The conclusion among many folks is that Theory is a kind of philosophical Mad Libs disappearing up its own ass, accountable to nobody but itself and the departments that coddle it.
Like any grimoire or incantation, obscenity can be used to liberate and to oppress, to free and to enslave, to bring down those in power but also to froth a crowd into the most hideous paroxysms of fascistic violence.
If imagining yourself as the messiah could get you decapitated by the 10th century Abbasids, then in 20th-century Michigan it only got you institutionalized.
The anxiety that libraries can sometimes give me is of a cosmic nature, for something ineffable affects my sense of self when I realize that the majority of human interaction, expression, and creativity shall forever be unavailable to me.
Adams's way of viewing the galaxy was so innately appealing to me that I came to adopt it as my own, meeting the universe with my own absurdity whenever possible.
Playboy showcased many celebrated writers: Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., Joyce Carol Oates, Ursula K. Le Guin, John Updike, and Vladimir Nabokov. Had it showcased Corrine Hutner Wittenberg, too?
I wanted to find inspiration and understanding in the voices of other women. It was reductive to imagine other women were the solution, but I craved reductive thinking. I just wanted things to be simple, and to work.
Many people liken quarantine to prison or war, yet there are salutary rewards to be found in such solitary activities as braiding your own hair, learning to play piano, watching birds, and photographing your daughters.
Herein lies Bacall’s secret to a full and meaningful life: She was always in it for the love, the experience, the richness; the aliveness of the here and now, the people who animate the work.
My husband tells me he feels reassured by the way the book preserves the memory of his father. I never intended my novel to carry this weight, but I am glad for it now.
Maybe you think that the very act of writing distorts the self by forcing it into and through generic and linguistic conventions incompatible with the experience of selfhood as you know it.
In this germ-conscious era, we must make brief mention of Molloy’s stone sucking. I won’t linger on his intricate, obsessive-compulsive ritual, but suffice it to say the cavalier use of saliva would give Dr. Anthony Fauci a panic attack.
I realize this is what the book is about: everyday living during the end of the world. The futility, the impossibility, the absurdity of trying to keep people alive, trying to keep them safe.