Sublime

Clinton’s loss, which I will mourn forever, might reiterate the importance of making space for the difficult woman. It might also point toward the way that valuing a woman for her difficulty can, in ways that are unexpectedly destructive, obscure her actual, particular self.

song. Strangers had searched their house and taken anything they pleased. The wooden faces of the policemen and their lack of response were the worst, though, far more unsettling than the TV lights and the

All that I remember of the autumn is waiting for Giovanni to come to trial. Then, at last, he came to trial, was found guilty, and placed under sentence of death. All winter long I counted the days. And the nightmare of this house began. Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love. It is a remar

Loss of self. Of all of the forms of impoverishment that can be seen or felt in America, loss of self, or death in life, is surely the most devastating. Beginning with school, if not before, we are systematically stripped of imagination, creativity, heritage, dreams and personal uniqueness in order to style us into productive units for a mass, tech

She walks home and shops for food with a sort of forced tranquillity, as though if she moves too quickly something will break.

When he’s home I don’t even remember the deserted panic of these empty afternoons. It’s like I have revolving brains, each one amnesiac of the other.

We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative