You're a man now, I'm your blanket.
We have to do so much for you, don’t you see? You play all day while we work so hard.
“Elite” and “peers” are the key terms here, because compared to the rigid social divides in older and more traditional master/servant narratives, the class barrier between the protagonists of these novels and their employers is more porous.
do we live here — wedreamstories
scenesbutwedontlivethem (Notley) — or here — ppleatcronuts
frankoceanieatbusily
betweenyourlegs (Chang)
To even be suspected of treasure—to be indistinguishable from those who possess treasure—is to become a target. This is the lesson of the oyster.
Watch Your Language shadows So to Speak, offering what the poems can’t—not explanations of the origins of lyric impulse, but a recreation of the process involved in coaxing it.
Armen Davoudian’s first full-length book, The Palace of Forty Pillars, shows for the first time in far too long what meters and rhymes and inherited forms, used deftly and clearly to speak of real lives, can do.
To squabble over genre would be to take away from the very potent delight of these kinds of tales: a capacity to traverse an enormous affective range, to play lightly at the surface of life and to sink to tragic human depths.
I want to see Camp Dada as a fungal body, one in which we accept that the world will not be saved, and so strive for new ways of sustaining life in the present.
What we have, then, is the same old flawed human being, except now with the power to turn the earth into a giant greenhouse or to blow the human race to smithereens, once and for all.
Drug-eating is now drug consumption. Where "eating" implies a loamy process of co-constitution, "consumption" is a rote expression of your identity.
They’re a potent reminder that we still live in the long, dark shadow of the twentieth century—the bargains made therein, the general Faustian demeanor accepted as a national character—and that a certain kind of serious, Modernist fiction still has a place and resonates.