Hello and welcome back to Wednesday Linkstorm. The hilarious joke temperature in New Hampshire today is five degrees Fahrenheit. Not even sure what I'm supposed to do about that. Wear more than one hat? Lie face down on the floor of my office? Ocean's 11 a SAD light out of the health center and look at it the rest of the day? Okay, cool. All I need is ten more people and to know where the health center is.
Happy birthday tomorrow to Edith Wharton. You in tonight for her party at Funky Buddha? Dress code is matching Herve Legers and Loubs. Bottle service!
Here's a blog post from the Washington Post claiming that poetry is dead. Not sure about that. I have a lots of poet friends (haha, "I have lots of black friends") and they're all pretty talented and passionate and impressive.
They announced the National Book Critics Award finalists. Fiction nominees include books by Lauren Binet, Ben Fountain, Adam Johnson, Lydia Millet, and Zadie Smith. Commence irrational panic about only having read one of them.
Ever-excellent literary website The Millions has launched what can only be described as an e-book thingy. An interview with editor C. Max Magee about it.
This is from a few weeks ago, but that Saunders profile from the Times is a must-read. Also check out the Saunders essay Chicago Christmas, 1984. It is amazing. Excerpt:
In response to John’s dreaming, Vic and Gary began to speak with mock-professorial diction.
“Look at this, kindly look at this,” Vic shouted. “John is not, after all, any more a gambler than he is a ergo roofer. That is, he is a equally sucky gambler as he is a suckass roofer.”
“Are you saying,” said Gary, “that his gambling, in terms of how much does it suck, sucks exactly as much as does suck his roofing?”
“Perzackly, yup, that is just what I am saying, doctor,” Vic burped.
Here's a Full Stop interview with Jami Attenberg, author of The Corrections Lite.
Dark Sorceress Joyce Carol Oates wrote another book. Black Dahlia & White Rose is DSJCO's 25th (!) collection of short stories.
A video of John Berryman reading one of his Dream Songs, "Life, friends, is boring." Perzackly, Berryman. Perzackly.
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