How many Millions readers reside in Miami? All of you should come check out this USpeak event hosted by the University of Miami’s Creative Writing Program. Students will read verse and short stories, and visiting professor Patricia Engel (author of Vida) will read as well. You can also pick up a copy of Mangrove, the university’s undergraduate literary journal.
It seems almost silly to mention it since the book's been on shelves and discussed in the book pages for a couple of weeks now, but the "official" release date of David Foster Wallace's The Pale King is this Friday. (Our review was published today.) Meghan O'Rourke's grief memoir The Long Goodbye is out this week. And another look at our culture through the lens of our technology is now out, Steven Levy's In The Plex: How Google Thinks, Works, and Shapes Our Lives.
Crime novelist Sue Grafton passed away earlier this week from cancer. Lit Hub and Vulture both have touching tributes to her and her detective series starring Kinsey Millhone. "Grafton belonged to a cluster of female authors who viewed the private-detective subgenre, previously dominated by Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, and Grafton’s own hero, Ross Macdonald, in desperate need of subverting" and "The annual release of her latest Kinsey Millhone novel was, for generations of devotees, one of the year’s premier literary events. " Rest in peace Ms. Grafton.
On bad days, when his writer’s block was at its worst, Hart Crane wrote bizarre, feverish prose poetry as a way of juicing his creative synapses. Understandably, he never published this poetry, but now, thanks to the Harry Ransom Center, we can read it in its original form. Sample quote: “I held the crupper by a lasso conscripted from white mice tails spliced to the fore-top gallant.”
Michael Chabon is really into prog rock. And I just picked up a couple of great Emerson Lake & Palmer LPs. So now I've got a soundtrack for reading Telegraph Avenue, which I'm especially stoked on after our own Michael Bourne's review of the novel, devoted as I am to the "brilliant little brushstrokes of language."
We can’t stop gobbling up Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, but we also won’t stop asking who Elena Ferrante really is. Why do we need to know the author’s true identity, asks Electric Literature? (Our own Michael Schaub revealed that he was Elena Ferrante earlier this year.)