In our afternoon reading: an interview with Angie Cruz, Chelsea T. Hicks on languages, and more.
Afternoon Bites: Matt Bell and Lincoln Michel on Writing, Miriam Toews’s Fiction, Donna Hemans’s Recommendations, and More
In our afternoon reading: talking with Matt Bell about writing, Donna Hemans’s book recommendations, and more.
Afternoon Bites: Elisa Gabbert’s Latest, Jason Allen-Paisant Poetry, Notable Music Books, Donna Hemans Nonfiction, and More
In our afternoon reading: thoughts on Elisa Gabbert’s new collection, interesting books about music, and more.
In our weekend reading: new nonfiction by K-Ming Chang and Donna Hemans, an interview with Alisson Wood, and more.
Morning Bites: Donna Hemans, Kevin Killian Remembered, Thoughts on “Lockdown,” Ottessa Moshfegh’s Latest, and More
In our morning reading: interviews with Donna Hemans and Katherine Hill, thoughts on the new anthology “Lockdown,” and more.
Afternoon Bites: Donna Hemans, Elvira Basevich Interviewed, Kevin Bigley, Kiki Petrosino’s Latest, and More
In our afternoon reading: Donna Hemans on the characters in her novel, thoughts on Kiki Petrosino’s new book, and more.
The Mating Rituals of Turtles
by Donna Hemans
When it is not nesting season, sea turtles may migrate hundreds or even thousands of miles.
We’re in Treasure Beach at a literary festival. Rain is coming down around us, pounding the tent, thrumming against it like a thousand hearts beating. Water pools on the ground and on the top of the tent, which dips in places under the weight. Mud oozes beneath our feet and chairs. A songwriter thrums a guitar, and talks over it, explaining the poetry of a Bob Marley song. Together—the rain beating on the tent, the guitar, the man’s voice, the breeze coming off the sea, the sea itself roiling with angry waves—it is poetic, romantic even. I don’t want to leave at all. But it’s the last day of the festival, and besides it’s not even the primary purpose of our trip. We happened upon it.
Scrubland in the Desert at Noon by Donna Hemans We’re in West Virginia on a mountain road, miles away from the Interstate, when I suspect Mom has Alzheimer’s or something very close to it. I’d seen glimmers of it—her disorientation in long familiar settings, like getting turned around after leaving the Trader Joe’s on Colesville Road, where she has shopped every week without fail for as long as I can remember. For two weeks straight, she left voicemail messages at […]