Edinburgh’s latest whodunnit wasn’t written by Ian Rankin. The Scottish capital’s mysterious book sculptor has struck again. Last summer, she started anonymously leaving paper sculptures at literary locations around the city to promote free access to libraries, museums, and galleries. The latest artwork arrived at the Edinburgh Unesco City of Literature Trust and includes paper feather wings, a safety helmet, and goggles “to provide some protection throughout journey.”
Paper Trail
Riding Trains Across the Heartland
We’re glad to hear that this autobiographical essay from David Biespiel at The Rumpus is only the first in a sequence of autobiographical portraits to be published on Poetry Wire on his upbringing as a poet.
The Sorrows of Lot
At The Rumpus, Kate Angus argues that salt, far from being simply a pillar of the spice trade, is in fact “the physical manifestation of the basic triad of our lives: love, work, and grief.”
In the Thick of It
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For Whom The Bell Tolls
A personalized memento mori: Learn the year, day, and month of your demise by filling out the short survey at The Death Clock, “the internet’s friendly reminder that life is slipping away.”