In our afternoon reading: thoughts on Amber Sparks’s new collection, new writing by Victor LaValle and Janice Lee, and more.
Morning Bites: Jami Attenberg, Aaron Gilbreath on Chapbooks, John Dos Passos, duncan b. barlow Interviewed, and More
In our morning reading: interviews with Jami Attenberg and duncan b. barlow, revisiting John Dos Passos, and more.
Morning Bites: Jack Rose Remembered, Leland Cheuk, Adapting “Little Women,” duncan b. barlow, and More
In our morning reading: exploring the musical influence of Jack Rose, an interview with Ariana Reines, and more.
Morning Bites: Leland Cheuk’s Latest, Saud Alsanousi, Benjamin Percy Interviewed, Heather Christle, and More
In our morning reading: excerpts from books by Leland Cheuk and Heather Christle, an interview with Benjamin Percy, and more.
Afternoon Bites: Alexander Chee on Writing, Carmen Maria Machado Interviewed, Emily Raboteau Nonfiction, and More
In our afternoon reading: nonfiction from Alexander Chee and Emily Raboteau, an interview with Carmen Maria Machado, and more.
In our morning reading: the music of Bill Callahan, reviews of books by Brian Evenson and duncan b. barlow, and more.
In our weekend reading: interviews with Raphael Bob-Waksberg and Casey Cep, a new collaboration from Sarah Gerard and Patty Yumi Cottrell, and more.
I really ought to dislike duncan b. barlow’s writing. He writes in tiny punchy sentences, and to make them, he sometimes divides complete sentences into ungrammatical clauses. I am a Proustian all the way, insisting as I do on long winding sentences with many joined clauses, using commas to get my way, breathing only when necessary. (See?) But goddamn if I don’t love barlow’s writing anyway. Goddamn if he hasn’t done it again, whatever incredible thing he does as a writer, with his new novel, A Dog Between Us. It’s an intense piece of work, revolving as it does around two people in the narrator’s life who are dying in different ways. Its shape and symmetry remain elusive, and its plotlines taper instead of ending. But the reading experience is akin to—if you’ve never done this, I pity you—sitting on a plastic sled attached to the back of a moving vehicle. Joy and danger mixed together, roped to an unfailing engine dragging you along.