[{"id":276061,"date":"2026-08-21T14:59:59","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T18:59:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=276061"},"modified":"2026-08-21T14:59:59","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T18:59:59","slug":"heres-whats-making-us-happy-this-week-11","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/heres-whats-making-us-happy-this-week-11\/","title":{"rendered":"Here\u2019s what\u2019s making us happy <em>this<\/em> week."},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Summer isn&#8217;t over\u2014in fact, we rue the hater who throws in the beach towel before Labor Day. But there is a definite wind down spirit to late August. Afternoon storms gather steam on a dime, scuttling picnic plans. In New York, people begin to trickle back from their vacations. We&#8217;re all a little tired. Bracing for back to school.<\/p>\n<p>So no better time, in this staffer&#8217;s opinion, to revive our <em>weekly gratitude round-up<\/em>!\u00a0This Friday, we offer you some of the people, places, and things that are keeping this fragile ship afloat through the late summer slowdive.<\/p>\n<p>The author and activist <strong>Arundhati Roy<\/strong> has been lighting my grey afternoons. And I&#8217;m not the only one fanning out\u2014in <a href=\"https:\/\/www.currentaffairs.org\/news\/arundhati-roy-is-the-writer-we-need-in-authoritarian-times\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Current Affairs<\/em><\/a>, the writer <a href=\"https:\/\/www.currentaffairs.org\/news\/author\/sharmistha-jha\" rel=\"author\">Sharmistha Jha<\/a> recently published a praise note to Roy&#8217;s morally courageous canon. That piece led me to revisit her debut, <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9780812979657\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The God of Small Things<\/em><\/a>. Which is, happily, just as terrific as I remembered.<\/p>\n<p>My own week was <em>further<\/em> Roy-pilled by a recent dispatch from Delhi, where the Booker-winning author is currently chronicling the student-led Cockroach Janta protests against the Modi government. Roy&#8217;s report on the growing movement made for a galvanizing read in last week&#8217;s <a href=\"https:\/\/www.equator.org\/articles\/cockroach-janata-party-arundhati-roy\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Equator<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;The young have given us a gift,&#8221; she said of the protestors. &#8220;It is up to us all, every one of us to make what they have done matter.&#8221; At a moment when I find myself looking up to artists who truly practice their politics, this gauntlet hit like a gift.<\/p>\n<p>On the steamier (but still thrilling!) front, <strong>Jane Schoenbrun&#8217;s<\/strong>\u00a0thoughtful slasher <em>Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma\u00a0<\/em>made for a perfect night out.<\/p>\n<p>Just like their previous films\u2014and, eek, their <em>fiction!<\/em>\u2014this joint is smart, surreal, inimitable, and oh-so-lushly imagined. As fun to talk about after as it is to watch. I won&#8217;t spoil the real fun, but you should know that the movie includes the year&#8217;s best needle drop. An unhinged bit of seasonal spice.<\/p>\n<p>And last, here&#8217;s something you might lend your ears to. <strong>Sophie Vershbow and Rudi Greenberg<\/strong> are the bright-eyed (eared?) hosts of<em><a href=\"https:\/\/itwasabookfirst.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"> It Was a Book First<\/a>, <\/em>a new podcast contrasting film adaptations and their literary source material.<\/p>\n<p>A <a href=\"http:\/\/youtube.com\/watch?v=rKoXfYbcfhY&amp;feature=youtu.be\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">recent episode<\/a> on the new indie film <em>Late Fame<\/em>\u2014which was adapted from an Arthur Schnitzler short\u2014made for perky dish-washing company. And the hosts are self-proclaimed cine and biblio-philes respectively, so there&#8217;s some fun friction when it comes to discussing each medium&#8217;s strengths.<\/p>\n<p>Alright, friends. Wishing you a weekend full of inspiration, eye candy, and good company. We&#8217;re grateful for you!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Summer isn&#8217;t over\u2014in fact, we rue the hater who throws in the beach towel before Labor Day. But there is a definite wind down spirit to late August. Afternoon storms gather steam on a dime, scuttling picnic plans. In New<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":17066,"featured_media":276066,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43102,43201,43093,43092,43098,43445,43646],"tags":[111923,10061,101565,2108,107468,7902,20649,95689,105647,48273,72388,111922],"class_list":["post-276061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-biography","category-book-news-newsandculture","category-film-and-tv","category-newsandculture","category-style","category-technology","category-the-hub","tag-arthur-schnitzler","tag-arundhati-roy","tag-book-podcasts","tag-books","tag-equator","tag-film","tag-honestly-thought-it-was-spelled-tindr","tag-jane-schoenbrun","tag-late-fame","tag-nice-things","tag-sophie-vershbow","tag-teenage-sex-and-death-at-camp-miasma","book-the-god-of-small-things"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19OB","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Untitled-design-26.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/276061","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/17066"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=276061"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/276061\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/276066"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=276061"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=276061"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=276061"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":276000,"date":"2026-08-21T06:30:46","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T10:30:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=276000"},"modified":"2026-08-21T09:12:04","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T13:12:04","slug":"lit-hub-daily-august-21-2026","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/lit-hub-daily-august-21-2026\/","title":{"rendered":"Lit Hub Daily: August 21, 2026"},"content":{"rendered":"<span class=\"caption\"> TODAY: In 1762, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu is born. <\/span>\n<ul>\n<li>Learning about grief <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/a-literary-haunting-what-the-ghost-of-sylvia-plath-taught-me-about-grief\">from the ghost of Sylvia Plath<\/a>: &#8220;Although we may want to flee from what makes us afraid, it\u2019s so often that these ghosts are the only ones who can help us move through the spaces of discomfort and pain.&#8221; | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/category\/craftandcriticism\/craft-and-advice\/\">Craft<\/a><\/li>\n<li>&#8220;Laughing at death and dying would have been preposterous to me before knowing Max.&#8221; E. K. Schrader reflects on <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/how-talking-about-death-helps-us-live-a-fuller-life\">10 years without Max Ritvo<\/a>. | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/category\/newsandculture\/biography\/\">Biography<\/a><\/li>\n<li>\n<div>Anjet Daanje\u2019s <i>The Song of Stork and Dromedary<\/i>, Joby Warrick\u2019s <i>The Jackal<\/i>, and Dorthe Nors\u2019 <i>Range<\/i> all feature among the <a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/the-best-reviewed-books-of-the-week-8-21-2026\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\" data-saferedirecturl=\"https:\/\/www.google.com\/url?q=https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/the-best-reviewed-books-of-the-week-8-21-2026\/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1787339152450000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3lq6hqvuLC4Ift7TAsiGgi\">best reviewed books of the week<\/a>. | <a href=\"http:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\" data-saferedirecturl=\"https:\/\/www.google.com\/url?q=http:\/\/bookmarks.reviews&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1787339152450000&amp;usg=AOvVaw1ISRhJI-CiuY0Hglx3VPRV\">Book Marks<\/a><\/div>\n<\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/television-to-the-rescue-camille-acker-on-the-craft-potential-of-tv\/\">Why television is the serious writer&#8217;s ally<\/a> and not just a guilty pleasure. | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/category\/craftandcriticism\/craft-and-advice\/\">Craft<\/a><\/li>\n<li>What Mark Twain has to do with the rise and fall of subscription publishing (<a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/jeff-jarvis-on-mark-twain-americas-first-celebrity-author-and-publisher\/\">and the birth of mass media<\/a>). | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/category\/newsandculture\/history\/\">History<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/ways-of-connecting-on-writing-that-marries-the-psychological-the-personal-and-the-political\">Faraaz Mahomed talks to <span class=\"byline\">Damon Galgut about<\/span><\/a> marrying the psychological with the personal and the political in his debut novel, <em>Mother\/Land<\/em>. | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/ways-of-connecting-on-writing-that-marries-the-psychological-the-personal-and-the-political\">In Conversation<\/a><\/li>\n<li>&#8220;I medicate myself with an Asahi and a packet of sour gummy worms to avoid dwelling on this morbid thought for too long.&#8221; Read from <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/hello-limerence\">Momo Yamaguchi&#8217;s debut novel, <em>Hello, Limerence<\/em><\/a>. | Lit Hub <a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/category\/fictionandpoetry\/from-the-novel\/\">Fiction<\/a><\/li>\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/www.newyorker.com\/news\/the-lede\/the-real-meaning-of-the-jason-arday-scandal\">Lauren Michele Jackson on the reduction of Jason Arday<\/a>: \u201cArday is dead and still being propped up as an example of various crises, by commentators unconcerned with his memory.\u201d | The New Yorker<\/li>\n<li>Mitch Therieau explains <a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2026\/08\/20\/magazine\/lore-language-history.html\">the lure of \u201clore.\u201d<\/a> | The New York Times Magazine<\/li>\n<li>Grace Byron, Dorothea Lasky, Philip Ball, and more <a href=\"https:\/\/pioneerworks.org\/broadcast\/generation-astrology\">write about astrology<\/a>. | Broadcast<\/li>\n<li>Nozomi Naoi explores the visual history of <a href=\"https:\/\/thereader.mitpress.mit.edu\/how-japan-turned-department-stores-into-dreamworlds\/\">Japan\u2019s dreamy department stores<\/a>. | The MIT Press Reader<\/li>\n<li>[Sarah] Cavar examines \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.full-stop.net\/2026\/08\/20\/features\/scavar\/before-the-fuckers-catch-us-transmad-poetics-and-epistemic-flight\/\">the minor literatures of transMad life.<\/a>\u201d | Full Stop<\/li>\n<li>People love to argue about <a href=\"https:\/\/daily.jstor.org\/the-culture-wars-of-the-phantom-of-the-opera\/\"><i>The Phantom of the Opera<\/i><\/a>. | JSTOR Daily<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Learning about grief from the ghost of Sylvia Plath: &#8220;Although we may want to flee from what makes us afraid, it\u2019s so often that these ghosts are the only ones who can help us move through the spaces of discomfort<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":61,"featured_media":276014,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[45236],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-276000","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lit-hub-daily"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19NC","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Lady-Mary-Wortley-Montagu.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/276000","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/61"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=276000"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/276000\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/276014"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=276000"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=276000"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=276000"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":274805,"date":"2026-08-21T05:44:30","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:44:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=274805"},"modified":"2026-08-20T22:17:35","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T02:17:35","slug":"hello-limerence","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/hello-limerence\/","title":{"rendered":"Hello, Limerence"},"content":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><em>Nihao, New York<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I reluctantly fork out the exorbitant surcharge for my overweight luggage, whilst wondering what is the absolute limit to the weight a single plane can carry, and if the airlines take this into account when raking in our overweight-luggage fees, or if they\u2019ve conducted extensive statistical analyses and have determined that approximately 63 percent of people with overweight luggage would rather frantically unpack their suitcases in front of an audience to selectively dispose of their contents, thus ensuring that the amount of overweight luggage on board will always remain well under the maximum capacity, or if, as I suspect, doubting ho that I am, they don\u2019t give a flying fuck and will suck every penny out of you that they can and accept your extra money for the overweight luggage without any limit, meaning one day, a plane I\u2019m on will drop like a stone from the sky and we will all hurtle toward certain death because one too many people checked in overweight luggage.<\/p>\n<p>I medicate myself with an Asahi and a packet of sour gummy worms to avoid dwelling on this morbid thought for too long.<\/p>\n<p>Roughly 6,700 miles between Tai and me in about thirteen more hours, once I deplane my nonstop flight to New York. Not the best timing, per se, when there is nothing quite tangible between us yet, this flickering flame of a nonrelationship, but I\u2019d already booked my trip months ago in anticipation of the summer holidays. My first time traveling solo, because I\u2019m a big girl now. I scroll through our texts, the smattering of short one-liners heady with barely concealed lust and playful banter. Initiated by yours truly, the day after the beach party.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">you\u2019re kinda cute :)<\/p>\n<p>I confess that I composed several different variations: capitalized, in all lowercase, with emojis, with no emojis. I decided against sending it after hours, lest I sully my own reputation: I am a Madonna, not a whore. A virgin in love is not to be trifled with, no sir.<\/p>\n<p>In the end, I deleted the hey and the emoji, opting instead for an old-fashioned smile emoticon. All lowercase, in a deceptive show of casualness. I sent it at the unthreatening hour of 11:02 the following morning.<\/p>\n<p>The rest is history, as they say. My phone lights up with a new text, and my heart lights up, too, a fresh lime dropping into a cold bottle of beer, a bursting balloon, a cartoon lightbulb flicking on with sudden, radiant intensity. A giddiness I refuse to contain.