At The Rumpus, Darcie Dennigan pens a strange and beautiful review of G.C. Waldrep’s new collection of poetry, Archicembalo: “I dreamt that G.C. Waldrep was offering me a tumbler of Pepsi, and amid the soda bubbles were many pills.”
"Hamlet’s famous last words—'The rest is silence'—are less punning than ironic, since both his parting, eloquent gasps and his death play out amidst a growing bassline beat. 'What warlike noise is this?' Hamlet asks as the poison takes hold. The drums and commotion signal the arrival of the Norwegian crown prince Fortinbras, who bursts into the quiet of the massacred Danish court. From the beginning of Hamlet, we’re taught to think of sovereignty as a manipulation of sound waves." What does silence mean in this age of constant digital noise? The Literary Hub takes a look.
"The specter of the confessional haunts all first-person writing, and women’s writing in particular," but perhaps "the instinct to insert [the self] comes from a place of saying, 'I’m not an expert, I’m just a person; let me show you where I’m situated here in this thing I’m telling you about.'" Our own Lydia Kiesling writes about Meghan Daum, Lena Dunham, Leslie Jamison and the confessional impulse in nonfiction for Salon.