Apparently the confessional poets hated being known as confessional poets. Writers like John Berryman and W.D. Snodgrass responded badly when given the label. How do we understand their shared revulsion to the term? At The Paris Review Daily, an argument that we can find the answer in an unlikely place: The Twilight Zone.
You/Are Entering
Michael Chabon, Punk
Before he was Michael Chabon the novelist he was Michael Chabon the punk musician. Now recordings of his work with The Bats are available online as part of Mind Cure Records archival series.
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Miéville on “Hauntology”
In a fabulously strange, illuminating, and spooky essay, China Miéville establishes the literary definition of “hauntology.”
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Refusing to be Silenced
The Brooklyn Rail‘s InTranslation section has launched a new poetry series, 100 Refutations. Created by author and translator Lina M. Ferreira C.-V., the series will feature a daily poem “from one of the countries recently denigrated by the president of the United States.” Pair with: The Millions’ Surviving Trump column.
Little Fiction’s Book Preview; Le Translation Preview
On their Tumblr, Little Fiction is previewing some of the books being released in 2014-2015 by authors they’ve recently worked with. Meanwhile, Chad Post put together “Le Translation Preview” to promote some international work being published this July. Think of both lists as complementary compendiums to our Great Second-Half 2014 Book Preview.
Dark Times at The Virginia Quarterly
At The Wilmington Star News, a round-up of the news coverage of the suicide of The Virginia Quarterly Review‘s managing editor, Kevin Morrissey, and the accusations that Morrissey’s boss, Ted Genoways, the wunderkind editor-in-chief of VQR, may have played a role in the suicide. In the wake of this sad controversy, the University of Virginia has shut down the 85-year-old journal, pending an internal investigation.
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Burroughs’s curse, Capote’s burden
“Enjoy your dirty money. You will never have anything else.” And other things William Burroughs’s wrote to Truman Capote. There’s a bit more backstory over at RealityStudio, though the letter stands on its fearsome and indignant own.
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