<\/p>\n<p>I reread our texts every night, starting from the very first. I memorize all our lines, plot them into a color-coordinated spreadsheet that maps the frequency, initiator, and average response time of our conversations. I study the data in order to control my basest impulses and tamp them down; I master the art of coyness and mystery. A minimalist approach, if you will. Because less is more, he must make more of an effort to stoke the fires of our dialogue, keep it alive. I delight in snipping short the threads of our conversations and affecting a tone of detached nonchalance, for him to slam the ball back into my court out of desperation. Gleefully, I take it as a token of his continued interest.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">text me when you get there! hope u have a safe flight mika<\/p>\n<p>He adds a mikan, or mandarin orange, emoji at the end of the text, and my heart thumps at the personalized touch, his undeniable show of affection.<\/p>\n<p>I cling with gratitude to the morsels you throw at me. I feed on them throughout the day and hold them close to me in the moments before I fall asleep. Darling, you sustain me more than you could ever know. (If only you knew.)<\/p>\n<p>A bright, cold terror coils within my stomach moments before touchdown. What have I done? All alone with a few thousand dollars to my name, courtesy of my soul-sucking corporate job. Cold, hard cash that I intend to spend in the most frivolous of manners. My heart drops into my stomach and beats irregularly as I board the shuttle bus to the Midtown Hilton. No motels or hostels for the likes of me! Nothing beats the feeling of crisp, fresh white sheets and fluffy white towels, those mini bottles of shampoo and plastic-wrapped bars of tiny soap. A New Testament with an uncracked spine in my desk drawer, chocolate mints on my pillow. I am, after all, a fancy bitch.<\/p>\n<p>A fancy, friendless bitch in the great city of New York, left to her own devices for five whole days.<\/p>\n<p>I order room service, and a bespectacled man wheels in my silver platter at half past eight. He lingers at the door, and I smile and shut the door in his face\u2014did he want my number?\u2014before I remember, far too late, the terrible culture of tipping in America. I open the door again but to no avail; he has vanished without a trace, no doubt with a blossoming seed of anti-Asian sentiment that I have planted within him. I dine upon a single greasy slice of pepperoni pizza the size of my face, wash down my middle-class guilt with a can of Coke in a champagne flute, and vibrate myself to sleep.<\/p>\n<p>I wake up, entangled in starched white sheets, legs stubbled. I try my best not to picture that episode of an investigative TV show where a hotel room, under the glare of black light, showed splotches of semen in every corner of the room. Try my best not to think of how many couples have fucked with reckless abandon on this very surface that I now lie upon, all by my lonesome. Or on the velvet armchair sitting like an innocent in the corner of the room, on the desk with a gilded mirror hanging ever so conveniently over it, in the porcelain bathtub with curved lion paws, or the walk-in shower. The carpet must be coated in cum. Not an inch left unfucked. I shower the remnants of other people\u2019s lovemaking off my virginal body and shave my cactus legs in order to please the patriarchy.<\/p>\n<p>I dress myself leisurely, luxuriously, in front of the full-length mirror. First, a silky pink thong embroidered with flowers followed by an oversized dusty-pink graphic T-shirt sans bra, and black-and-white striped drawstring pants. I dust glittery eye-shadow across my eyelids, draw on heavy-winged eyeliner, slip on black platform wedges so high I could break an ankle in them. Once again, I take time to mourn the waste of my unappreciated, unfucked beauty. I grope my own breasts because no one else will grope them for me.<\/p>\n<p>A new text from Tai awaits me, but I leave it unopened. My little present. I will let it sit for a few more hours to conjure the illusion of being preoccupied, of not being utterly consumed by thoughts of him. The one who cares less wins. A woman is happier when she is loved more than she loves, my mother once told me. The secret behind my parents\u2019 silver anniversary, no doubt.<\/p>\n<p>A full day stretches out before me, with an itinerary to pluck and discard or ingest as I please. But first, breakfast.<\/p>\n<p>The breakfast buffet proves to be a sumptuous feast. I dine on Chinese congee with broiled peanuts and pork floss, fuse East and West in my belly by partaking in a mushroom and cheese omelet cooked to order, a tiny blueberry muffin, two rashers of crispy bacon, fresh papaya, and a little glass bowl of Greek yogurt drizzled with honey and sprinkled with granola. I mop it all up with a triangle of toast, buttered thickly with a silver knife. It is very good toast; my teeth meet initial resistance with the crusty exterior, before sinking into a delightfully spongy interior. I leave no crumbs and wash it all down with one last cup of milky coffee, as steam condenses like dewdrops upon my lashes.<\/p>\n<p>I have eaten until I\u2019ve reached that happy place where a minuscule pocket of residual hunger gnaws within me, hara hachi bun me. I discreetly loosen my drawstring pants and head out into the city.<\/p>\n<p>My phone buzzes again and I know without looking that it is Tai, and a warmth seeps through me. Like pissing in the shower, a liquid blanket. Except it\u2019s love, not piss: I am in love.<\/p>\n<p>This feeling that I get, whenever I see his name pop up on my screen, whenever he deigns to respond without leaving me on read, whenever I scroll up and then down our ever-accumulating flurry of exchanges, I wish to bottle it up, this pink-prosecco giddiness. I could jerk off to the feeling every night.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWATCH IT, LADY!\u201d screams a spandex-clad bicyclist as I attempt to jaywalk, but even his anger cannot dampen my Tai-induced fizz. I check it off my list of quintessential New York experiences and raise nary a middle finger to his fast-retreating buttocks.<\/p>\n<p>Our charming encounter aside, I am relatively anonymous, and I revel in my invisibility. So unlike the suburbs of Ohio, where I had the misfortune of spending my formative years because of my parents\u2019 jobs. New York: the next best thing after Hawaii, at least to my people. When you think of America, you think of New York. Not Ohio, never Ohio. The streets of Manhattan are for the most part pleasingly numbered and uniform\u2014not a cornfield in sight!\u2014and I walk with an air of purpose and practiced disdain so strong that another tourist stops to ask me for directions, and I have to shake my head and say, \u201cSorry, I\u2019m not from here.\u201d Hungry from walking, I order a hot dog off a shabby cart parked on the corner from an alarmingly mustachioed man, feeling my New Yorker fantasy, when I am Nihao-ed.<\/p>\n<p>(By a middle-aged, vaguely Middle Eastern man, no less. The whites have divided and conquered us; so much for racial solidarity!)<\/p>\n<p>He spits the words in my face, smirks, saunters off. I am shooketh. I did not know, did not dare imagine, that Nihaos transpired outside of the flyover states. A hot, scorching embarrassment crawls over me, and I stand stock-still as he walks away. Not a single witty insult comes to my lips, and I am left to stew in regret and vivid, violent fantasies of everything I could\u2019ve, should\u2019ve, done.<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p><em>Mika shoves her half-eaten hot-dog sausage up his left nostril, <\/em><em>then stuffs the bun into his jeering mouth. Grabs a ketchup bottle and <\/em><em>garnishes his face, before squirting mustard into his hateful, piggish <\/em><em>eyes.<\/em> <em>Observe<\/em> <em>now<\/em> <em>as<\/em> <em>he<\/em> <em>gags<\/em> <em>and<\/em> <em>gasps<\/em> <em>for<\/em> <em>breath,<\/em> <em>totally<\/em> <em>reliant <\/em><em>on the tiny airway of his right nostril. He falls to the ground. She <\/em><em>reaches over and stuffs the free end of the hot dog into his right nostril, forming a sausage septum ring and closing off his last available <\/em><em>airway. \u201cNIHAO TO YOU TOO, BITCH\u201d<\/em><em> are her parting words as Mika leaves him twitching on the sidewalk, hordes of indifferent New Yorkers stepping over his dead body.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>The hot-dog vendor avoids eye contact as he busies himself with the next customer. Only he is witness to my humiliation, and I nibble at my hot dog in a brave show of nonchalance. My melanated skin barely masks my burning cheeks and my heart is beating a mile a minute, but my Asian poker face is my saving grace.<\/p>\n<p>I stroll on, street meat in hand, like a seasoned local. Unperturbed, unaffected. I belong here, even if my passport says differently. The vast influence of American soft power (or the corrupting impact of Western imperialism disguised as globalization, whichever you prefer) ensured that the world grew up watching American movies and listening to American music, eating at American chain restaurants, wearing American brand clothing, even speaking American slang. Shit! Fuck! Bitch! Our politics, cultures, and wars manipulated by America to varying extents. We ended up looking up to America with a mixture of childish love and longing; we believed with unfounded confidence that we would belong, that America would accept us, if only we were able to get there. In a way, America belongs to us too, because we\u2019ve known America all our lives. I belong here! I belong here! I march down the sidewalk in my black platform wedges and cast my leftovers to a pair of rats, who promptly engage in a violent scuffle. I eye my reflection in a shop window, the Nihao incident blocks behind me. Look at that ass, the curve of that spine. Not even a quarter of a century old! Youth in all its glory and radiance: moi. What am I without it? Nothing. But for now, it is in my possession, and I am all the more desirable for it. I pass a bearded man with dreads who is leaning against a building. He appraises me coolly though half-lidded eyes while smoking a cigarette. A seemingly homeless man whistles before yelling \u201cI LIKE LEGS!\u201d from across the street, and I beam with pride even as I avoid eye contact and hurry along, clutching at my purse strap. Men other than Tai find me attractive! My calves are pleasing to the eye!<\/p>\n<p>There is a novelty in being perceived, really seen, as a foreigner and a woman. Catcalling does not occur in a civilized country like mine, at least not for me, and I will sink into relative obscurity again when I arrive home. Nobody will spare a glance my way; I\u2019ll be just another average blackhead. But here, I am Nihao-ed and I am catcalled.<\/p>\n<p>I text Tai the details of both incidents, and I am delighted by his immediate reply, his imagined jealousy and gnashing of teeth. Fuck that guy. Are you ok? He\u2019s probably at home, furiously masturbating at the thought of me, a dozen abused socks discarded by his bedside, stiffly upright like meerkats. I\u2019m worried about you he says. Stay safe out there and come home in one piece, ok? And I chide him for his paternalism, reply yes daddy with a heart emoji tacked on for good measure to really get his blood going. He texts me a singular fuck in response, and this eloquent Shakespearean expression of the bottomless depth of his carnal longing renders me weak in the knees. I consider printing out his text and framing it. Every time my phone vibrates with a new text from him and my screen lights up with his name, a shot of serotonin goes straight to my heart. This, this must be love.<\/p>\n<p>Later that night, I sit nestled in fresh sheets, popping my blisters and scrolling through our texts from the very beginning. As per usual. Oh, the perverse pleasure of blister popping\u2014applying steady pressure with my thumb until pop! the clear juice, or sauce, as I like to call it, explodes, which I soak up with a tissue before applying ointment and a bandage over the new crater. I pop one and then another, my battle scars from conquering the streets of New York, as I savor my exchanges with Tai. It\u2019s morning in Tokyo, but he texts me good night with a little crescent-moon emoji, and my heart explodes into fireworks at this minimal gesture of affection, a shortcut salutation, and I drift off to sleep, happy in the knowledge that I am quite in love. My remaining days in New York gallop by in a rather uneventful fashion; I have money, but I don\u2019t know how to spend it. I end up shuttling myself to tourist destinations and burn with quiet shame come nighttime, when I have to feed myself. Lunch is a much more manageable affair; I indulge in a buttery lobster roll and a frothy root-beer float one day, and enjoy a small feast from an organic supermarket that I bring to Central Park on my last, flicking through a paperback while spearing marinated olives and gorging on miscellaneous delicacies: crackers with Brie and apricot jam, garlic shrimp, truffle potato chips, and jammy egg and watercress sandwiches. I spit the olive pits out with glee like a proper barbarian. But oh, how I dread dinners, the holding up of one finger and smiling sheepishly when the waiter inquires, \u201cTable for how many?\u201d and sitting there pathetically, miserably, at a table set for two, while surrounded by couples and friends and families. There is never another solo diner in sight. Because only losers eat dinner in public by themselves. I\u2019m a loser, and everybody here knows it.<\/p>\n<p>Everybody except for Tai and Nana and my family, the only people I text every day; they are none the wiser. I send Nana snapshots and selfies, and she texts me back UGH SO JELLY and I grow complacent in playing the part of a person who inspires envy. My parents telling me that they love me not through words, because we\u2019re Asian and we don\u2019t do that, but by asking me if I\u2019m eating well and to send pictures of what I\u2019ve eaten, and I realize that nobody else in my life cares about what passes through my esophagus as much as they do, and if that is not love, what is? My mother wants me to be careful of pickpockets and rapists, and my father wants me to send him my flight details so he can pick me up at the airport. Tai writes hurry back soon and suddenly it doesn\u2019t matter that I\u2019m all alone, scarfing down a bowl of overpriced duck ragu in a neighborhood bistro in a foreign country, because the glow of his words renews me, gives me strength. I slip my phone into my pocket and smile, tip the waiter 25 percent, and sail out of the restaurant on love\u2019s light wings.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">__________________________________<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><em>From <\/em><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9780063468269\">Hello, Limerence<\/a><em> by Momo Yamaguchi<\/em><em>. Used with permission of the publisher, Mariner Books. Copyright \u00a9 2026 by Momo Yamaguchi.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Nihao, New York I reluctantly fork out the exorbitant surcharge for my overweight luggage, whilst wondering what is the absolute limit to the weight a single plane can carry, and if the airlines take this into account when raking in<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":63,"featured_media":274806,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[25508,3,43074,43076,26764],"tags":[111423,40270,111422],"class_list":["post-274805","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-daily-fiction","category-excerpts","category-fictionandpoetry","category-from-the-novel","category-novels","tag-hello-limerence","tag-mariner-books","tag-momo-yamaguchi","story-type-daily-fiction"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19ul","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/hello-limerence.