Among the many layers of Calle’s work is the act of deciding what is a secret and which of those secrets deserves to be placed in the vessel she made. Death connects inherently to secrets—things we never tell people, thoughts and actions taken to the grave, the different ways to die that blur a spectrum from accident to murder, illness to neglect—but a death itself is not clandestine. Calle’s obelisk serves a different purpose from a gravestone’s memorial, and death is the most private public act I can imagine.
The miraculous, exhilarating truth is that Breece D’J Pancake fought his way out of any dream, no matter how pervasive or foretold, with the sheer power of his dedication and intent, his genius and his passion, in language that is his alone. Truly great work delivers worlds that are known rather than merely understood or apprehended. His stories will be read as long as American stories survive, passed on, head to heart.
In her ghost stories, Spark invites us to spend time on that horizon. She lures us momentarily from our world of color and people, before releasing us back to normal life. She knows, however, that even one crossing will change us. Comfortably back in the foreground, our gaze will nevertheless drift back to that distant speck.
Just like Lot, Memorial is a quietly stunning book, a masterpiece that asks us to reflect on what we owe to the people who enter our lives. There's no easy answer, of course, but Mike, at one point, comes close: "You just have to stick around. That's enough. It has to be."
At the turn of the 20th century, Eugène Atget wandered Paris photographing the medieval structures soon to be subsumed by the city’s rapid modernization. The facades, passageways, and storefronts that Atget photographed are, perhaps unintentionally, tinted with nostalgia — even as the photographer captured the images, he knew that his subjects were already relics.
Now, into the breach, comes Heather Clark’s “Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath,” an exhaustively researched, frequently brilliant masterwork that stretches to 1,072 pages (including notes). It is an impressive achievement representing a prizeworthy contribution to literary scholarship and biographical journalism.
After yoga, I took my car to the shop. Coils, spark plugs, computer chips, and a two-mile walk