When Wanda bought the house, she didn’t imagine that anyone in the community would recognize that she and Lynn were queer.
The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
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When Wanda bought the house, she didn’t imagine that anyone in the community would recognize that she and Lynn were queer.
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.
Whatever angle you look at it, one detail is incontrovertible: in the end, a man is going to be killed.
These art objects let me feel my own living form through the many shapes they had been pressed into.
Social media is filled with documentation of human suffering. So why read a tragic novel?