“One way to think about the act of annotating is that you are that meddlesome party gossip, telling the reader how to draw connections between the different parts of the text.”
Many view Edgar Allen Poe as a uniquely gloomy, mad writer. But what if Poe was normal, simply representative of a gloomy, mad era?
Ann Quin is, above all, a self-aware writer, with an ironic understanding of the limits of symbolic expression, who was nevertheless prepared to test those limits.
Benzion Netanyahu—father of the former prime minister—is not the protagonist; rather, it is his scholarship and the practice of history itself.
In both World Wars, France used West African “colonial conscripts.” Deployed on the front lines, they were often the first to be killed.
Climate change didn’t just wreck the planet; it closed off and reshaped the future. Even utopia—if we reach it—will be a mess.
Jenny Erpenbeck’s fiction is an attempt to grasp the underlying precariousness of our sense of identity and belonging.
What does it mean to write—and read—an American novel in the wake of anti-Asian racism and hate crimes, events connected to a history of Asian exclusion?
Anthropology’s attention to the granular texture of someone’s life is a beautiful training for being a fiction writer.
A resource for reading about, teaching, and discussing the novel as an artistic and cultural form.
Working as a children’s librarian in a “one-library town,” Cleary, age 23, found bored boys asking, “Where are the books about kids like us?”
Why read MFA-trained writers writing about writers training in MFA programs?
Sigrid Nunez’s fiction inspires the question: What would it mean to make caring for others into an explicitly public priority?
Novelists from George Eliot to Mary Gordon ask readers to confront our lives as ethical dramas that run only once, and with great consequence.
Hazzard was given to lingering in the fraught silences that follow great tumult, taking the time to find something worth saying.
What might the dynamic of mental life look like when its physiological counterpart is ill, bedridden, and housebound?
If there is a way forward for the “pandemic novel,” it may be in Emma Donoghue’s claustrophobic settings of motherhood and childbirth.
If Hillary Mantel herself can’t bear to part with her well-beloved protagonist, how on earth should the rest of us?
A recent flourishing of Palestinian literature reckons with complications in historical memory caused by settler colonialism.
Think about your favorite book. Now ask yourself: Would you admit this to others? Most would share—but literature professors are not most people.