Frankel
by Francis Levy
It was November, the weekend before Thanksgiving. Sunset came earlier each day so when the soccer team got back from the playing fields above the reservoir at 100th street, it was already dark.
Making the Graphic Novel Graphic
Making the Graphic Novel Graphic
by Francis Levy
The Wormhole Society began 6 years ago. I signed up for a writing workshop which took place at Arthur Nersesian’s apartment— every Monday night at 7. Arthur who lives in a fifth-floor walk-up on First and Fifth is the author of The Fuck-Up, Suicide Casanova, Chinese Takeout and most recently The Five Books of Moses (e.g., Robert Moses) which weighs in at 1,504 pages.
I was going to work on the rewrite of another novel, Tombstone: Not a Western, but I decided to start something new.
Sunday Stories: “The Chapbook Lady”
The Chapbook Lady
by Francis Levy
She’d identified herself as a poet when I first met her. It turned out we’d both liked that Dorothea Lasky poem “Porn” in The Paris Review. “I just watched a woman fuck a hired hand,” is one of the memorable lines.
Louise was a friend of a friend of a friend, actually no, a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, once removed with whom I was no longer speaking. I’d met the friend of a friend of a friend once removed at the party for Helen’s chapbook. After readings of pre-Perestroika Samizdat, we would retire to Ukrainian East, the dank basement place next to Veselka on Second Avenue.
Sunday Stories: “An Incident of Defenestration”
An Incident of Defenestration
by Francis Levy
The sound of her husband’s body hitting the mound of refuse wasn’t that much more dramatic than any of other occasional thumping that came from the dumpster, which contractors routinely used when there was a renovation going on.
Sunday Stories: “Pet Buddha”
Pet Buddha
by Francis Levy
No one paid attention to me. I was invisible. I was just one of those guys who spend their life filling out forms, paying bills, filing taxes on time for fear of being imprisoned, and dealing with the next minor emergency—the dead car battery, the leaking radiator that seemed to define the passage of my days.
Reviewed: Francis Levy’s “Seven Days in Rio”
Review by R. Stephen Shodin Seven Days in Rio by Francis Levy Two Dollar Radio; 160 p. Francis Levy’s Seven Days in Rio is an incredibly elaborate and well-crafted satire built around the sex-starved, psychologically fucked up, seersucker-suit-wearing Kenny Cantor. Kenny is a CPA, self-proclaimed amateur psychoanalyst, and sex tourist on vacation from Manhattan. Much like Kenny, Levy’s snappy sentences bound along like a stupid American: all tourism and no regard for any other culture or value system. So much […]