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/274805","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/63"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=274805"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/274805\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/274806"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=274805"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=274805"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=274805"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275751,"date":"2026-08-21T05:10:55","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:10:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275751"},"modified":"2026-08-20T22:05:25","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T02:05:25","slug":"jeff-jarvis-on-mark-twain-americas-first-celebrity-author-and-publisher","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/jeff-jarvis-on-mark-twain-americas-first-celebrity-author-and-publisher\/","title":{"rendered":"Jeff Jarvis on Mark Twain, America\u2019s First Celebrity Author and Publisher"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>In the history of the invention of the typesetting machine and the consequent birth of mass media, Mark Twain is the Zelig of our tale, returning frequently as a typesetter in his brother\u2019s ratty newspaper; as a tramp printer witnessing an explosion of progress in printing technology; as the bankrupted investor in the failed Paige Compositor, a competitor to the successful Linotype; as an early best-selling author and cultural celebrity; and as a publisher trying to invent a business model for books as an industry.<\/p>\n<p>Now that their machinery could produce volume, publishers needed ways to sell at scale, to build the modern phenomenon of the best-seller. The problem: In 1859, only 1,090 bookstores dotted America. By 1914, there were still only 3,501. So if readers couldn\u2019t find books, books had to find their readers. For certain authors and publishers, including Twain, that was accomplished through subscription publishing, with door-to-door canvassers taking orders for books before they were printed. Until the end of the nineteenth century, three quarters of books in the U.S. were sold this way.<\/p>\n<p>In 1874, the <i>New York Tribune<\/i> estimated that 50,000 agents were employed by subscription publishers. What a wonderful fictional character it would be to imagine the itinerant peddler pitching not pots or patent medicines but literature and literacy, foot in door after door, blurbing Twain with a few dozen sample pages and illustrations to whet curiosity and demand.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">Twain valued these readers as they valued him. They freed him from the expectations of high culture and its critics. And he was certain they\u2019d make him rich.<\/p>\n<p>Subscription publishing brought advantages. By collecting orders for books before printing, publishers knew how many copies to produce. Publishers could use customers\u2019 capital to finance production\u2014not unlike a content producer today raising money via Kickstarter or Patreon. Subscription publishing\u2019s cross to bear was snobbery. William Dean Howells dismissed subscription books, carving out a caveat only for his friend Twain: \u201cNo book of literary quality was made to go by subscription except Mr. Clemens\u2019s books, and I think these went because the subscription public never knew what good literature they were.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The regular trade carped that subscription publishers \u201cflood the country with worthless books, poorly written, poorly printed and bound, containing a small amount of matter in large type and with wide margins to the page, for a large price.\u201d Elisha Bliss, Twain\u2019s publisher, defended the trade to the <i>Tribune<\/i>: \u201cInstead of injuring the regular book business I think we create a thirst for knowledge and thus increase the sale of all kinds of books. In the little town where there are no bookstores the book agent induces people to buy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Twain valued these readers as they valued him. They freed him from the expectations of high culture and its critics. And he was certain they\u2019d make him rich. \u201cHarper publishes very high-class books,\u201d he wrote to a friend, \u201cand they go to people who are accustomed to read. That class are surfeited. But there is a vast class that isn\u2019t\u2014the factory hands and the farmers. They never go to a bookstore; they have to be hunted down by the canvasser.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Twain knew that a new, mass audience had to be corralled, one door knocked after another. As he wrote to London critic Andrew Lang: \u201cThe thin top crust of humanity\u2014the cultivated\u2014are worth pacifying, worth pleasing, worth coddling, worth nourishing and preserving with dainties and delicacies, it is true; but to cater to that little faction is of no very dignified or valuable occupation, it seems to me; it is merely feeding the over-fed, and there must be small satisfaction in that.\u201d He sought instead to entertain \u201cthe mighty mass of the uncultivated who are underneath&#8230;.I have never tried in even one single instance, to help cultivate the cultivated classes. I was not equipped for that, either by native gifts or training. And I never had any ambition in that direction, but always hunted for bigger game\u2014the masses.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>In 1866, Twain nabbed the assignment of a dream: sailing to the Sandwich Islands (now Hawaii) to send back reports to the <i>Sacramento Union<\/i>. Upon his return to San Francisco, he launched a side gig as a lecturer, amusing ever-larger audiences with his travel tales and humor. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t be a cloistered writer so much as a showman, a public personality, a professional crowd-pleaser. In short, a celebrity,\u201d wrote Ron Chernow. Next, Twain reported for the <i>Alta California<\/i> about a journey Back East. Then he issued his first book, <i>The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County and Other Sketches<\/i>, which debuted to good reviews and established Twain\u2019s reputation as a wry humorist. The book was published by Twain\u2019s friend Charles Henry Webb, whom he soon dumped, complaining\u2014as would become his habit\u2014about sales.<\/p>\n<p>Next came another enviable gig and a reputation-setting assignment from <i>Alta California<\/i>, to report from a five-month cruise to the Holy Land on the <i>Quaker City<\/i>. His letters ran in the paper and were picked up in others across the country. He returned home to a letter from Elisha Bliss of Hartford\u2019s American Publishing Company, soliciting a book on the adventure, which became <i>The Innocents Abroad<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>Twain received negotiating advice from famed minister Henry Ward Beecher, who had inspired the Holy Land trip but didn\u2019t go along. In Twain\u2019s telling, Beecher offered a prophetic warning: \u201cNow here\u2014you are one of the talented men of the age\u2014nobody is going to deny that\u2014but in matters of business, I don\u2019t suppose you know more than enough to come in when it rains.\u201d Twain reported to his family, \u201cI listened well, and then came up here and made a splendid contract for a Quaker City book of 5 or 600 large pages, with illustrations&#8230;.But I had my mind made up to one thing\u2014I wasn\u2019t going to touch a book unless there was money in it, and a good deal of it.\u201d He soon complained this was a bad deal.<\/p>\n<p>Subscription books were fancy and rich in illustration, not so much elegant as tarted up. Buyers had the choice of various bindings as upgrades. The average price of <i>Innocents<\/i> was $4 (almost $100 today). Readers bought them to display their erudition to visitors: every book a coffee-table book. <i>The Innocents Abroad<\/i> was received well, favorably reviewed in <i>The Atlantic Monthly<\/i> by Howells, who noted its length\u2014\u201cin compliance with one of the main conditions of a subscription book\u2019s success, bigness namely\u201d; praised its drollery five times, its irony three times, and its impudence twice; applauded the \u201camount of pure human nature in the book, that rarely gets into literature\u201d; and counted Twain among America\u2019s humorists, \u201cquite worthy of the company of the best.\u201d Twain\u2019s head swelled sufficiently to accept the praise: \u201cIt was quite generally conceded that I was a valuable asset to the American nation and to the great ranks of literature.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>In a year and a half, <i>Innocents<\/i> sold 82,524 copies, nowhere near <i>Uncle Tom\u2019s Cabin<\/i>\u2019s 300,000 in its first year, but a success nonetheless. Twain had negotiated well, for he rejected a $10,000 flat payment from Bliss in favor of the 5-percent royalty, which added up to $16,504\u2014about $400,000 today. During his lifetime, no book of Twain\u2019s sold as well as quickly, fueling his chronic grievances with publishers.<\/p>\n<p>Twain wrote a next book for Bliss, about his life Out West, this time demanding half of the profits after manufacturing costs, equaling a royalty of 7.5 percent. Twain told Bliss, \u201cWe shall sell 90,000 copies in the first 12 months. I haven\u2019t even a shadow of doubt of that.\u201d Published in 1872, it sold 65,000 in the first year\u2014again, respectable.<\/p>\n<p>Twain and Warren joined to write <i>The Gilded Age<\/i>, published by Bliss for a 10-percent royalty. The book sold 50,000 copies in its first year. Twain thought he would be a better publisher. He would soon try.<\/p>\n<p>He released <i>The Adventures of Tom Sawyer<\/i> in 1876, selling only 23,600 copies in its first year. He blamed Bliss for mistiming its release. He next published <i>A Tramp Abroad<\/i> in 1880. Walter A. Friedman provided an accounting: American Publishing sold 62,000 copies in the first year at $3.50 each for a total of $218,000. Just over half of that went to sales agents, who paid their canvassers. The company kept $106,000, out of which it spent $41,540 on printing, leaving a profit of $64,460, of which Twain received $32,000\u2014nearly $1 million today.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">The mechanization and industrialization of media\u2014begun with the steam-powered press and culminating with the Linotype\u2014spawned a business and cultural obsession with scale.<\/p>\n<p>As Twain was writing <i>The Prince and the Pauper<\/i>, Bliss died. He shifted publication of <i>The Prince<\/i> to his friend James Osgood. This time, Twain funded the book\u2019s publication\u2014complaining that he was out $65,000 before the first copy was printed. Instead of receiving a royalty, he paid Osgood 7.5 percent of sales. Neither was experienced in subscription sales, and of a first printing of 25,000, 5,000 remained in their warehouses after two years. He repeated the mistake with the publication of <i>Life on the Mississippi<\/i>, which lured only 30,000 orders, far from the 100,000 Twain hoped for. Osgood\u2019s company ended in bankruptcy in 1885. This might have discouraged a sensible man from deciding to become a publisher. Not Twain.<\/p>\n<p>Twain established his own publishing house, giving it the name of his general manager and dogsbody, Charles L. Webster &amp; Co. The aim was to publish only Twain\u2019s books. The first was his masterpiece, <i>Huckleberry Finn<\/i>, in 1885. Infamously, an engraver subverted the publication by endowing Uncle Silas Phelps with an erect penis, necessitating the scissoring of the offending image from thousands of copies and delaying publication past prime Christmas season. Nonetheless, the Webster Company\u2019s agents sold 60,000 copies, rewarding the author with a check for $54,000. \u201cOnce more I experienced a new birth,\u201d Twain wrote. \u201cI have been born more times than anybody except Krishna, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n<p><i>Huck\u2019s<\/i> success emboldened Twain and Webster to expand as a full-fledged publishing house. Twain worked diligently to solicit the memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant. Twain offered Grant an astounding 70 percent of profits. He told Webster to hire veterans as canvassers, have them wear their Grand Army regalia, and deliver his script: \u201cI presume it is simply a question with you of your choice of bindings, as no American will want to have it said that he has not read General Grant\u2019s book, a work that will descend to your children and will increase in value with every generation.\u201d The memoirs were a stupendous best-seller, 10,000 door-to-door canvassers selling 325,000 two-volume sets in 1886, earning the general\u2019s widow and children as much as $15 million in today\u2019s dollars.<\/p>\n<p>It was downhill from there for Twain and Webster, their record studded with poor choices of books by a half-dozen Civil War generals or their widows, the king of Hawaii, and Pope Leo XIII (\u201c\u2019Twas kind of a fizzle,\u201d recalled Twain\u2019s maid Katy Leary). Twain signed Henry Ward Beecher to write his memoirs, but the minister died before setting pen to paper. Twain was inspired to publish the ambitious Library of American Literature with 1,700 selections by 500 authors in eleven volumes, but failed to grasp the perilous economics of selling such a gargantuan series by subscription. Readers paid a three-dollar down-payment, but Webster &amp; Co. would not collect the rest of its thirty-three-dollar price until after paying the printers thirteen dollars, on top of twelve dollars to sales agents, with Twain carrying that debt in the meantime. The company needed capital to tide itself over, but where was Twain\u2019s\u2014and his wife\u2019s\u2014money? Sunk into the Paige Compositor. The business analysis was not complicated. His maid understood it: \u201cMr. Clemens was all deep in the typesetting machine, and he was putting all his money in that so he didn\u2019t have much left to help out the publishing company. That was the beginning of the end of that venture.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Even without their bad business decisions, Twain\u2019s venture was likely doomed, along with the subscription publishing industry, for books were getting radically cheaper, with ever-more competition. The number of titles published in the U.S. more than doubled, from 4,559 in 1890 to 12,010 in 1914. In 1895, <i>The Bookman<\/i> began publishing the first lists of most-popular books according to store sales. The term \u201cbest-seller\u201d came into general use around 1910, according to historian of publishing Frank Luther Mott, who set the bar for \u201cbest-seller\u201d at \u201cone percent of the total population of continental United States for the decade in which the book was published.\u201d To meet Mott\u2019s benchmark, books today would need to sell 3.4 million copies. For comparison, Kristen McLean, a lead industry analyst at NPD BookScan, reported that in 2022, of 45,571 titles released by just the top ten publishers, only 163 books or 0.36 percent sold more than 100,000 copies in a year.