Unlike us today, the Victorians who discovered this stone forest were less afraid of the future than they were of forgetting the past.
Amid this turbulent present, can poetry call attention to creative forms of survival and persistence, human and nonhuman?
“I am supposed to be writing this essay, ostensibly on technology, but not for the first time, I believe I am unable to write; and not writing, doubt that I will I ever write again.”
Apocalyptic writers would be surprised by the suddenness with which Mexico City, during the pandemic, took on the guise of a ghost town.
Fitting chaos into form is what genre was made for. But what does it mean for our literature—let alone our society—when reality suddenly turns wolfishly against ...