An English prof in New England. Most of my reading is re-reading for class, but when reading for myself I enjoy challenging and unusual reads, often with fantastic, sci-fi, or postmodern elements.
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'A narrative particle accelerator that zooms between Wild Turkey Whiskey and Bob Dylan, unicorn skulls …
Re-reading this in preparation for the release of Murakami’s next, The City and Its Uncertain Walls, which will build on this past novel.
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1838) is the only complete novel written …
Pym is an adventure tale about a young man on a whaling ship--something you would associate more with Melville or Conrad than with Poe. While there are passages of gruesome crimes, people being buried alive, and--if you wait long enough for it--the fantastic, this mostly reads like an adaptation of Robinson Crusoe for young men. There appear to be nods to Crusoe throughout, from Pym's choice to go to sea against his family's wishes; to his ague that makes him lose a day or more; to the inclusion of a journal account in the midst of the regular narration. The fantasies of blowing up of "savages" is the worst element it shares with Crusoe. I would recommend only to someone looking to read all of Poe's oeuvre.
Schiff was an on-again, off-again staffer at the information desk of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and this experience and her memories of it shape this dreamy, associative fugue of thoughts on art, parasitism, colonialism, family, and the mundane and egregious indignities of working in a public museum. Yet she states in the acknowledgments that "Though I haven't worked inside the Information Desk now for more than twenty years, the experience has so asserted itself into my art that I regard the Information Desk as my private writing desk; I am always seated there."
I was drawn to this poem for its unique premise. But what made the reading experience powerful and enjoyable was the unexpected juxtaposition of the subject matter structured inside a series of poems with names like "Invocation: To the Jewel Wasp." While its self-designation as an "epic" is only playful (she makes brief, wry references to …
Schiff was an on-again, off-again staffer at the information desk of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and this experience and her memories of it shape this dreamy, associative fugue of thoughts on art, parasitism, colonialism, family, and the mundane and egregious indignities of working in a public museum. Yet she states in the acknowledgments that "Though I haven't worked inside the Information Desk now for more than twenty years, the experience has so asserted itself into my art that I regard the Information Desk as my private writing desk; I am always seated there."
I was drawn to this poem for its unique premise. But what made the reading experience powerful and enjoyable was the unexpected juxtaposition of the subject matter structured inside a series of poems with names like "Invocation: To the Jewel Wasp." While its self-designation as an "epic" is only playful (she makes brief, wry references to "Arms and the man- / made hammered steel plate" and "arms and / the mansion you can stroll through"), the poetry mixes entomology, art criticism, and personal reflection in a way that I found completely engaging.
These three short stories, originally published in 2020 and translated by Lucy North, begin with premises that have a fairy-tale simplicity. One character cannot be hit. Another cannot give anyone anything--their gifts are never accepted. And another decides that "being bipedal was simply not worth the trouble." Imamura's spare style works well with these situations, and she is able create scenes that will make you laugh and others that draw out the pathos from the absurd. Clearly, these stories are asking us to consider how the unusual and often impossible events that occur are related to contemporary life, but these are not allegories or simple social satire. One them throughout, though, is how personally shattering other's expectations, and failing to meet them, can be.
Just received my copy.
Just received my copy.
I'm actually reading the 1964 Merrill edition.
This was recommended by Professor Liz Losh at a recent talk on AI literacy at Dartmouth. I picked it up as a possible reading for students in a freshman composition class, but ultimately decided that selected chapters would be appropriate for this rather than the entire book.
Baron's style is readable and welcoming to a layperson who might otherwise be mystified by the acronyms and computer science concepts that make up large language model. While there is a lot of history, explanation, and anecdotes in each chapter, the focus remains consistently on the question of what we give up by adopting these tools. It's not hysterical or anti-AI, just frank. While Baron offers no miraculous answers to the questions AI poses for all of us, her book helps a reader know just what AI actually is, where it comes from, and what it can do, and leaves the reader to …
This was recommended by Professor Liz Losh at a recent talk on AI literacy at Dartmouth. I picked it up as a possible reading for students in a freshman composition class, but ultimately decided that selected chapters would be appropriate for this rather than the entire book.
Baron's style is readable and welcoming to a layperson who might otherwise be mystified by the acronyms and computer science concepts that make up large language model. While there is a lot of history, explanation, and anecdotes in each chapter, the focus remains consistently on the question of what we give up by adopting these tools. It's not hysterical or anti-AI, just frank. While Baron offers no miraculous answers to the questions AI poses for all of us, her book helps a reader know just what AI actually is, where it comes from, and what it can do, and leaves the reader to decide for themselves to what degree they will allow these new tools to take over parts of their writing lives.
This was recommended by Professor Liz Losh at a recent talk on AI literacy at Dartmouth. I picked it up as a possible reading for students in a freshman composition class, but ultimately decided that selected chapters would be appropriate for this rather than the entire book.
Baron's style is readable and welcoming to a layperson who might otherwise be mystified by the acronyms and computer science concepts that make up large language model. While there is a lot of history, explanation, and anecdotes in each chapter, the focus remains consistently on the question of what we give up by adopting these tools. It's not hysterical or anti-AI, just frank. While Baron offers no miraculous answers to the questions AI poses for all of us, her book helps a reader know just what AI actually is, where it comes from, and what it can do, and leaves the reader to …
This was recommended by Professor Liz Losh at a recent talk on AI literacy at Dartmouth. I picked it up as a possible reading for students in a freshman composition class, but ultimately decided that selected chapters would be appropriate for this rather than the entire book.
Baron's style is readable and welcoming to a layperson who might otherwise be mystified by the acronyms and computer science concepts that make up large language model. While there is a lot of history, explanation, and anecdotes in each chapter, the focus remains consistently on the question of what we give up by adopting these tools. It's not hysterical or anti-AI, just frank. While Baron offers no miraculous answers to the questions AI poses for all of us, her book helps a reader know just what AI actually is, where it comes from, and what it can do, and leaves the reader to decide for themselves to what degree they will allow these new tools to take over parts of their writing lives.
Poet Akbar (Calling a Wolf a Wolf) explores the allure of martyrdom in this electrifying …
I really enjoyed this, but find it challenging to recommend as it is so unusual. The other two reviews I've read here does it much more justice. As a novel written by poet, the style is what makes it memorable--and an important twist.
Just never got drawn into this one.
Whitehead continues the story of Ray Carney from Harlem Shuffle, while also showing us more about engaging characters like Pepper and a certain arsonist-turned-filmmaker. Very enjoyable and sets up well for what will be the final volume in the trilogy.
Colson Whitehead continues his Harlem saga in a novel that summons 1970s New York in …
Looking forward to seeing Whitehead speak and picking up my signed copy at Harvard Bookstore on July 19!
Whitehead is quite good at drawing you into his character's situations. His historical fiction describes the lives of Black characters in the U.S., from the enslaved characters in Underground Railroad to the reform-school menagerie of The Nickle Boys, to the life of Ray Carney, 1960s furniture salesman and part-time crook, in Harlem Shuffle. Starting the story is a bit of an investment--a legit furniture salesman is not the most promising dramatic focus--but that investment pays off. Carney is a character you want to meet and understand, and you'll want to follow him to the soon-to-be-released sequel, Crook Manifesto.