<\/p>\n<p>In our age of mass media, we have developed a skewed definition of big\u2014a presumption that many means most. To sell 100,000 books\u2014and congratulations if you do!\u2014is to speak to 0.03 percent of the nation, hardly a resounding expression of the cultural zeitgeist. The blockbuster economics of media\u2014in film, television, music, and books\u2014depends on a few best-sellers to make up for the vast number of lesser bets. But that eternal quest for blockbusters gives the impression that anything called a best-seller is widely influential, while all else is dismissed. Whether selling entertainment to an audience or an audience to advertisers, the mechanization and industrialization of media\u2014begun with the steam-powered press and culminating with the Linotype\u2014spawned a business and cultural obsession with scale.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">_______________________________<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" data-attachment-id=\"275752\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/jeff-jarvis-on-mark-twain-americas-first-celebrity-author-and-publisher\/hot-type\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type.jpg\" data-orig-size=\"540,820\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"hot type\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type.jpg\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-275752\" src=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type-198x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"198\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type-198x300.jpg 198w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type-40x60.jpg 40w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type-33x50.jpg 33w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/hot-type.jpg 540w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 198px) 100vw, 198px\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><em>From<\/em> <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9798765123959\">Hot Type: The Magnificent Machine That Gave Birth to Mass Media and Drove Mark Twain Mad<\/a> <em>by Jeff Jarvis. Copyright \u00a9 2026. Available from Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>In the history of the invention of the typesetting machine and the consequent birth of mass media, Mark Twain is the Zelig of our tale, returning frequently as a typesetter in his brother\u2019s ratty newspaper; as a tramp printer witnessing<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31665,"featured_media":276022,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[6,43101,43092],"tags":[22670,17422,29362,18997,111785,45370,5082,111786,4026],"class_list":["post-275751","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-features","category-history","category-newsandculture","tag-american-literature","tag-bloomsbury-academic","tag-bloomsbury-publishing","tag-bookselling","tag-hot-type-the-magnificent-machine-that-gave-birth-to-mass-media-and-drove-mark-twain-mad","tag-jeff-jarvis","tag-mark-twain","tag-mass-media","tag-publishing","story-type-publishing"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19JB","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mark-twain-1.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275751","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/31665"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275751"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275751\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/276022"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275751"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275751"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275751"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275780,"date":"2026-08-21T05:10:21","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:10:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275780"},"modified":"2026-08-21T06:26:30","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T10:26:30","slug":"how-talking-about-death-helps-us-live-a-fuller-life","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/how-talking-about-death-helps-us-live-a-fuller-life\/","title":{"rendered":"How Talking About Death Helps Us Live a Fuller Life"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>The first time I realized I was going to die I was cutting out an obituary for a project for my 6th grade class. I was working on the living room floor, as my father slouched nearby on the brown couch, reading. My eyes suddenly focused in on the age of the dead person in the newspaper\u2014I can\u2019t remember it now\u2014and then something clicked. \u201cThis person died,\u201d I told my dad, startled. \u201cI\u2019m going to die someday, too.\u201d I then felt a surge of panic, of a kind I would become accustomed to in the years to come. My dad looked up from his book and said: \u201cYes, but not tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I started crying about Max Ritvo\u2019s terminal cancer before I even met him. I never told him this because it was too embarrassing. We\u2019d begun emailing in the late spring of 2014 since we\u2019d been assigned to teach together, along with KB Thors, in a summer program for high school students at Columbia University. His emails were these enthusiastic bursts of ideas (always original and often impractical) about how to get our future students excited about creative writing. He was full of exclamation points, encouragement, and XOXOs. We planned a meeting to discuss our syllabi and it was decided KB and I would call Max together (from Brooklyn) since he was in Los Angeles visiting family. \u201cMax is terminally ill,\u201d KB said before we called. \u201cIt\u2019s something he talks about a lot, so I thought you should know beforehand.\u201d<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">Laughing at death and dying would have been preposterous to me before knowing Max.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve always been teary about death. My friends and family know that I am \u201csensitive\u201d on this topic, but in the days after learning about Max\u2019s diagnosis I could tell that I was perplexing even them with my tears about Max, a person I\u2019d never met. I\u2019d be waiting for the train or out to dinner and suddenly think of Max\u2014how he was sick and knew he was dying\u2014and my eyes would go watery. I thought about how funny he was. On the phone, he joked that he was actually in New York, not LA, but too anxious to meet us. How could he attempt humor when he knew he was dying? I thought about how he got up each day and lived his life and did things, such as preparing to teach a summer class for high school students. I scoured the Internet and learned he was a talented poet, essayist, and comedian.<\/p>\n<p>In his 2016 interview with Mary Harris for the WNYC podcast <i>Only Human<\/i> during what he dubbed his \u201cfarewell tour,\u201d Max articulates some of his ideas about the relationship between humor and death. \u201cDeath is like a prank that your body plays on life,\u201d he says and then tries to persuade Harris of the \u201cphysical comedy of it [death]\u201d with talk of explosive bodily functions and rigor mortis. Similarly, he tells Kaveh Akbar in a transcribed interview for <i>Divedapper<\/i> that humor is not a \u201cdeflection\u201d and is in fact \u201ca kind of wisdom.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Laughing at death and dying would have been preposterous to me before knowing Max. After my beloved aunt had died years before, the idea of letting humor in, even laughing at a funny joke on TV, seemed an offense to my grief. But for Max humor was a way to experience each moment as profoundly as possible. \u201cWhen you laugh at something horrible,\u201d Max tells Harris, \u201cyou are just illuminating a side of it that was already there . . . it makes it deeper.\u201d I believe him, at least in theory.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">What right did I have to complain about my fear of dying when his was so imminent?<\/p>\n<p>Once I knew Max, really knew him, he became a different person. He couldn\u2019t be a static, dying 23-year-old when he was also the person who\u2019d cover for me and make my photocopies at Columbia when I was running late. We got to know each other quickly, perhaps in the way that only someone with limited time knows to. We exchanged rapid-fire text messages. He introduced me to emojis before everyone was doing it. He encouraged me to write essays and convinced me that I had the chutzpah to get a tattoo (he had many, all of birds). He told me about the chapbook he\u2019d written and I told him about the novel I\u2019d been working on for too long. We talked about our romantic histories, our families, our therapists, and our gender non-conformity. Everything was endlessly interesting when I was talking to him and it always felt like we didn\u2019t have enough time.<\/p>\n<p>I had my first panic attack when I was 14, convinced my throat was closing up. I remember my mother pointing a flashlight down my throat and proclaiming it open, my parents trying to calm me as I hurriedly put on my socks and shoes, saying I had to get to the hospital. I looked fine, they thought, and seemed to be talking normally, if fearfully. But I was and am a convincing performer of panic, both for myself and for those around me, and so we soon packed ourselves into a cab headed for Mount Sinai. This first ER visit set in motion many more such attacks in the years and decades to come. My go-to fear in any panic-inducing scenario\u2014new physical discomfort, pending medical test, poorly swallowed water, trying a new food\u2014is always that I am dying. In this way life has been something to cling to, instead of to fully live.<\/p>\n<p>I don&#8217;t think I ever told Max explicitly about my panic disorder. What right did I have to complain about my fear of dying when his was so imminent? I did mention once my fear of flying and then a period when I was having trouble swallowing. In turn, he told me the story of how he almost died putting an entire frozen burrito in his mouth in his middle school classroom. The idea of him choking visibly upset me, but he reassured me that it was okay, he had survived.<\/p>\n<p>I think of Max often, frozen in time, of course: at 23, 24, and eventually at 25 just before he died. I see his angular face, both handsome and beautiful, his lithe frame that was only at the edge of too thin when we first met. Sometimes something he once said to me will break through the surface of my present life\u2014parenting, teaching, writing, cooking dinner\u2014and I\u2019ll smile, or reflect, or feel sad.<\/p>\n<p>For a lot of people, myself included, Max was our teacher about death and dying. He was wise beyond this subject, but on this he was a time traveler who\u2019d been living up close to death in a way that almost none of his friends had. (He\u2019d gotten his first cancer diagnosis at 16 and it recurred in his senior year of college.) His present was the present we all had as artists, writers, young (or in my case youngish) people trying to find their way\u2014because he was trying to find his way, too. But then he also had a foot in the world of our parents or grandparents, and the reality that things would end soon. In this way, he was going places we wouldn\u2019t yet go and could report back about our future.<\/p>\n<p>Looking back, I wasn\u2019t ready for so much he had to say when he was alive. While I read all of his writing and listened to all of his interviews as soon as they came out, a part of me turned away from the moments that felt too scary or painful. I told myself though that I could always come back to his ideas when I was ready, and perhaps his approach to life and death would someday become my own. This is why I never finished this essay back in 2016. It\u2019s why I\u2019m trying to finish it now.<\/p>\n<p>In an interview with writer Kaveh Akbar conducted a few months before his death, Max elucidates some of his end-of-life thinking:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">Everybody dies with loose ends. You can be ninety, you can be twenty-five. These are my particular loose ends . . . It\u2019s been immensely liberating to realize so much of joy is made worse by trying to make it stay. And so much of suffering is made worse by trying to make suffering go away. When you\u2019re just comfortable allowing whatever sensations are there to be there, allowing the paths whatever their paths, that is healing.<\/p>\n<p>I am still grappling with so much of what Max had to say. Death has always been something I\u2019ve promised myself I\u2019d try to contend with someday. One of his many achievements is that Max made an uncomfortable subject more visible\u2014through levity, through gravity, and through beauty. I may not have the answers, but I do know that revisiting all of Max\u2019s work hurts and also helps. Considering the inconsiderable feels like progress, if not quite peace. So, now I\u2019m 42 and still learning from a 25-year-old.<\/p>\n<p>In some ways, the ten years that he\u2019s been gone have passed faster than the two that I knew him for. Did he stop time? Did my time with him make me feel more present, more alive? Does middle-age just make life go faster?<\/p>\n<p>My oldest child, born exactly a week before Max\u2019s death, is about to turn ten. I think constantly in blocks of time these days\u2014this was her at five, and suddenly it\u2019s ten, and then in another ten years (only double the time we\u2019ve already had together) she\u2019ll be 20 and a completely different person. I\u2019m always doing the math. How old will I be when she\u2019s 18? How old will my 90-year-old father be? How old would Max be now? When will I do all the things my younger self hoped for me to do?<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">Maybe thinking about death isn\u2019t so bad after all. Maybe there\u2019s something there to be gained. Maybe it\u2019s how I live a fuller life.<\/p>\n<p>In his 2015 interview with Mary Harris for <i>Only Human<\/i>, Max declares himself a \u201cpartisan of the present\u201d and admits to resenting \u201cthe reset button that everyone seems to be able to press.\u201d He doesn\u2019t have a future, or at least a certain one, and he finds all the goal setting to be \u201cdisrespecting the present.\u201d Max taught many of us by his example to be here instead of elsewhere as long as we were here. In a podcast interview with Dr. Drew a few weeks before his death, Max shares a thought experiment along these lines:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">There\u2019s an immeasurable amount of beauty in front of you at all times. Even just looking out the window, you can connect the way the window is blowing through the trees with the sound of someone\u2019s voice in another room. And make this little holy moment for yourself, this little spiritual realization of a kind of balance or play in your physical environment and that will heal you. Do that. Spend your time doing that.<\/p>\n<p>These days I do take walks around the block or just within a room and observe everything I can. Although it\u2019s often less about creating a \u201choly moment\u201d and more about orienting myself away from panic. But maybe there\u2019s a kind of holiness in that too. Max is certainly not the only person to suggest \u201cmindfulness,\u201d but for me his version of it has been the most persuasive, poetic, and alive.