(Source: reparrishcomics, via powells)

theparisreview:

“Silly Putty can’t really be called a major casualty in this overhaul, but it is something that will be decisively rendered extinct. It’s a retro toy now—if you can even call something which was so obviously the byproduct of industrial experimentation a “toy”—but with the death of the newspaper, one of its primary functions (if you can call it a function) will be nullified.”
Sadie Stein on the small casualties of the struggling industry.

theparisreview:

“Silly Putty can’t really be called a major casualty in this overhaul, but it is something that will be decisively rendered extinct. It’s a retro toy now—if you can even call something which was so obviously the byproduct of industrial experimentation a “toy”—but with the death of the newspaper, one of its primary functions (if you can call it a function) will be nullified.”

Sadie Stein on the small casualties of the struggling industry.

"But there are pleasures to be had from books beyond being lightly entertained. There is the pleasure of being challenged; the pleasure of feeling one’s range and capacities expanding; the pleasure of entering into an unfamiliar world, and being led into empathy with a consciousness very different from one’s own; the pleasure of knowing what others have already thought it worth knowing, and entering a larger conversation."

The Pleasure of Reading to Impress Yourself - The New Yorker

Yayy literature!

(via nationalbook)

(via nationalbook)

"The greatest lie ever told about love is that it sets you free."

— Zadie Smith, On Beauty (via larmoyante)

(via maryyannneeee)

"I find writing, and sharing my work, for others to be a problematic endeavor, something I’ve had to reconsider these last three years when my words started to be published, disseminated, and, in many ways, transformed into something unforeseen. Releasing creative work into the world means it’s no longer yours; it is open to interpretation and criticism. Fiction comes with its own ready-made explanation: it’s fiction, which is to say, it didn’t happen. The reader/commenter then has to shrug his shoulders and accept the explanation. Sharing my fiction is hardly an issue. It is nonfiction, specifically the personal essay, that has gotten me into trouble."

From my debut column with Fourculture Magazine, on the perils of being a personal essayist. (via mensahdemary)

theparisreview:

“Can we incorporate and treasure and be nourished by that which we do not understand? Of course.”
Read Joy Williams’s Art of Fiction interview, now online in its entirety.
Pictured: Williams, with husband Rust Hills in Sagaponack, New York, ca. 1977.

Oooo, love Joy Williams. She wrote the preface to The Collected Works of Jane Bowles, which I’m currently reading.

theparisreview:

“Can we incorporate and treasure and be nourished by that which we do not understand? Of course.”

Read Joy Williams’s Art of Fiction interview, now online in its entirety.

Pictured: Williams, with husband Rust Hills in Sagaponack, New York, ca. 1977.

Oooo, love Joy Williams. She wrote the preface to The Collected Works of Jane Bowles, which I’m currently reading.

"She often made important decisions this way, as if some prearranged plot were being suddenly revealed to her, a plot which had immediately to be concealed from the eyes of others, because for Sadie, if there was any problem implicit in making a decision, it lay, not in the difficulty of choosing, but in the concealment of her choice. To her, secrecy was the real absolution from guilt, so automatically she protected all of her deepest feelings from the eyes of Evy, Bert Hoffer and the other members of the family, although she had no interest in understanding or examining these herself."

— "Camp Cataract" by Jane Bowles

mensahdemary:

North New Jersey, the immediate region outside Manhattan’s skyline, is industrial, depressive, and idyllic for mass graves. Flat land trashed by freight cars and construction equipment parked for reasons—practical reasons—beyond expansion or development. Factories and the occasional smokestack. A…