Read MQR Reader Connor Greer’s response to Christine Rhein’s “Against Leaving Him” here. “Against Leaving Him” appears in our Winter 2021 Issue. You can purchase the issue here. Against Leaving Him “. . . [Ric] Hoogestraat was never much of a game enthusiast before he discovered Second Life. But since February, he’s been spending six […]
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I’ve often heard that a story’s ending should change the way the reader sees everything that has led to that point. It’s the moment when the story’s pieces snap into place, when all the seemingly unrelated scenes become unified in the climactic light.
Mary Gaitskill: The Woman Who Knew Judo Read More »
Two fingers on her hands rattle like winter leaves on the tree. Words hiss through her head. Do-ga-ske-v-se-gu-hanaugh.I shrug in frustration. How do I tell her even the words of her Cherokee language do not survive? I put her hand to my head but she takes it away. She is not deaf or blind! I see her buckskin gnawed by the teeth of wolves. Her feet trail bits of a comet.
The poem is both tender and sinister, simply told and yet deeply bizarre. It is a poem seemingly about torture, affection, and the afterlife ambiguously titled “Seven Rooms,” and, though we decided not to include it in our upcoming Anniversary issue, I believe it still deserves some attention.
From the Archives: Seven Rooms Read More »
It’s true that he wanted to be inside and outside the art world at the same time, but he was on public performance whenever he was out.
On The Grandfather of Pop Art: An Interview with Diane Kirkpatrick Read More »
Hit play below to hear Jacques J. Rancourt read his poem “Backyard Rock” and scroll down for the full text. “Backyard Rock“ is featured in MQR’s Winter 2021 Issue. Backyard Rock It’s 1999, the year I learned to float by filling my body with questions. Swimming at night with my father was the first time since the fog
Perillo is one of the great practitioners of what the Russian Formalist critic Viktor Shklovskii termed ostranenie, “enstrangement.” Under her pen, figuration becomes a way to capture both the immediacy and the oddity of the body one can neither master nor escape.
“Writers long for a new sense of form though they may never know
what it is. The real is released from its concept, light releases day
as a fawn steps over the floor of the world till some of the spots
look spilled…”
