Putting aside the scurvy, wooden fingers, and telepathic seagulls, Our Flag Means Death is a show about outcasts for outcasts. It’s silly, sometimes irreverent, but brilliantly tender. It’s not just a rom-com or situational comedy; it’s a queer elegy—honoring those outcasts in history who chose to risk their lives for freedom and perhaps even love.
If you find that you are the type of person who is constantly at war with these two alternating states of self—where obligations can be ditched at a moment’s notice, or begrudgingly followed through—then you will feel right at home in the world of “Imaginary Museums” by Nicolette Polek.
The aging bad boy of French letters’ latest outing exhausts nearly half its word count rehashing tired material. Then, when an antidepressant finally renders his narrator impotent, it picks up.
What is striking about Lerner’s third novel is the way it implicates itself, its forms—literature, prose, poetry—in the collapse of public discourse, and the proliferation of “man-children.”
Open the pages of King Arthur, though, and it’s apparent that we’re very far away from New York. We’re in Camelot.
Recklessness looks a lot like bravery.
Reality becomes myth, then that myth becomes legend. That’s the spectacle of Karen Russell’s “Orange World”.
Louis aims his accusation squarely at France’s ruling class, leaving little doubt as to whom he considers responsible for the charge leveled in the title of his new nonfiction j’accuse.
Life is all about taking chances: asking your crush out, jumping out of a plane, adding (roasted) almonds to your salad.
I dropped my things and immediately cracked the first hundred pages. It was classic Knausgaard: endless descriptions of diapers changed, emails checked, and cigarettes smoked.
