August 4 – 8, 2025
- Writing James Baldwin’s life as a love story
- Advice for pitching translations in a bleak market
- Roy Scranton considers life in a perpetual apocalypse
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“The sunlight dripped over the house like golden paint over an art jar, and the freckling shadows here and there only intensified the rigor of the bath of light.”
“Early one June morning in 1872 I murdered my father—an act which made a deep impression on me at the time. This was before my marriage, while I was living with my parents in Wisconsin.”