Chapter 36
All black tents and black chairs.
Rain.
While the list of attendees was large in size and scope, it was a complete secret to anyone not invited. There was no media coverage whatsoever. The founders of every major publishing platform on the planet came in droves in total silence. The forest surrounding the estate was ghostlike, veiled in a hissing mist.
In our morning reading: an interview with Henry Hoke, news of a John Cale reissue, and more.
In our afternoon reading: an interview with Helen Phillips, thoughts on MJ Lenderman’s new album, and more.
Time Is What Keeps the Light from Reaching Us
by Aaron Carico
I fill this room with the echo of many voices. The sun comes and floods this empty room, I call it my room.
I listen to your voice, David. Onscreen, you’re wearing a Ronald Reagan mask made of latex, like the ones from Point Break, and you’re looking at photos of Mark Morrisroe, one of him splayed on a bed, hard cock against his thigh, a twink pinup. “Mortality no longer feels like some abstraction I can push away to the age of eighty or ninety or whatever. There’s no longer a luxury of pushing the idea of mortality away.” You’re walking around Witnesses: Against Our Vanishing. It’s fall 1989. Morrisroe died that July. You unfasten the mask, take it off, and you read the scrim of text that covers your own photos of Peter Hujar’s corpse. Your words shield your lover’s dead body. Peter had died almost exactly two years before. Your voice is propulsive, a juggernaut. It vibrates with fury.
Today, we’re pleased to present an excerpt from Manu Larcenet’s graphic novel adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Its path to publication was somewhat unorthodox: Larcenet, a winner of multiple awards at the Angoulême International Comics Festival over the years, wrote to McCarthy seeking his approval for the project. (It worked.)
“I loved The Road for the atmosphere it creates. Most likely because I enjoy drawing the snow, the chilling winds, the dark clouds, the sizzling rain, tangles and snags, rust, and the damp and the humidity,” Larcenet wrote. I draw violence and kindness, wild animals, dirty skin, pits, and stagnant water. I enjoy the contrast between the characters and their environment, and as conceited as it may sound, I feel like I’m up to the task.”
In our morning reading: interviews with Idra Novey and Kamasi Washington, Charlie Jane Anders on reading, and more.
In our afternoon reading: looking back on a Philip K. Dick novel, the state of SFF, and more.
“He pitches as though he’s double parked.”
-Pitcher Bob Gibson as described by announcer Vin Scully
***
Singer and guitarist Black Joe Lewis opens the show with the briefest of introductions:
“We’ve been playing like this for a while. Hope you like it. We’re not going to stop for a while.”
Moments later, he is torching the joint, soaring through an extended instrumental break, not fast or flashy, but somehow making it feel as if he’s propelled us to the middle of the set, skipping the warm up songs that bands and audiences use to acclimate, suss each other out. Lewis and his band, the Honeybears, get to the flow so quickly I lose track of conventional markers such as time and lyrics and song structures. Are they purposefully steering away from those elements in order to generate a different kind of energy? Or are they simply ready to roll, like Bob Gibson?