The forest. The sea. The garden. The grindstone. The long and winding road. The moon. The stars. Sunrise. Sunset. Ecstasy. Exhaustion. The heart as metaphor. The heart as living, beating thing. Myths. Reality. Then. Now. Here. There. Beyond either here or there. ‘This pining meat.’ This ticking clock. The second hand. The hours. The days. … Read more
Folks everywhere are in a righteous huff about James Frey and his book “A Million Little Pieces,” which turns out to be full of fabrications and embellishments. Years ago, I received the hardcover in the first round of publicity. I myself couldn’t get through the first twenty-five pages, and had no idea it was as … Read more
When Buddy Clister came up the hill that afternoon he wasn’t his usual shrill, braying self. This was a guy who’d once had a fistfight with Eddie Guster’s mother, and Mrs. Guster had kicked Buddy’s ass and bloodied his nose. You’d think that would be a pretty tough thing for an aspiring two-bit punk to … Read more
I’ve been thinking about Bush’s listening in on our phone conversations and wondering just how stupid he thinks Al Queda operatives are. As has been reported, the NSA intercepted phone conversations on September 10, 2001 that, in hindsight, clearly said something was going to happen the next day. Unfortunately, they weren’t translated until September 12. … Read more
I’m just going to point out this modest proposal by Mike Lenehan, editor of the Chicago Reader. To all of you who get your news via blogs, I know your perception may be a bit weak, so I will warn you: it’s only partly facetious. (I apologize in advance to all of you who don’t … Read more
By the way, I wanted to mention that tomorrow night kicks off the new season of The Rake’s monthly happy hour of literature–the one we call “Raking Through Books.” It’s an opportunity to come to our favorite watering hole, Kieran’s Irish Pub, rub elbows with your fellow Rake readers, and, y’know, generally participate in the … Read more
I read with interest Warren St. John’s continuing investigation as to the “true identity” of J.T. LeRoy. You’ll remember the little dustup about a month ago when New York magazine raised doubts about the real identity of LeRoy, suggesting a person of that name does not actually exist. LeRoy, who has been writing professionally for … Read more
A man finds himself stranded halfway across a bridge that he suddenly realizes is taking him nowhere. He pauses for a moment in the darkness to catch his breath and notices, for the first time, a river rolling along far below him. The river is alive. It is moving, going unimaginable places, traveling ultimately to … Read more
How long, I wonder, was the world’s longest suicide note? And, however long it was, do you suppose it was long enough? It was January, a Friday night just like this one. It got dark early, and it got so dark. The darkness didn’t even fall; it just seemed to spend half the day creeping … Read more
A while back, I was saying I thought my old friend Ana Marie Cox deserved to be writing IN the New York Times, rather than being written ABOUT in the New York Times. (I haven’t seen her novel yet, but the fact that she even wrote one hints at the fact that she has some … Read more