While Hatchet provided readers with some much-needed escapism, The Island centered its focus on what we can never escape—mortality, which, in the immediate aftermath of Paulsen’s passing, takes on new significance.
We need generous readers with the courage of conviction in their own taste, who believe in books and stand up for those convictions. Who know, as Gian did, that artistic integrity is tough to maintain without opposition to the reigning pieties.
I kept finding reasons to visit Frank. Did he still have letters he and Irma exchanged during the war when he was in the Pacific? Photos of the two of them?
His example was a welcome counter to the romanticized notion of the philandering rebel artist. Regular habits, a strong work ethic, and a love of revision were the secret ingredients to a successful writing career.
Oliver’s queer identity and search for meaning provided the subtle underpinning for much of her work and we—in search of understanding, comfort, fortitude—often saw ourselves and our questions reflected in it.
Was it possible that, despite my best efforts to resist proscriptive poetry doctrines, somewhere along the line I’d internalized the unspoken tenet that accessible poems of praise and wonder are less worthy of real attention?
This seemed to be Leonard’s way. He transformed the world into his image of it. Those of us who were around were brought into a land of ancient poetic lore.
How would our relationship have been different if, while he lived, I had really seen my brother? What if I had welcomed his vision of the world into my own?
Yahya Haqqi deserves a eulogy about his place in Egyptian literary heritage. Sabri Moussa deserves a eulogy for his film scripts, short fiction, and novels.
He’s now, if not with his beloved Jane Kenyon, at least no longer in a world without her. Only the words they wrote are left behind, breathing without them.