Just a brief note while savoring every page of Elsa Morante's Lies and Sorcery, available in unexpurgated English translation for the first time via NYRB Classics – Jenny McPhee does the honors and is a marvel, a translator of sensitivity, wit, and rhythm. It's a huge book,
Yesterday I finished Patrick McCabe's Poguemahone, which was published by Unbound, which publishes reader-supported books; I was one of this book's supporters, since McCabe's The Butcher Boy left an indelible impression on me. I read and enjoy plenty of books whose pages I'
I move on from things, but they don't move on from me. I was into the prog era of Genesis for a couple of years and then I got into Lou Reed & David Bowie, and I then don't think I listened to a note of
I woke up and had something to say, but I didn't feel like posting it on Facebook, so I signed up for Ghost. My track record of keeping up with online writing is spotty if you subtract out Last Plane to Jakarta's remarkably long every-Sunday run,