Category Archives: Posts

I held off for a minute articulating an opinion on the latest cover of Time, not only because I’ve no doubt Mr. Franzen is a fine writer but also because I’m quite sure that my opinion among the thousands of … Continue reading →

Indeed, it is soon clear that [Paul Gauguin] is not just the average Westerner exploring for the sake of broadening his understanding of the world–he is, more than anything, a sexual tourist…The submissiveness of [his young teenage lover] was highly … Continue reading →

Today’s gem is courtesy of Jack Kerouac, whose obscure final novel, Pic, I recently uncovered.  It’s a paperback original from 1971.  This is the book whose noble idea it was to tell its tale from the perspective of a little … Continue reading →

It is difficult not to hear in standard English always the sound of slaughter and conquest. —bell hooks It’s interesting how the words “local” and “native” are slyly used to displace people on their very own home turf.  These words … Continue reading →

Granted, it doesn’t take much for me, but I shed a little tear watching Janelle Monae’s performance on Letterman via the internet.  For reasons I can and can’t explain.  It has something to do with the unwarranted sense of ownership … Continue reading →

“90 percent of humanity is, in fact, imitating 10 percent of humanity.” –Orhan Pamuk That’s from Pamuk’s interview with Diane Rehms about his (soul-wrenchingly beautifu, if you ask me) book The Museum of Innocence.  He was talking about his choice … Continue reading →

Culture draws these lines, real or imaginary, that prevent us from recognizing one another.  And while human life would certainly be hard-pressed to make do without it, it’s nice to feel sometimes that we can peek behind the screen. I’m … Continue reading →

Some thoughts on re-wording ourselves, and on healing the wounds of words: from The Education of a British-Protected Child, the masterful latest book of Chinua Achebe; and from a talk by his literary heir, the beautiful Chimamanda Adichie.  I wouldn’t … Continue reading →

A quick dip into Google reveals that Gauguin spent his first four years in Peru with his Peruvian mama. But having grown up without that information, it had seemed like a wonder to me that this white guy—French, no less—ended … Continue reading →

The women in my mother’s family all have beautiful handwriting–elegant cursive forms postured on the page like well-bred ladies themselves.  The mail brings hand-addressed envelopes from them for my birthday a few days ago, bearing things like a bar of … Continue reading →