Chapter 11
I wake up on the floor of Everhet’s kitchen and instantly bring my phone over my face.
I dreamt that I text Morgen a Homeric epic about how my parents were dead. How they exploded.
I look at my texts. Wasn’t a dream. Initiate shame blocking sequence.
Colleen Burner’s Sister Golden Calf is a strange, gorgeous debut novel about two sisters, Gloria and Kit, who travel through the desert with their jars full of “invisible things for feeling and knowing.” It’s about grieving the death of a parent, about isolation and longing, and it features an eight-legged taxidermied calf, a ghost town, and a nude ranch. Reading Sister Golden Calf, I was moved by the propulsive, sometimes breathless sentences, and the quiet, meditative moments where Gloria and Kit find space to grieve—a space that is a car, a body, a sister willing to travel to the ends of the earth.
It’s the cottage where a New York City teacher named Frank McCourt wrote the Pulitzer Prize-winning Angela’s Ashes. Since McCourt’s time there in the 1990s, this Milford, Pennsylvania cabin owned by former AMC-TV head and current indie film producer Josh Sapan has served as the periodic retreat – an “accidental art colony” in his words – for creative-minded friends and friends of friends. It has hosted everyone from national book award winner Colum McCann, who worked on his acclaimed international bestseller Apeirogon there, to a bevy of poets, painters, photographers and composers.
It’s March, and the pollen has returned. It’s an interesting month for books — though to be fair, it’s a rare month that isn’t interesting in some way — with everything from experimental horror to incisive takes on pop culture hitting the “new releases” table. What are we most excited about? Read on and find out, gentle reader.
Chapter 10
With my hands unrestrained I trace the names scratched in the black leather upholstery by former passenger’s fingernails.
The cop opens the door for me to get out.
He rolls down his window, I can’t see it, but I can hear it. My back to him, I hear him say, “Hey, kid—ub-uh— Mr. Defoe. You, uh. You sure you’re okay?”
It’s been over 30 years since the publication of Barry Gifford’s novel Night People — a book which David Lynch once optioned for film, which ultimately led to their collaboration on Lost Highway. This year will see Gifford’s novel adapted into a very different medium. A collaboration with co-writer Chris Condon and artist Brian Level, the first issue — from publisher Oni Press — will be in stores on March 6. Among the artists contributing covers to the project are J.H. Williams III, Joëlle Jones, and Jacob Phillips.
Since their formation in 2015, Brooklyn’s SAVAK have been on a tremendous run, releasing album after album of blistering garage-punk at an admirable pace. Their latest album, Flowers of Paradise, is a fantastic addition to their discography, blending a postpunk urgency with the sense of warmth that longtime musical compatriots can summon. I spoke with Sohrab Habibion and Michael Jaworski about the genesis of their new album, the rare book trade, and my inability to identify an EBow.
Chapter 9
Under the surface of the dark water I feel milk cartons and leaves and trash bumping into my face. I slosh around in the sewage, an acidic green and black cocktail. The air, urine-heavy with the scent of cholesterol-soaked piss.
I float on the surface of the garbage-infused water, looking up at the spotlight spewing from out the manhole I just fell through, with a Virgo full moon giving high energy vibes, as I float farther away.