<\/p>\n<p>As the years pass, I keep coming back to Max\u2019s interviews, along with a number of his poems, because of how personal they feel, as though Max is speaking to me. I lap up his wisdom as he advises us in his 2016 podcast with Dr. Drew to \u201ctake it easy on yourself . . . You\u2019re doing the best that you can.\u201d And then again when he argues, rather hilariously, that everyone he\u2019s ever met, \u201ceven the really shitty ones,\u201d could benefit from \u201ca dose of self-forgiveness and self-acceptance.\u201d I want to take his advice. But then a part of me, even in writing this essay, is looking for his approval. Would he like this essay? Is it worthy of him?<\/p>\n<p>I continue to be in the middle\u2014hopefully still closer to the beginning than the end. Whereas Max reached the end 10 years ago, even if he was also at the beginning. So, there is now a generational schism between us. I get to keep maturing, getting older, maybe wiser, and he stays put. I\u2019ve had several dreams though where he and I meet late at night in a busy park to sit down in the dirt and talk. I think I am the younger version of myself who knew Max in real life for these dreams, although it\u2019s hard to tell. While he and I always speak with great urgency during our nighttime rendezvous, I can never remember what we say. I want to say hi to him. Hi from who I am now.<\/p>\n<p>I have a lovely portrait of Max painted by his wife Victoria that hangs in my home, but often I walk by it without getting too involved. It seems I have to be in the right mood, a sturdy mood, to go<i> there<\/i>. But on my good days I feel less afraid, more irreverent, more able to consider the inconsiderable. Maybe thinking about death isn\u2019t so bad after all. Maybe there\u2019s something there to be gained. Maybe it\u2019s how I live a fuller life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The first time I realized I was going to die I was cutting out an obituary for a project for my 6th grade class. I was working on the living room floor, as my father slouched nearby on the brown<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31670,"featured_media":275781,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43102,11,43070,43103,43092],"tags":[44198,2450,744,111793,19105,212,43530,1341],"class_list":["post-275780","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-biography","category-fullwidth-slider","category-literary-criticism","category-memoir","category-newsandculture","tag-anniversary","tag-cancer","tag-death","tag-e-k-schrader","tag-max-ritvo","tag-poetry","tag-terminal-illness","tag-writing"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19K4","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/max-ritvo.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275780","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/31670"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275780"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275780\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/275781"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275780"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275780"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275780"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275704,"date":"2026-08-21T05:09:13","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:09:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275704"},"modified":"2026-08-20T22:14:00","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T02:14:00","slug":"a-literary-haunting-what-the-ghost-of-sylvia-plath-taught-me-about-grief","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/a-literary-haunting-what-the-ghost-of-sylvia-plath-taught-me-about-grief\/","title":{"rendered":"A Literary Haunting: What the Ghost of Sylvia Plath Taught Me About Grief"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Before the ghost of Sylvia Plath haunted the yellow house on the bluff in my novel <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9781454966258\"><i>White Rabbit<\/i><\/a>, she haunted me. I was a twenty-four-year-old graduate student plagued by the loss of my father\u2019s second wife, a woman who had been a maternal figure for much of my childhood. As I walked the university campus, I felt the ghost of this grief as something tangible\u2014something I could see, something that followed me.<\/p>\n<p>I was just beginning my writing career and found myself involuntarily coming back to echoes of loss and resilience, themes that I continue to excavate. I wouldn\u2019t have been able to articulate it then, but my writing was creating a place for grief to sit, and it was in this space that the ghost of Sylvia Plath first found me.<\/p>\n<p>Plath was no stranger to grief. She learned at a very young age, when her father died, that the world was not always kind. In her work, we see Plath shape loss and death into something that can be understood. In this way, literature creates channels for us to navigate, often imperfectly, through pain. Still, if Plath was a victim of her grief, her words are the ghost she left behind.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">My writing was creating a place for grief to sit, and it was in this space that the ghost of Sylvia Plath first found me.<\/p>\n<p>For Penelope\u2014the eleven-year-old protagonist in <i>White Rabbit<\/i>\u2014the ghost of Sylvia Plath is not someone to fear, but someone who makes her feel less alone. Less a ghost, really, and more an imaginary friend.<\/p>\n<p>Plath\u2019s ghost appears two weeks after Penelope\u2019s father has left the yellow house on the bluff. As the two form a friendship, the ghost fills a space in Penelope\u2019s life that has been hollowed out by her father\u2019s departure. Penelope, a neurodivergent child, has trouble understanding what makes her feel sad and afraid. She prefers to ignore these hard-to-digest emotions and occupy spaces where she does not have to acknowledge her loss.<\/p>\n<p>I was eighteen years old when my stepmother, a woman who helped raise me for much of my childhood, left. For years, I packaged up my own pain and refused to talk about what I had lost. Like Penelope, I could not exist in the same space as my grief without it swallowing me whole. And, because I could not find a way through this loss, I simply pretended that it didn\u2019t exist. The grief found me anyway.<\/p>\n<p>It is only through what haunts Penelope that she can begin to process her grief in ways that bring her understanding and peace. And this is what both Penelope and Sylvia Plath have taught me\u2014that to be haunted is not something to fear, but something to embrace. That what haunts us doesn\u2019t need to harm us, but can instead help guide us through what feels too difficult to negotiate alone.<\/p>\n<p>Plath was eight years old when she lost her father. Penelope is eleven when her father leaves the yellow house on the bluff. In the empty space that loss creates, both Penelope and Plath use words and stories not only as vessels through grief, but also as a form of resilience. Because if the ghost of Sylvia Plath can be read as a manifestation of Penelope\u2019s sadness, she can also be read as a manifestation of Penelope\u2019s own strength as a child charting an unfamiliar and unforgiving space.<\/p>\n<p>Though she can\u2019t understand why her father left, the stories Penelope tells herself about his disappearance provide her the most comfort. And isn\u2019t this so often true of children? For me, as a child grappling with loss, my imagination became my escape from a world that was riddled with confusion and injustice. It was how I learned to wander roads freckled by the potholes that grief left behind. But imagination is fickle. What was once comforting in its deception begins to fracture as it collides with reality. When Penelope can no longer ignore what she has repressed, she is left with a grief that feels too large to pass. It is then the ghost that creates a passage for Penelope to move forward.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">Although we may want to flee from what makes us afraid, it\u2019s so often that these ghosts are the only ones who can help us move through the spaces of discomfort and pain.<\/p>\n<p>The white rabbit, a character both created and popularized by Lewis Carroll\u2019s <i>Alice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland<\/i>, is also a figure that guides a young girl through an unfamiliar space. Alice follows the rabbit\u2014a creature that is both real and not real\u2014into a land that feels unusual and, at times, dangerous. Penelope, too, is asked to occupy a landscape that frightens her, not only as a neurodivergent child in a neurotypical culture, but as a child now situated in an adult world. There is a sense of grief in this\u2014for both Alice and Penelope. To step into these unfamiliar spaces is to experience loss itself, for the cost of entry is so often the child\u2019s own innocence.<\/p>\n<p>We all have ghosts. We are all haunted. Although we may want to flee from what makes us afraid, it\u2019s so often that these ghosts are the only ones who can help us move through the spaces of discomfort and pain. Historically, the ghost is presented as a figure that exists in the space between life and death. However, for Penelope\u2014and for myself\u2014these ghosts are not liminal, but present. They are the guide, the navigator, the white rabbit that digs the tunnel through grief and urges us to follow so we can crawl through the hole, emerging on the other side to see the world as something still beautiful.<\/p>\n<p>Plath\u2019s mind, her words, her grief have been studied by scholars and writers and readers for decades. Yet it is through Plath\u2019s voice\u2014her journals, her letters\u2014that she has become the ghost that follows me: the ghost of my own grief, of Penelope\u2019s grief, and the ghost that led us both right back out of it again.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">_______________________________<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" data-attachment-id=\"275705\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/a-literary-haunting-what-the-ghost-of-sylvia-plath-taught-me-about-grief\/white-rabbit\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit.jpg\" data-orig-size=\"1024,1536\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"white rabbit\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-683x1024.jpg\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-275705\" src=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-200x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"200\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-200x300.jpg 200w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-683x1024.jpg 683w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-768x1152.jpg 768w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-40x60.jpg 40w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit-33x50.jpg 33w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/white-rabbit.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9781454966258\">White Rabbit<\/a> <em>by Abigail Rose-Marie is available from Union Square and Co., an imprint of Hachette Book Group.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Before the ghost of Sylvia Plath haunted the yellow house on the bluff in my novel White Rabbit, she haunted me. I was a twenty-four-year-old graduate student plagued by the loss of my father\u2019s second wife, a woman who had<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31653,"featured_media":276025,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43071,43069,6],"tags":[111744,6027,745,52657,5902,3401,5686,90521,111745],"class_list":["post-275704","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-craft-and-advice","category-craftandcriticism","category-features","tag-abigail-rose-marie","tag-ghosts","tag-grief","tag-hachette-book-group","tag-hauntings","tag-inspiration","tag-sylvia-plath","tag-union-square-and-co","tag-white-rabbit","story-type-on-grief"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19IQ","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/sylvia-plath.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275704","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/31653"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275704"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275704\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/276025"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275704"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275704"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275704"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275991,"date":"2026-08-21T05:08:57","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:08:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275991"},"modified":"2026-08-20T21:55:48","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T01:55:48","slug":"television-to-the-rescue-camille-acker-on-the-craft-potential-of-tv","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/television-to-the-rescue-camille-acker-on-the-craft-potential-of-tv\/","title":{"rendered":"Television to the Rescue! Camille Acker on the Craft Potential of TV"},"content":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><em>This first appeared in Lit Hub\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>Craft of Writing<em>\u00a0newsletter\u2014<a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/sign-up-for-the-craft-of-writing\/\">sign up here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I have always loved television, but as a kid, television was the &#8220;idiot box.&#8221; According to experts, this device could rot my brain, influence me to commit immoral acts, and even ruin my eyesight. Sitcoms and, in later years, reality television were the lowest common denominators of the genre. Books were the intellectual pursuit, though there were just as many literary pratfalls and seedy dramas to be had between certain bookcovers. As an adult, writers I knew would boast they never watched television. If I wanted to be a writer, and a serious writer at that, it seemed television should be only my guilty and secret pleasure.<\/p>\n<p>After completing an MFA and publishing a short story collection, I was determined to finish a novel. After years of labor stalled by, among other things, economic realities and depression, I turned back to my ilicit love: Television to the rescue. I thought about character tropes, sitcom hijinks, and all those \u201cvery special episodes\u201d about drug and alcohol use, stranger danger, and getting involved with the \u201cwrong crowd,\u201d I had watched on 1980s and 1990s television shows.<\/p>\n<p>Television also helped me think about pace and plot. As a literary short story writer, plot was more inconvenient than useful. I could write characters all day and conversations between characters, but to have things happen? To have a lot of things happen? I barely knew where to begin. Books only helped me so much in that regard. Many of the books I loved hewed to the highbrow, the challenging, and occasionally esoteric. Once I realized I was writing a social commentary, a satire as biting as I could muster, I knew it also needed to be fun. I wanted it to be irresistibly consumable, a binge of a book, and television was the medium that demonstrated what was possible.