In our afternoon reading: a review of Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s new book, an interview with Tommy Orange, and more.
In our morning reading: an interview with Cynan Jones, thoughts on Bae Suah’s new novel, and more.
Afternoon Bites: Aoko Matsuda, William Faulkner Revisited, David Nance, Roald Dahl on Film, and More
In our afternoon reading: an interview with Aoko Matsuda and Polly Barton, thoughts on William Faulkner, and more.
We can only hope that it is a posture of frustration and new growth into so many other areas that led Scottish writer of science fiction and horror, Chris Kelso, to utter such a fatalist statement in the title at the age of thirty-two years old. Kelso is also a filmmaker, illustrator, and musician and by day a [*gasp*] high school English teacher. Since publishing his first short story at twenty-two in Evergreen Review, Kelso has been responsible for twenty-five books (nineteen books of his own—fifteen novels, three story collections, one non-fiction work—and six anthologies he edited or co-edited). He’s been nominated for a British Fantasy Award and some of his work has been translated into Spanish, French, and Sweden. The books cover a wild, weird range of topics, styles, and even quality, but the world would certainly suffer to be deprived of more Kelso works of fiction. Luckily, we have three recent volumes of his fiction to enjoy—his best works, he claims—before his first foray into non-fiction is published next year. This forthcoming book brings together two topics very close to Kelso’s heart, the writer William S. Burroughs and Kelso’s home, Scotland. The book involves Burroughs’ time in Scotland, mostly in pursuit of his Scientology fix, and is simply titled Burroughs and Scotland, but with the subtitle: Dethroning the Ancients: the commitment of exile (Beatdom Books, 2021). In the Appendix, Kelso provides his first published short story, “Naked Punch (redux),” which illustrates his debt to Burroughs.
Morning Bites: This Heat, Tournament of Books Long List, David Heska Wanbli Weiden, Eileen Myles Excerpted, and More
In our morning reading: revisiting This Heat, David Heska Wanbli Weiden on books and bookshelves, and more.
by Anthony Varallo
I don’t remember much about the blanket. It was one of those handmade kinds you sometimes see in older people’s homes, slung atop the back of a sofa, or folded at the foot of a bed. It was blue and gold, possibly fringed. Patterns might have played a role. Or not. Like I said, I don’t remember much about it. If you were looking at a photograph of the blanket right now and asking me questions about it, you would probably conclude that I hardly remembered anything at all about the blanket. And you’d be a little bit right. But you’d also be a little bit wrong, too.
Weekend Bites: Heather Trost, David Diop’s Latest, William Boyd, Ursula K. Le Guin Revisited, and More
In our weekend reading: thoughts on Heather Trost’s latest album, a review of David Diop’s new novel, and more.
Afternoon Bites: Scholastique Mukasonga, Simon Han Interviewed, Lisa Hanawalt, Shane MacGowan on Film, and More
In our afternoon reading: thoughts on Scholastique Mukasonga’s new collection, an interview with Lisa Hanawalt, and more.