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.”
The author discusses her new book, Stag Dance.
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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.”
She stops to look into her mother's face. It is smooth and blank as a stone. Nothing emerges; nothing shifts.
The author discusses her new book, Stag Dance.
The bush pricked everyone’s fingers and provided handfuls of blush-red fruit for the price, if you were willing to pay it. Every summer I lived in that house I was glad to.
How the actor Boris Karloff obscured his Anglo-Indian roots and reinvented himself into an icon of Hollywood horror.
How hopeful parents' struggles with a major Canadian surrogacy agency illustrate the need for regulation.
Random was what life did best, Bea thought. It conferred cancer on the virtuous, drunk drivers on the unsuspecting, it matched noble wives to unfinished men, wickedness to wealth, weakness to power.
The manager takes me into the back room to explain the company ethos and the role. Each neighborhood store should feel like just that, a neighborhood store, she says, reading from the brochure.
