From the start, I liked Little John better, a preference which was reinforced years later when Big John said the following of learned women, “She cannot make a bed but she will lecture you on the inner symbolism of Camus while dinner burns”…
Upon arrival in France, I unpacked my little sack on the wooden floor of my new, empty bedroom…
I grew up in a country where writers were like rock stars. It was the 90s: Norman Mailer-era America was over, had moved on to other things—but in France, you could still see a barely-handsome author on the banner of … Continued
With her own Yorkshire Terrier lying beside her, my mother recounted an urban legend of an elegant North Carolinian who had her beloved terrier stuffed when it passed away, so that its stiff little body could sit forever on her Chesterfield sofa.
I like to force things. It’s been a problem of mine since I was very young. My father used to explain to me that you can’t decide something about the workings of the universe unless it’s proven itself. You can’t … Continued
In its traditional formulation, the metaphor of the bird cage is pretty banal: we can see out and they can see in—but we’re trapped…
Even before I learned to drive, I always believed I would die in a car crash—a strange fear, canonized when my mother was in a bad accident. I knew it the moment it happened; no one told me. Magical thinking … Continued
