Our own G.C. Waldrep gets a unique review from Rumpus.
“And God said, ‘Let there be…Ben-Day dots’ — Genesis gets graphic.
Brush up on your Prufrock! Just days after his prizewinners have been shortlisted, T.S. Eliot, the Publisher (glad we’ve cleared that up), has wedged himself into the lobby of the British Library, forcing hip academics to find other plugs for their MacBooks. Alice Oswald’s Weeds & Wildflowers made the cut, but you saw her here first, right?
No matter who wins, we’ll be celebrating another year, in a station of the metro.
Are you an Ebenezer or an Oliver? The Jim Carey adaptation of A Christmas Carol draws near, but why should we care? Maybe you just have to be there.
Sir Salman Rushdie won a prize AND broke up with girlfriend Pia Glenn. Who’s descriptive flair do you prefer? His or hers? Oh, and as long as we’re talking scandal, apparently Naipaul’s been whacked by the Feds.
A novelist in the tabloids is like a polar bear in Cancun. Or maybe, it just is. But do we mean it? You feel smarter now for having clicked that, I just know it.
‘Levi’s of Grass‘? Whitman sells jeans.
And lastly, is this bite-sized, tangent-happy format souring your most recent attempt at Ulysses? Not sure? You’re in good company, The Elegant Variation AND About Last Night will talk you through it.