Have you ever read Dante's Inferno? Don Quixote? How about Around the World in 80 Days, or Crime and Punishment? If you've read them, you know just how memorable and touching the experience of reading a literary masterpiece can be. But have you ever read them... in the original?
Mavis Gallant died recently at the entirely respectable age of 91. On top of the lack of maternal love and affection, Gallant endured other unimaginable emotional assaults and upheavals, realities that underlie her fiction.
Programming began to change my way of looking at poetry. To my surprise I found that writing code reminded me of writing poems. In the act of creation, you encounter the same tension of raw, boundless possibility against disciplined construction.
Each spring bibliophiles and Brando buffs flock to the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival to pay homage to the late great playwright, who penned A Streetcar Named Desire in what he called his "spiritual home."
Indeed, literature can get very compelling when depicting crime and (sometimes) punishment, to reference the title of a certain Russian novel. And when fictional works depict that, all kinds of stuff can come up.
As a scientist, always striving to see outside the tunnel, to apply the proper blend of skepticism and open-mindedness, that I write today to recommend a work of fiction as a source of surprising light.
Since then Darcie has made the move from indie princess to emerging talent with a mainstream press. The Mill River Recluse has been reissued and followed by The Mill River Redemption Darcie was very gracious to participate in this first entry of the 10 Questions for Indie.writers series.
As I prepare to move from a house to an apartment this year (what -- freelance writers don't make hedge-fund salaries?), I've become particularly aware of relocation scenarios in literature. Yes, a major plot device in fiction involves characters going to a new place.
I have been accusing words of being stingy, but now I must admit I have been afraid of words, of what saying them might mean, the implications, because it is the proper thing to praise a great poet, to profess great admiration.
As someone who aspires to fit into Auster's definition of "boy writer," I'm wondering if he might extend his coinage to include "girl writers" as well. Who are they among women, the creative sparks, the gleeful, the ones who make you want to read?
I adore my agent. He's one of the wisest and nicest men I've ever met in my life and I trust him completely. Still, I was nonplussed. Why shouldn't my book start with the point of view of a woman in her fifties?
Ah! The joys and tribulations of being surrounded by stacks of books at my bedside, my husband's bedside, books tucked into every available nook and cranny, piled high on every tabletop and stacked double on every shelf, making it impossible to navigate around safely.
I am, of course, still a child of love and privilege. But I have at least this claim against naiveté: I have looked into the eyes of someone ready, willing, and eager to kill me. I have at least this notion of what's out there.