<\/p>\n<p>To get an audience to go to the next episode, I plotted out cliffhangers. I mapped out questionable alliances, the introduction of unexpected characters, the culmination of will they\/won\u2019t they romance at the end of chapters that I named, naturally, Episodes. It was only after a finished draft that I realized I also needed commercial breaks. I felt like I was moving the dementia patients around like furniture in the novel. They were disembodied, which in one way was necessary for the plot, but to advance the larger themes, the novel needed to not treat them that way. I wondered who my grandmother had been beneath the layered silence of Alzheimer\u2019s and when my father, in the throes of cancer, began to take hallucinatory excursions in his mind, the necessity of my formal choice was even clearer. The commercial breaks gave me a chance to make the characters with dementia self-possessed and multi-dimensional. It also allowed me to be a short story writer again. Each interstitial piece became flash fiction, where each of the characters took over the narration of their own stories.<\/p>\n<p>When I reread the novel before sending it off to my agent and editor again, I spotted both the \u201cserious\u201d writer and the girl who couldn\u2019t wait for the next episode of her favorite show. When I teach, I tell my students that the only unique work they&#8217;ll create encompasses their specific experience, their taste, and their perceptions. A few years ago in a conversation with a writer friend, I was startled to discover that \u201cseeing\u201d the scenes of a novel was not the way that all other writers determined what should go on the page. That aspect of my craft, my love of the visual medium, and my connection with those heady words written by my favorite writers didn\u2019t have to compete, with one winning out over the others. All of those facets could combine to create something wild, weird, and completely me. Television hadn\u2019t ruined me, or my eyesight, instead it became a portal into a more deeply creative writing practice.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">______________________________________________<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/p\/books\/a-very-special-episode-a-novel-camille-acker\/1acfe62775217764\/?aid=132!\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" data-attachment-id=\"276007\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/television-to-the-rescue-camille-acker-on-the-craft-potential-of-tv\/9780593597507-2\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1.jpeg\" data-orig-size=\"298,450\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"A Very Special Episode\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1.jpeg\" class=\"alignnone wp-image-276007 size-medium\" src=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1-199x300.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"199\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1-199x300.jpeg 199w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1-40x60.jpeg 40w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1-33x50.jpeg 33w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/9780593597507-1.jpeg 298w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 199px) 100vw, 199px\" \/><\/a><br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/p\/books\/a-very-special-episode-a-novel-camille-acker\/1acfe62775217764\/?aid=132!\">A Very Special Episode<\/a>\u00a0<em>by Camille Acker is available via Random House.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This first appeared in Lit Hub\u2019s\u00a0Craft of Writing\u00a0newsletter\u2014sign up here. I have always loved television, but as a kid, television was the &#8220;idiot box.&#8221; According to experts, this device could rot my brain, influence me to commit immoral acts, and<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31752,"featured_media":276003,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43071,43069,6,43093],"tags":[111773,40494,10879,8238,67126,2741,52790],"class_list":["post-275991","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-craft-and-advice","category-craftandcriticism","category-features","category-film-and-tv","tag-a-very-special-episode","tag-camille-acker","tag-random-house","tag-television","tag-the-craft-of-writing","tag-writing-advice","tag-writing-inspiration"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19Nt","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Untitled-design-2026-08-20T145838.615.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275991","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/31752"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275991"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275991\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/276003"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275991"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275991"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275991"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275983,"date":"2026-08-21T05:08:44","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:08:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275983"},"modified":"2026-08-20T22:15:05","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T02:15:05","slug":"what-should-you-read-next-here-are-the-best-reviewed-books-of-the-week-12","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/what-should-you-read-next-here-are-the-best-reviewed-books-of-the-week-12\/","title":{"rendered":"What Should You Read Next? Here Are the Best Reviewed Books of the Week"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Anjet Daanje\u2019s\u00a0<em>The Song of Stork and Dromedary<\/em>, Joby Warrick\u2019s\u00a0<em>The Jackal<\/em>, and Dorthe Nors\u2019\u00a0<em>Range<\/em>\u00a0all feature among the best reviewed books of the week.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">Brought to you by\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Book Marks<\/a>, Lit Hub\u2019s home for book reviews.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">*<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/category\/fiction\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><strong>Fiction<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136814 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425-195x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 195px) 100vw, 195px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425-195x300.gif 195w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425.gif 422w\" alt=\"The Song of Stork and Dromedary\" width=\"195\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136814\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-song-of-stork-and-dromedary\/the-song-of-stork-and-dromedary-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425.gif\" data-orig-size=\"422,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Song of Stork and Dromedary Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/affe2a84ffd4bf517694acdc70781425.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>1.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-song-of-stork-and-dromedary\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Song of Stork and Dromedary<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Anjet Daanje<br \/>\n(FSG)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>4 Rave \u2022 1 Positive<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cDaanje\u2019s variations never become schematic or predictable. The novel\u2019s length is daunting, but the writing is swift and eventful, often expressed in coursing run-on sentences. The reader advances across Mr. McKay\u2019s superb translation as though compelled by a fierce highland wind. In the book\u2019s telling, the Drayden sisters\u2019 imaginative visions are so powerful that they reshape the way people experience reality. Readers, too, will finish this vast, teeming novel with a sense of a world transformed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Sam Sacks (<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-song-of-stork-and-dromedary\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Wall Street Journal<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-maltese-version\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-136812 size-medium aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518-194x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 194px) 100vw, 194px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518-194x300.gif 194w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518-32x50.gif 32w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518.gif 419w\" alt=\"The Maltese Version\" width=\"194\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136812\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-maltese-version\/the-maltese-version-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518.gif\" data-orig-size=\"419,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Maltese Version Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/71a51f52fabc9da249a987836af5c518.gif\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-maltese-version\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Maltese Version<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Katy Simpson Smith<br \/>\n(FSG)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>3 Rave \u2022 2 Positive<br \/>\nRead an excerpt from\u00a0<em>The Maltese Version<\/em>\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/the-maltese-version\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">here<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cPhilosophical and disarmingly dishy \u2026 The meringue-light surface of\u00a0<em>The Maltese Version,<\/em>\u00a0which had thus far presented itself as a caper about two female friends trying to make it in the dying travel-guide industry, might conceal unforeseen depths \u2026 Smith is an observant and dexterous writer \u2026 A steely exploration of novelistic form and what said form can and cannot reveal. It\u2019s a book that\u2014for both its inventiveness and its many linguistic sleights of hand\u2014can renew our faith in the playful joys and critical capacity of fiction.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Lucy Ives (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2026\/08\/16\/books\/review\/the-maltese-version-katy-simpson-smith.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The New York Times Book Review<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-book-of-chuck\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-136809 size-medium aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752-199x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 199px) 100vw, 199px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752-199x300.gif 199w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752.gif 429w\" alt=\"The Book of Chuck\" width=\"199\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136809\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-book-of-chuck\/the-book-of-chuck-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752.gif\" data-orig-size=\"429,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Book of Chuck Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/87fe5fca9d573906ea101ec4b7f90752.gif\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>3.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-book-of-chuck\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Book of Chuck<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Latoya Watkins<br \/>\n(Tiny Reparations Books)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>4 Rave<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cLyrical \u2026 Feels like a poetic allegory for both generational trauma and generational healing \u2026 We may yearn for the acceptance of others while neglecting to spare enough respect for ourselves. The story of Chuck\u2019s troubled family suggests there is room for that self-regard to blossom.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Charmaine Wilkerson (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2026\/08\/18\/books\/review\/the-book-of-chuck-latoya-watkins.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The New York Times Book Review<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136807 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833-200x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833-200x300.gif 200w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833.gif 432w\" alt=\"Range Cover\" width=\"200\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136807\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/range\/range-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833.gif\" data-orig-size=\"432,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"Range Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/ab3f4c9c20f28665226ddde3bd796833.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>4.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/range\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Range<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Dorthe Nors<br \/>\n(Graywolf)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2 Rave \u2022 3 Positive<br \/>\nRead an excerpt from\u00a0<em>Range<\/em>\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/range\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">here<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cIn an era when all language is subject to relentless algorithmic flattening, when books are so often rewarded for easy comprehension and bland sentiment,\u00a0<em>Range<\/em>\u00a0is a rebellious celebration of the singularity, and mystery, of humankind. We need more fiction like Nors\u2019s. Let the weird children come.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Charlotte Wood (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2026\/08\/18\/books\/review\/range-dorthe-nors.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The New York Times Book Review<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136826 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3-195x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 195px) 100vw, 195px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3-195x300.gif 195w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3.gif 422w\" alt=\"Unprecedented Times\" width=\"195\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136826\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/unprecedented-times\/unprecedented-times-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3.gif\" data-orig-size=\"422,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"Unprecedented Times Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/b08272a28bb023568ca0db3daf442be3.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>5.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/unprecedented-times\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Unprecedented Times<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Malavika Kannan<br \/>\n(Henry Holt)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2 Rave \u2022 1 Positive<br \/>\nRead an excerpt from\u00a0<em>Unprecedented Times<\/em>\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/unprecedented-times\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">here<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cRishi\u2019s relationship with her mother and how it evolves over the course of the novel was one of the most moving parts of the book \u2026 Another impressive feat of\u00a0<em>Unprecedented Times<\/em>: Kannan\u2019s ability to manage so many characters while developing them all sufficiently to feel vivid and real \u2026 The ending has lingered in my mind long after the final page. Her story is compelling because of her contradictions and how we watch them play out over the course of the novel.