A Year in Reading: Il’ja Rakos

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With the species developing a real knack for atrocity, I turn to books not so much in search of escape but for reassurance.
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A Year in Reading: Il’ja Rákoš

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Turns out there’s not much you can do for second-degree paraffin burns beyond trying to cool them down, keep them clean, and try not to pop the blisters.
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The Grueling, Painful, Beautiful Fiction of László Krasznahorkai

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To misread Krasznahorkai as merely, or primarily, a political writer is to risk squandering the profoundly personal nature of his stories. More tragically, it is to foist a kind of sloppy activist, and determinately secular métier onto one of contemporary literature’s most sophisticated exponents of the sacred.
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A Year in Reading: Il’ja Rákoš

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We read and write for largely the same principal reason the ancients did: because, good Lord, we’re a damn mess. If 2016 hasn’t convinced you, I’m not sure what it will take.
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Composed of Living Breath: On Svetlana Alexievich’s ‘Secondhand Time’

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Alexievich takes the jingoish caricature, the pulp-fiction rogue, the faceless millions of victims of historical record, and restores to them a voice -- their own.
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Svetlana Alexievich Is No Useful Idiot

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The idea of real, substantive equality is eternal. It’s beautiful. But somehow, in the Russian application of it, it always ends in a river of blood.
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Ambrose Akinmusire and Jazz in the Smoldering City: A Dispatch From Kyiv

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Whatever they may have expected, what the Ambrose Akinmusire Quartet got was a night onstage before this cloud of witnesses. An otherwise unimaginable crowd in a country in the grip of a rumored war stopping to listen to a black man from Oakland and his band testify while the city burns away its edges.
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Tend to the Wounded: Dispatches from Kyiv

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This is the first time I’ve been in a hot war zone, and the only thing I’ve learned is that I’m too old for this shit.
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