I remember the first thing Vienna said to me, after she ran up the driveway to our cabin, was “The water is full of poison.” When I said “What?” she stepped back, and scraped her eyes over me, instead of answering, a clear appraisal. “You got a little taller,” she said. She was much taller, […]
One day, Kyoko had the idea of showing her vegetable garden reflected in a hand mirror to her husband upstairs. For her husband, confined to bed, this alone would open out a new life before him. One could never say that it was simply “this,” a mirror. The hand mirror belonged to the dressing stand
Moonlight in Water Read More »
Boobie, listen, I don’t know what to tell you. History is people being assholes to each other in increasingly sophisticated ways.
Sex. Brutality. Animal faces. Wrathful oceans. Rickety boats. Stupid men who robbed my human rights. Insecure love affairs. Floating corpses’ love affairs. Am I also a floating corpse? What else?
Farewell to Douala Read More »
When he got to her she was sitting in the cart with her back to him, holding a quarter between her fingertips and looking at the people on the sidewalk coming toward her.
Beefeater Bill has no dignity.
“Dignity and Urgency in Edinburgh and London” Read More »
Mauro Covacich’s short story, translated by Marino D’Orazio, “The Bride,” appears in Michigan Quarterly Review’s Fall 2019 issue. He motioned for her to climb up and she jumped in. What luck finding someone willing to stop in this weather; usually they spot you at the last minute and keep going. They’re afraid to put on
Natsume Soseki (1867-1916) wrote a number of zuihitsu (literary essays) about his pets, of which “Buncho” (1909) is the most delicately crafted. It is the story of a caged bird that was brought to the writer as a companion in his lonely study, but which in the end died of neglect, despite the initial attention it received.
I believe the climate in America has changed and we are moving towards a best and worst of times situation. Those who revere naked power, and who want a “strong” man over democracy, are feeling emboldened. So too are the mediocre, the bullies and the bigots. Those of us who believe in democracy must fight back daily and art is one weapon among many—though art is a million things besides a weapon.
I waited for Nathan to pass his gaze over me and smile, fumbling for a compliment and finding none. Instead, he put a hand over his heart and dropped his jaw. “And look at you! My god, Andy—isn’t she the spitting image of Björk?”