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Mia Arias Tsang (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.autostraddle.com\/first-queer-love-gay-hookups-and-mother-daughter-tensions-abound-in-early-pandemic-set-unprecedented-times\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Autostraddle<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>**<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/category\/non-fiction\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><strong>Nonfiction<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136828 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b-200x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b-200x300.gif 200w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b.gif 432w\" alt=\"Togetherness\" width=\"200\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136828\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/togetherness-symbiosis-and-the-hidden-story-of-lifes-greatest-collaborations\/togetherness-symbiosis-and-the-hidden-story-of-lifes-greatest-collaborations-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b.gif\" data-orig-size=\"432,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"Togetherness: Symbiosis and the Hidden Story of Life&amp;#8217;s Greatest Collaborations Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/c5120bbaa7529d3e752a132b19fc1d9b.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>1.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/togetherness-symbiosis-and-the-hidden-story-of-lifes-greatest-collaborations\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Togetherness: Symbiosis and the Hidden Story of Life\u2019s Greatest Collaborations<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Rowan Hooper<\/strong><br \/>\n<strong>(Knopf)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>3 Rave \u2022 1 Positive \u2022 2 Mixed<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot an attempt to make evolution cuddlier and more palatable; rather, it is a corrective deeply informed by what we have learned since Darwin about how nature works. Written with immense charm and passion, and packed with eye-popping facts, it is also a paean to the wonders of nature and the value and urgency of preserving them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Philip Ball (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theguardian.com\/books\/2026\/jun\/15\/togetherness-by-rowan-hooper-review-a-stunning-portrait-of-cooperation-in-nature\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Guardian<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-jackal-the-rise-and-fall-of-carlos-the-worlds-first-super-terrorist\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-136786 size-medium aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027-198x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 198px) 100vw, 198px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027-198x300.gif 198w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027.gif 427w\" alt=\"The Jackal\" width=\"198\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136786\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-jackal-the-rise-and-fall-of-carlos-the-worlds-first-super-terrorist\/the-jackal-the-rise-and-fall-of-carlos-the-worlds-first-super-terrorist-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027.gif\" data-orig-size=\"427,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Jackal: The Rise and Fall of Carlos, the World&amp;#8217;s First Super-Terrorist Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/a3bd91fec0483abf15f01938c0f53027.gif\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-jackal-the-rise-and-fall-of-carlos-the-worlds-first-super-terrorist\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Jackal: The Rise and Fall of Carlos, the World\u2019s First Super-Terrorist<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Joby Warrick<br \/>\n(Scribner)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>3 Rave \u2022 1 Positive<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cAuthoritative and acutely readable \u2026 Warrick acknowledges his many predecessors. He persuasively notes, fighting through the clich\u00e9, that new information has come to light.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Dwight Garner (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2026\/08\/10\/books\/review\/joby-warrick-carlos-the-jackal.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The New York Times<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136819 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b-198x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 198px) 100vw, 198px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b-198x300.gif 198w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b.gif 427w\" alt=\"The Nerd Reich\" width=\"198\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136819\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-nerd-reich-silicon-valley-fascism-and-the-war-on-democracy\/the-nerd-reich-silicon-valley-fascism-and-the-war-on-democracy-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b.gif\" data-orig-size=\"427,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Nerd Reich: Silicon Valley Fascism and the War on Democracy Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/28f0b663cbd9324470c9627ca1087d5b.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>3.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-nerd-reich-silicon-valley-fascism-and-the-war-on-democracy\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Nerd Reich: Silicon Valley Fascism and the War on Democracy<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Gil Dur\u00e1n<\/strong><br \/>\n<strong>(Avid Reader Press)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2 Rave \u2022 2 Positive<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cStunning \u2026 Gloriously titled \u2026 Thoughtful, well researched and a vigorous call to act before our collective humanity is sacrificed to increasing the vast wealth of tech millionaires and billionaires.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Karlin Lillington (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.irishtimes.com\/culture\/books\/review\/2026\/08\/08\/we-are-not-machines-users-the-nerd-reich-new-books-examine-the-wreckage-caused-by-big-tech\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Irish Times<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136788 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c-197x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 197px) 100vw, 197px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c-197x300.gif 197w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c-33x50.gif 33w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c.gif 426w\" alt=\"Finding Ren\u00e9e Richards: The Groundbreaking Story of Tennis's Trans Pioneer Cover\" width=\"197\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136788\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/finding-renee-richards-the-groundbreaking-story-of-tenniss-trans-pioneer\/finding-renee-richards-the-groundbreaking-story-of-tenniss-trans-pioneer-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c.gif\" data-orig-size=\"426,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"Finding Ren\u00e9e Richards: The Groundbreaking Story of Tennis&amp;#8217;s Trans Pioneer Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/22f51041714a479945b1a67d5759367c.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>4.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/finding-renee-richards-the-groundbreaking-story-of-tenniss-trans-pioneer\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Finding Ren\u00e9e Richards: The Groundbreaking Story of Tennis\u2019s Trans Pioneer<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Julie Kliegman<br \/>\n(HarperOne)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>2 Rave \u2022 1 Positive \u2022 1 Mixed<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cKliegman is a compassionate and thoughtful interviewer, and their conversations with Richards are enlightening. Richards may be a complicated person, but her contribution to the advancement of transgender rights can\u2019t be overstated. Not to be missed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Stephanie Howes (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.booklistonline.com\/products\/9825276\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Booklist<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-136824 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f-194x300.gif\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 194px) 100vw, 194px\" srcset=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f-194x300.gif 194w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f-32x50.gif 32w, https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f.gif 420w\" alt=\"The Next Journalism: How the Press Must Change to Serve Democracy Cover\" width=\"194\" height=\"300\" data-attachment-id=\"136824\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/bookmark\/the-next-journalism-how-the-press-must-change-to-serve-democracy\/the-next-journalism-how-the-press-must-change-to-serve-democracy-cover\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f.gif\" data-orig-size=\"420,648\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"The Next Journalism: How the Press Must Change to Serve Democracy Cover\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/s26162.pcdn.co\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2026\/08\/df7d090ce20d90c165922694433a305f.gif\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>5.\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/bookmarks.reviews\/reviews\/the-next-journalism-how-the-press-must-change-to-serve-democracy\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>The Next Journalism: How the Press Must Change to Serve Democracy<\/em><\/a>\u00a0by Tom Rosenstiel<br \/>\n(Crown)<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>1 Positive \u2022 2 Mixed<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlthough its focus is clearly aimed at serious students of journalism and industry professionals, Rosenstiel\u2019s thoughtful analysis will resonate with anyone concerned with the future of the press.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2013Carol Haggas (<a href=\"https:\/\/www.booklistonline.com\/products\/9823891\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><em>Booklist<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Anjet Daanje\u2019s\u00a0The Song of Stork and Dromedary, Joby Warrick\u2019s\u00a0The Jackal, and Dorthe Nors\u2019\u00a0Range\u00a0all feature among the best reviewed books of the week. Brought to you by\u00a0Book Marks, Lit Hub\u2019s home for book reviews. * Fiction 1.\u00a0The Song of Stork and<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":873,"featured_media":275725,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43069,6,43070,43135],"tags":[15654,13821,33508],"class_list":["post-275983","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-craftandcriticism","category-features","category-literary-criticism","category-readinglists","tag-book-marks","tag-book-reviews","tag-the-best-reviewed-books-of-the-week"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19Nl","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/the-jackal-9781668070550_hr.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275983","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/873"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275983"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275983\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/275725"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275983"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275983"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275983"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275696,"date":"2026-08-21T05:07:53","date_gmt":"2026-08-21T09:07:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275696"},"modified":"2026-08-20T21:57:57","modified_gmt":"2026-08-21T01:57:57","slug":"ways-of-connecting-on-writing-that-marries-the-psychological-the-personal-and-the-political","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/ways-of-connecting-on-writing-that-marries-the-psychological-the-personal-and-the-political\/","title":{"rendered":"Ways of Connecting: On Writing That Marries the Psychological, the Personal and the Political"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Damon Galgut is the most generous-spirited, profoundly gifted and oddly approachable human. I am indebted in ways I can\u2019t count for the critique, the encouragement, the consideration, the commiseration and the line edits (yes, he won the Booker Prize and then did line edits for me). I lose faith in humanity constantly, but saying thank you to Damon would be like sending a gift voucher after someone has altered your life and restored your faith in the species. They don\u2019t have cards for those! Damon spoke to me about my debut novel, therapy, and motherlands.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><em>\u2013Faraaz Mahomed<\/em><\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p><strong>Damon Galgut:<\/strong> You\u2019re a psychologist and work in the field of mental health and human rights. What is the crossover, if any, between that world and your fiction?<\/p>\n<p><strong>Faraaz Mahomed:<\/strong> You\u2019re one of the few people who have seen the travails of my first\u2014as yet unpublished\u2014novel. It\u2019s about a therapist. You probably recall that it recounted in rather painful detail the inner workings of a therapy session and the existential question of what makes a life worth living. So I think the question of crossover is much more easily answered in that sense\u2014after all, what is psychotherapy if not storytelling? (and thank you for the notes. I am still working on them!) With <em>Mother\/Land<\/em> and my work on human rights, that too is really fairly easily gleaned from the perspective of the events of the book. Whether we\u2019re talking about Rhodes Must Fall or Black Lives Matter, there\u2019s no shortage of human rights content in my novel.<\/p>\n<p>The arc involving the forced removals is of course a very political and socio-legal one, but it\u2019s also a very personal one\u2014my great-grandfather was dispossessed of his property as part of the Group Areas mess in South Africa, and I think that cosmic puzzle is obviously a precursor to my career\/s in many ways, but its also what renders the vastness of a political or social wound personal. I don\u2019t know if that answers the question for me personally, but I\u2019ve seen that in the works of others\u2014Abdulrazak Gurnah, Hisham Matar, Tsitsi Dangarembga\u2014they find really personal ways of connecting with the political. It\u2019s kind of inevitable. Add in the psychotherapist element and it\u2019s all very ruminative, perhaps a little stark and brooding\u2014but I hope that\u2019s not all it is.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">Writing has not made me more or less neurotic, although I do think that it has offered an outlet I didn\u2019t have.<\/p>\n<p><strong>DG:<\/strong> Your novel is set in Cape Town and New York, a big gap of ocean and culture between them. Could you say something about that gap in your own life and how you reconcile the two sides?