Grumpy book review: Lapvona
I don’t fit into the intended audience of most contemporary fiction reviewers so I try to avoid them. But a recent YouTube reviewer had one of my favorites, Blood Meridian, on his top fiction list so I stupidly followed one of his recommendations. If I had researched contemporary author Ottessa Moshfegh better, I would have
Book review: Ink Black Heart
I recently listened to the audio version of the detective novel The Ink Black Heart by Robert Galbraith. Galbraith is the pen name used by J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame. This novel is the 6th and latest in this series for adults. In these novels, Galbraith chronicles the adventures of Cormoran Strike’s London-based detective
Review: Killing Commendatore
I became familiar with the Japanese author Haruki Murakami during my current fiction-gorging phase. How could I have been unfamiliar with such a gifted author? It’s not an excuse but I go through long periods during which I don’t read fiction. Murakami’s style is first-person intimate heightened with surrealism; all of it served very imaginatively.
Poem: From the backseat of my aunt’s Chevy
From the backseat her red hair an accusation. Thin, careworn, and cunning burnt forever by that long-ago season; she knows the wrong things. Dissolute pools trapping the blue sky, her mascara-smeared eyes lie, looking backly. “This is how the world is,” nodding, “this is how the world is.” Her disjoint face abandons the words she
One paragraph story: First day with The Betty Jane
Here is a short–one paragraph(!)–story I wrote: The day was sunny when we launched our new boat on the Huron River. But Lake Erie weather is notoriously changeable and by the time we covered half of the 10 miles to our dock, angry clouds broke over us with terrific force. Howling winds and roiling waves made the final leg
Poem: On and on played they
In the corner of the ruined room, she was crying, frightened of herself and angry at us. ‘Freedom is full of monsters. Just get out.’ I ran to summer in the next room, where the Goes Orchestral band members, led by the red-haired midget on saxophone, made intricate, drug-induced patterns on the stage. On and
Poem: Why do I remember this?
Why do I remember? I’ve carried this, and now–see?–here it is. Guided by a compulsion (that has never left me) I painted the walls of my mother’s house the entire length of the hallway; floating above the floor–I was light. You’ll laugh, but it was art. That’s the simple truth. My mother didn’t see it
Poem: Full-Blood Moon
Through the narrow window, the full-blood moon floated in the black water of the bathtub, next to where you laid with your face against the wall sobbing. Pressing my cheek to yours, I glimpsed, the unfurled flags of defeat and something I didn’t understand. Aug., 2013