, allowing our minds to decay through an episode of Spongebob is easier.