Hunter S. Thompson was a man whose reputation preceded him. Let’s honor his legacy the way he probably would have wanted–by taking a look back at a list of the crimes he committed in the Big Apple. If you don’t know anything about Hunter S. Thompson, this job application that he sent to the Vancouver Sun in 1958 should get you started.
Fear and Loathing in NYC
If Choices Were Wishes
“To survive, we learned to be great actresses. We cocked our heads just so, we laughed with just the right lilt, we batted our eyelashes and pursed our lips. Sometimes we were innocent, weak and in need of protection; other times we teased and tortured, until our customers raged for release.” Beautiful new fiction by Karissa Chen for Catapult.
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Glory Edim’s Empire of Knowledge
Well-Read Black Girl founder Glory Edim spoke to HuffPost's "We Built This" series on her passion for literacy and the urgency of protecting black women.
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Let’s Not Get Started on the Lightbulb
“Miguel is pulling an all-nighter at the library to finish a history paper. If Miguel’s computer is operating on Microsoft Word 2003, how many useful suggestions does Clippy have between the hours of 8 pm and 3 am?” Introducing Microsoft Word Problems.
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RIP Jenny Diski
Jenny Diski, a prolific author who’d kept up a serialized diary of living with cancer since 2014, died this morning at the age of 68. Her partner, Ian Patterson, broke the news on Twitter, after which outlets including The Guardian confirmed it. The author had recently published her final book, a memoir.
Van Doren’s Shakespeare Giveaway
Trevor Berrett, the man behind The Mookse and the Gripes, and now The Worlds and Works of Shakespeare, is conducting a giveaway for the NYRB Classics edition of Mark Van Doren’s Shakespeare. Conditions to enter are enumerated on his blog, which you should certainly bookmark if you’re a fan of the Bard.
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Dial M for Middling
You’d think the home country of Agatha Christie, Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes would remain the home of great mysteries, but apparently the UK is in trouble. At least, that’s the argument of Christopher Fowler, a writer who smells a rat.
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