Chapter 31
The original device was Joselyn’s greatest investment in the company. Her magnum opus.
She’s going to be in history books. She knows this because she’s been putting her name in the transcriptions.
Giving herself credit for various historical events. Then publishing manuscripts once thought to be lost in the violent rivers of time.
In our morning reading: an interview with The Softies, the Booker Prize shortlist, and more.
In our afternoon reading: a playlist from Ed Simon, thoughts on KMRU’s new album, and more.
I first heard Judith Krummeck before I met her. I’d been scrolling through radio stations – years ago – on my way home from work when her voice came through on 91.5, soft yet self-assured. Perhaps she’d been expounding on the historical nuances behind a classical piece of music; I’m not sure. What intrigued me enough then to form a concrete memory about it, was how Krummeck spoke with a passion for music so genuine it was almost palpable through my car’s busted stereo. I’d never been much for overtures or concertos, but I kept listening to Krummeck’s retelling of how they came to be.
In the mid-1990s, I was in Berlin for the first time looking for the Berlin Wall. I remember walking around the Reichstag marveling how its façade was still gutted by artillery fire almost fifty years after the Second World War ended and only a few years after the momentous events of 1989. I remember learning how the Soviets had left post-war East Berlin in tatters as a humiliating reminder and punishment for the German people. What I remember most however was looking for the Wall and failing to find it where it had once stood. I had seen it in films and photos and heard stories about it. Like millions across the globe, I had watched ecstatic Germans of all sides gleefully ram sledgehammers into its graffitied sides and scale its exposed wires to reach the once perilous ledge that stood between two worlds. Stopping on the spot where I was told the Wall once stood, I was astounded to find not even the smallest marker. Meandering east and west, I came across biscotti-sized pieces of what was allegedly “the Wall” being sold for only a few marks in local tourist traps. I remember walking away feeling duped. Where had the Wall gone? What modern gang of tomb raiders had stolen it? The Wall was a part of me too, I thought, and I wanted a piece of it.
In our morning reading: an interview with Bud Smith, new writing by Phil Christman, and more.
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.
In our afternoon reading: Jen Fawkes on storytelling, where “Elden Ring” and poetry converge, and more.