<\/p>\n<p><strong>FM:<\/strong> Well I\u2019ve lived between Johannesburg and New York these past few years (although more settled in Joburg these days). There are aspects of Salim, the protagonist\u2019s life and demeanor that are mine. He experiences a sense of displacement, an estrangement from his upbringing, a kind of diffusion of identity that comes with being split like that. Mine is a little more complex, having lost a sibling when I was younger and psychically working overtime to try to live both of those lives simultaneously. It\u2019s very exhausting to tell you the truth\u2014because it feels never fully formed in either place, and because there is a dearth in both places too. It can feel unsatisfying at times, and I think that\u2019s what Salim struggles with\u2014but what he also does is observe the patent similarities and the fact that these worlds, on their surfaces, are not really all that different.<\/p>\n<p>I certainly observed that in my time in New York, and I certainly feel that what\u2019s shared is not really a conscious history but a subcutaneous psyche. The divide as you call it is real in the sense of what it demands of one, but the peculiarity of seeing an <em>I heart NY<\/em> t-shirt in Fordsburg or hearing the athaan from the Great Mosque (reminiscent of my Muslim childhood in Johannesburg) playing at a pretzel stand in Manhattan\u2014those are not divisions but actually points of intersection.<\/p>\n<p><strong>DG:<\/strong> You once described yourself as the most neurotic person you know and said you ran 10 kilometers a day. I\u2019m curious: has writing made you less or more neurotic? (And did you ever run the marathon you wanted to?)<\/p>\n<p><strong>FM:<\/strong> Did I say that? I would not deny that. I am a millennial after all, and a writer and a therapist. I mean if one had to look up the word \u2018neurotic\u2019 in the dictionary, there I\u2019d be. It has a very specific meaning in the psychoanalytic tradition as you probably know\u2014A neurotic is someone who is at the other end of the spectrum to a psychotic. It suggests a very well-defined (potentially very rigid) psychic construction. In that sense, I am definitely not a very well-constructed neurotic because I veer into the psychotic pretty regularly (and proudly so!) But in the common vernacular of what neurosis means\u2014someone whose life is put upon them, who feels weighted by the everyday, who struggles with unadulterated joy\u2014that is me in a nutshell. Writing has not made me more or less neurotic, although I do think that it has offered an outlet I didn\u2019t have (or is it the case that I became a writer because I needed the outlet? I feel like I\u2019m in Q&amp;A with Lena Dunham now).<\/p>\n<p>The short answer is that I am no less neurotic than if I was just trying to figure out if someone at a party liked me or if I had made the right choices in my career. But writing has a special way of altering that neurosis, because it gives us the text, the language to not simply feel it uncontained but to let it reside elsewhere. As for my running, I run regularly to keep myself in shape (out of vanity\u2014I don\u2019t care about my health). It also helps to reach that cusp of breathlessness\u2014the borderline of mortality\u2014and to just wait it out. Running has a way of clearing so much\u2014so much neurotic angst, so much mind dust, so much embodied malaise that needs dispelling. Thank you for shaming me, but I am at the half-marathon stage\u2014I will make it count!<\/p>\n<p><b>DG: <\/b>What was the first core idea or image that gave rise to <em>Mother\/Land<\/em>?<\/p>\n<p><strong>FM:<\/strong> <em>Mother\/Land<\/em> is actually an extension\/elongation of a short story I wrote called &#8220;Gracious.&#8221; It starts with the image of a Muslim cemetery, and in fact the opening line of that story appears in the novel. I don\u2019t want to fetishize it too much but the image of a grave\u2014and the especial ritual of a Muslim qabarstan, visiting the graves of the dearly departed, is a powerful image for me. I grew up with a lot of death around me, so maybe that has something to do with the power of the image, but I don\u2019t know that I\u2019m alone in feeling like there\u2019s something sepulchral and supernatural about the imagery and the experience. In any case, it spawned from that, and then it became about the shared histories of people who were affected by the forced removals. I\u2019m three generations removed from my family\u2019s removal, but it has had such ripple effects and it caused all manner of intergenerational difference and distance.<\/p>\n<p class=\"pullquote\">I grew up with a lot of death around me, so maybe that has something to do with the power of the image, but I don\u2019t know that I\u2019m alone in feeling like there\u2019s something sepulchral and supernatural about the imagery and the experience.<\/p>\n<p><strong>DG:<\/strong> Do you see a difference between reading for diversion and reading with serious intent? Either way, could you tell us about some of the books that have mattered to you and why.<\/p>\n<p><strong>FM:<\/strong> Yes I do see that difference. There are times when reading is just for immersion and for becoming involved in another plane\u2014oftentimes though, even when I think I\u2019m doing that I can\u2019t not feel awed and I guess also to steal a bit from the authors here and there (imitation being flattery of course). I do read with what you call \u2018serious intent,&#8217; especially when I\u2019m trying to break out of a pattern, so I\u2019ll try to pick up Murakami when I\u2019m overwriting or I\u2019ll pick up Palahniuk when it feels like I\u2019m taking myself too seriously, and I just want to poke fun at the nonsense of it all.<\/p>\n<p>I am also being emblazoned with that sigil of \u201cAfrican Literature,\u201d whatever that means, and I did struggle a little with that because I worried that I was inserting tropes or flirting with tragedy porn. Have you read <em>Glory<\/em> by NoViolet Bulawayo? She is like the horizon\u2014every word is placed with such combined humor and tragedy and such Africana, but she is not by any means confined by \u201cAfrican Literature\u201d as a construct. I read her book often when I was feeling like I was veering towards what the market would want, so that I could remember that the market is a denominator of all things, and that only means one thing\u2014make your numerator inviolable. As for others, well, as you know,<em> In A Strange Room<\/em> is very high up there\u2014it is so wonderfully personal and yet so strange and occluded\u2014You don\u2019t need to know this, but I certainly turned to it many a time when I was working on <em>Mother\/Land<\/em>. One of my favorite books about New York (and in general) is <em>Netherland<\/em>. It is beautifully crafted, and it resonates with Salim\u2019s storyline in a number of ways, as does <em>Open City<\/em>. I did certainly immerse myself in these two, but this is where your question becomes so apt because I genuinely couldn\u2019t draw a line between what was for my education and what was for the sheer wonder of it. There\u2019s many others, but I guess, to answer your question, it\u2019s not a bright line\u2014and that\u2019s a very, very good thing to be honest. Also, I still need your signature for my copy please.<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p><strong>Faraaz Mahomed<\/strong> is a researcher in the field of mental health and human rights, based between New York and his native South Africa. His short stories and travel writing have appeared in <em>Granta<\/em>, <em>Boston Review<\/em>, <em>The Georgia Review,<\/em> the <em>Sunday Times<\/em>, and other publications. In 2016, he won the Commonwealth Short Story Prize for the African region with his story \u201cThe Pigeon\u201d<\/p>\n<p><strong>Damon Galgut<\/strong> was born in Pretoria in 1963. He has published 8 novels and a collection of short stories. He has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize three times and won it in 2021 for his latest novel, <em>The Promise<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">_______________________________<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" data-attachment-id=\"275697\" data-permalink=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/ways-of-connecting-on-writing-that-marries-the-psychological-the-personal-and-the-political\/mother_land\/\" data-orig-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land.jpg\" data-orig-size=\"783,1210\" data-comments-opened=\"1\" data-image-meta=\"{&quot;aperture&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;credit&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;camera&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;caption&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;created_timestamp&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;copyright&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;focal_length&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;iso&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;shutter_speed&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;orientation&quot;:&quot;0&quot;,&quot;alt&quot;:&quot;&quot;}\" data-image-title=\"mother_land\" data-image-description=\"\" data-image-caption=\"\" data-large-file=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-663x1024.jpg\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-275697\" src=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-194x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"194\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-194x300.jpg 194w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-663x1024.jpg 663w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-768x1187.jpg 768w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-39x60.jpg 39w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land-32x50.jpg 32w, https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/mother_land.jpg 783w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 194px) 100vw, 194px\" \/><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9781960803528\">Mother\/Land<\/a> <em>by Faraaz Mahomed is available from Catalyst Press.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Damon Galgut is the most generous-spirited, profoundly gifted and oddly approachable human. I am indebted in ways I can\u2019t count for the critique, the encouragement, the consideration, the commiseration and the line edits (yes, he won the Booker Prize and<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31652,"featured_media":275755,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43069,6,43072,43073],"tags":[40041,11567,111743,50,98558,4570,20047],"class_list":["post-275696","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-craftandcriticism","category-features","category-in-conversation","category-on-translation","tag-catalyst-press","tag-damon-galgut","tag-faraaz-mahomed","tag-interviews-2","tag-mother-land","tag-south-africa","tag-writers-in-conversation","story-type-writers-in-conversation"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19II","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/cape-town.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275696","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/31652"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275696"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275696\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/275755"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275696"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275696"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275696"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":275996,"date":"2026-08-20T14:18:24","date_gmt":"2026-08-20T18:18:24","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/?p=275996"},"modified":"2026-08-20T14:18:24","modified_gmt":"2026-08-20T18:18:24","slug":"tony-tulathimutte-has-won-one-americas-largest-and-newest-literary-prizes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/tony-tulathimutte-has-won-one-americas-largest-and-newest-literary-prizes\/","title":{"rendered":"Tony Tulathimutte has won one America\u2019s largest (and newest) literary prizes."},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Tony Tulathimutte, the dark wizard behind 2025&#8217;s seismic <em><a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/132\/9780063337886\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Rejection<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>has won a new (and massive!) literary prize.<\/p>\n<p>As the inaugural recipient of the <a href=\"https:\/\/now.uiowa.edu\/news\/2026\/08\/iowa-grad-tony-tulathimutte-receives-inaugural-jack-galef-literary-arts-award\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jack Galef Literary Arts Award<\/a>, Tulathimutte will receive $150,000. The award is designated for graduates of Iowa&#8217;s prestigious MFA program. The alumnus, who is likely behind your <a href=\"https:\/\/www.nplusonemag.com\/issue-35\/fiction-drama\/the-feminist\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">favorite cringes<\/a> of the past year, is currently teaching in the program as a visiting faculty member.<\/p>\n<p>The Jack Galef Literary Arts Award\u2014named for the poet and &#8217;67 Iowa grad, Jack Galef\u2014will be presented every two years going forward. It aims to support talented writers both promising and established. Recipients will be selected by a committee of workshop faculty.<\/p>\n<p>Tulathimutte&#8217;s previous honors include a Whiting Award, the National Book Award long list, and the eyeballs of some <a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/p\/DcJJtQHlSVz\/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">very coveted tastemakers<\/a>. Current Iowa workshop director Lan Samantha Chang said she is &#8220;delighted to award the inaugural prize to an iconic writer of pathbreaking fiction.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>That pathbreaker is grateful. \u201cOne of the things everybody knows but almost everybody underrates is just how much of an impediment to writing the struggle for a livelihood is,&#8221; Tulathimutte said in a statement.<\/p>\n<p>Looks like no more <em>rejection<\/em> for this guy. (I&#8217;ll see myself out.) Congratulations, Tony!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Tony Tulathimutte, the dark wizard behind 2025&#8217;s seismic Rejection,\u00a0has won a new (and massive!) literary prize. As the inaugural recipient of the Jack Galef Literary Arts Award, Tulathimutte will receive $150,000. The award is designated for graduates of Iowa&#8217;s prestigious<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":17066,"featured_media":31786,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[43102,43201,43109,43092,43646],"tags":[6348,1548,85796,3121,111894,17206,2122,1890,16086,8299],"class_list":["post-275996","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-biography","category-book-news-newsandculture","category-events","category-newsandculture","category-the-hub","tag-announcements","tag-awards","tag-dua-lipa","tag-iowa","tag-jack-galef","tag-literary-prizes","tag-money","tag-prizes","tag-rejection","tag-tony-tulathimutte","book-rejection"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-19Ny","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/01\/tony-t.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275996","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/17066"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=275996"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275996\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/31786"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=275996"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=275996"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=275996"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}]