None of the author’s controversies have been as bizarre as the one he finds himself in presently, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, circles back to his preoccupation with sex.
If a shared appreciation of culture is a means of expressing these desires covertly, Our Evenings suggests that it can also prove treacherous.
I see nothing controversial in the authors’ core argument: that it’s not anti-feminist to wonder whether to have children, and that women who are ambivalent about the question should address it in a timely, direct, and collaborative manner.
Labatut and Best both fear this outcome. But Labatut does not realize we already live in a world governed by an alien intelligence.
Resisting conformity in any sense, this flawed, disorienting narration is what chips away at the smooth surface of a perfect system, eroding apathy and repression with a persistent and scattered haunting. An endless proliferation of alternative testimonies, then—this is how defiance is exercised.
These were the years of Y2K rapture-tripping, before 9/11 shattered the world—the forecasted apocalypse that never came to pass, as opposed to the actual one we didn’t see coming.
Levrero’s characters often uncover something long neglected, or turn inward in some other way. Consequently, the protagonists in these stories are seemingly at odds with their reality.
I know that I can never purchase the identity I feel stripped of by histories of immigration and assimilation and gaysian self-hatred. This doesn’t make silk less pleasurable or persimmons less delicious.
The power of poets is often measured in books, but only particular poems from their oeuvre engender the possibility of their eternal greatness.
Can there be a reparative mode of reading the earth, Dreaming seems to ask, that draws us into an epoch of the geopathic? Or a mode of repair that does not draw from the paradigm of work and working?
He manages to embed an impressive amount of personal information in unexpected places, leaving the reader to wonder what is real and what is imaginary. Moreover, and often in the same piece, the writing can move from very funny to strangely poignant.
While she positions herself as an inside critic fed up with the excesses of the left, and as someone who embraces Marxist ideas herself, her recent work demonstrates serious confusion about the nature of exploitation, one of the most basic Marxist concepts.