Prostitutes, Pimps, Pushers: How to Translate a ‘Jazz’ Novel
Meeting Fiston Mwanza Mujila for Dinner in Paris
The Strangest
Michael J. Seidlinger
“Someone died, I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious that someone died. People die every minute. When it hits home, it’s plain and clear. Someone died. You can’t just say it’s a coincidence..”
Joanna Walsh on Sex Writing, Freud, and (the) Marx (Brothers)
In Conversation with the Writer-Editor-Illustrator-Founder of #Readwomen
An Alternative to the Blunt Force Trauma of the MFA
Writing Centers of America, part II in a Series: The U of Arizona Poetry Center
The First Democratic Party Debate: A Spinglish-English Translation
“I didn’t take a position until I took a position” and other gems
City on Fire: The Year Punk Was Born
Garth Risk Hallberg Goes Deep Into NYC History
"Just when Sam was getting ready to head to the Sea of Clouds or CBGB, he’d be exiled again to Long Island. He would stop at a gas station to rub soap on his shirt to cover the smell of Sam’s cigarettes and to gargle away the pasty aftertaste of pills with the travel-sized bottle of mouthwash he carried."
Judging the National Book Award Shortlisters By Their Covers
Who Would Win if the Prize Was For Best Cover?
Hitler-Spotting at the Frankfurt Bookfair
In Which the German Literary Scene is Compared to a Serial Killer
A Phone Call From Paul: Claudia Rankine, Part II
Paul Holdengraber Talks Race and Hope in America with Claudia Rankine
Page 1715 of 1756
