November 27, 2024
- Daniel Felsenthal on the letters of Joe Brainard
- Are readers and publishers are turning away from memoir?
- On the controversy of 1974’s shared Booker Prize
- Close
to the Lithub Daily
Thank you for subscribing! Support Lit Hub.
“Night had fallen, without complaint, without pretext. Like a black net enclosing the city, ink from a monster squid spreading across Jakarta’s entire landscape—the color of my uncertain future.”
“On the morning of November 4, a lone courier, carrying packets stuffed with letters, bolted from the still burning capital. For several days, he rode eastward through the granite hills and gray-green valleys of Alentejo and Extremadura in Spain before turning north at the dry windswept plateau of Castile.”
“At first light on Sunday the ship was loaded, along with the galley slaves, with all sorts of precious cargo, half of which were luxury goods that the rich of Judaea craved, their wives especially: oils, paints, and balms with which it was the latest fad to daub the body in Italia; caskets of jewels; small mirrors; little jars.”