The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
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The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
Standing in the wreckage of these spaces unlocks a sensation people often crave, but can’t name.
It’s an imagined past, a pastoral imaginary, an alternate timeline in the multiverse.
“Bird,” he cried, “I come on behalf of the emperor. Your voice is all anyone speaks of.”
They are often stewed foods, sometimes steamed or boiled. They are foods defined by their colours first—in this context, the lack of colour, the overall sameness, somehow gets misread as a fault.
Maybe I like being defined by my work! Did you ever think of THAT???
Days after Anna Kashfi wed the actor Marlon Brando, doubts about her purported Indian heritage surfaced, destroying her Hollywood career and branding her a liar. The truth was more complicated than anyone knew.
They were no longer comrades, but post-conflict combatants. The war is over, he said, a phrase he would keep repeating throughout the day without emotion. It’s over.