Here are the first lines of the new David Mitchell novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, forthcoming in July: "'Miss Kawasemi?' Orito kneels on a stale and sticky futon. 'Can you hear me?' In the rice paddy beyond the garden, a cacophony of frogs detonates. Orito dabs the concubine's sweat-drenched face with a damp cloth."
Editing poetry can be tricky, and the work is often misunderstood. Many of the best houses leave the work to the experts: actual poets. But is that the best route? Indeed, as this Telegraph article puts it, "a house’s tone and fortunes can be radically altered depending on the poet in charge of the poems of others."
If you're wondering why you should read this new essay on Jack London, consider this sentence: "Born in 1876, the year of Little Bighorn and Custer’s Last Stand, the prolific writer would die in the year John T. Thompson invented the submachine gun." In Smithsonian Magazine, Kenneth Brandt explores the brief life of the author.
Patrick Bateman as internet troll? I could see it. Bret Easton Ellis, author of American Psycho, stopped by Town and Country to muse over how an early-twentieth century Patrick Bateman might behave a bit differently: "I check in with Patrick every now and then—as with this article you're reading—but he has been living his own life for some time now, and I rarely feel as if I have guardianship over him, or any right to tell him where he would or would not be today, decades after his birth."
Over the past fifteen years, Mohsin Hamid has moved from New York, to London, and to Lahore, Pakistan, with stints in Italy and Greece. His new book, which came out yesterday, is a series of essays about his odyssey across the world, chronicling his observations and experiences that led him to move. At Bookforum, a review by Jake Lamar.