“My father wasn’t insistent about me finishing college at the time. He knew that Hemingway and Faulkner didn’t go.” —Jim Harrison
“In the medieval period it was common for translators to insert commentary on their theories and methods directly into the text,” as @becca_h_reed does in this unusual translation of Tere Dávila's “The Summer of Lion Meat”
“Emily Dickinson is one of the greatest poets we have, and I don’t mean ‘we’ merely in America. I mean she is one of the greatest of poets.” —Susan Howe
In a new diary, @gertsofficial chronicles a séance in unincorporated Florida, where her family tried to make contact with her great-uncle, who was murdered in 2024.
“The question is, then, What the fuck do we do with our history? Do we try to hide it, like we’ve done so many times?” —Javier Cercas
“You don't write—an artist doesn't create, or very rarely creates—good art in support of different causes.”
Recalling a dinner with T. S. Eliot: “He was wearing a cowboy hat, and we all got plastered … He couldn’t walk, for his ankles were crossed, so Valerie lifted him into the taxi.”
We at the Review mourn the loss of David Hockney, who died this week at the age of eighty-eight. In memory of his life and work, we’ve unlocked his early “Notes for Illustrations: Grimm’s Fairy Tales” from the archive.
“The rappers brought back rhyme. Critics try to put these kids down, but they are good writers.” —Ishmael Reed
“The night was mine. After everyone went to bed, I’d retreat to the bathroom with my notebook—I’d have woken people up if I’d used the typewriter.” —Ludmilla Petrushevskaya
The Paris Review
The Paris Review
buff.ly
buff.ly
“I worked at a library and that’s where I first read James Baldwin. I think it was Notes of a Native Son. It stopped me cold.”
“One critic wrote . . . that my poems sounded as though they had been translated from the Hungarian. I don’t know why, but somehow that made me feel quite lighthearted.”
