Howard Jacobson writes characters at their wits' end; those characters are usually men, and those men are usually Jewish. Additionally, and problematically for both them and everyone around them, their collective wits are capacious: easily enlarged to allow idiosyncrasy to bloom into neurosis, preoccupation into obsession.
From our millennia-later perspective, it's also remarkable that a culture that didn't count women as citizens - or even, truly, as full people; Aeschylus's Oresteia turns on the divine judgment that a mother isn't really a parent to her child but simply a vessel for the male's seed - created such staggering expressions of female wrath and righteousness on its stages.
That type of copying is pretty normal, and they teach it in school. It's how you learn (and how you become depressed). But in the age of generative AI, there are many new kinds of copying. For instance, Wired reported last week on a tool offered by Grammarly, which briefly offered users the opportunity to put their writing through something called "Expert Review."
It brought me back to this feeling I had from childhood. I remember I would ask myself who was playing here before, who was sitting exactly where I'm sitting now, all the thoughts they had on this spot and how they're in me now.
Now it's become very popular in the Taylor Swift way of pop singers writing about all of their publicly aired break-ups, which I don't find interesting at all. I think it's a little bit boring for me to write about myself. Even if I've had a really interesting day, I feel like I've already lived that, I don't need to go through it every time I sing this song.
I was supposed to host the awards this Saturday, a day of celebrating the hard work of artists in one of the strongest unions in the U.S. But could we really celebrate while the staff, who help support the union are asking to be heard of their needs? I'm honored to stand with them.
I had an eating disorder, and it took time, and it took a lot of help, and also it was depression... I didn't know how to be alive the way I wanted to be, and it was difficult, but I do not for a second regret it, and I think I've been able to transform it and recognise our vulnerabilities as humans in the world.
I didn't know who I was as a writer. I didn't know my voice or style. I was trying to be whatever writer I loved at the moment. You have to find authenticity, find your own voice. Marie's class gave me the ability to be a storyteller.
It follows a young Syrian boy, Ahmet, who arrives in the UK without his parents. He joins a school and befriends a group of kids who hear that the government is going to close the gates. They don't fully understand what it means other than that Ahmet's parents, who must be looking for him, won't be able to get into the country. So they decide, in a beautifully innocent way, to go to the most powerful person they can think of—the queen!—and ask for help to find Ahmet's parents and keep the gates open.
She wrote 10 books while she was here, and that includes children's books, you know, volumes of poetry. It was a busy and bustling place back then. Lucille and her husband, Fred Clifton, had six kids running around. Neighbors were in and out. Artist friends were over constantly. But Lucille Clifton managed to carve out time and space to write.
It's kind of crazy, but I just get ideas all the time. I genuinely thought: wouldn't it be cool if you could borrow scents like books? And would that work? Would people do it? Would they just think it was stupid? So far, no one seems to think it is stupid.
But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousness are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away. It was bracing language for an 8-year-old. Not only was I unclean, but even my best attempt at goodness was filthy.
To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul. The concept I stick to - my core principle - is simple: I write in plain English, and only when I actually have something to say.
I said, 'Yeah, sure.' Then I put the phone down. I thought, Well, what about me? I'm not inducted. Now John's going to go in. The thing about John Lennon and McCartney was we were always equal. But, of course, once John got murdered, he became the martyr - the Buddy Holly, the James Dean character - because of the atrocity. So a revisionism started to go on.
The best argument I can make for why I like reading fiction in translation is because it facilitates the psychedelic experience of encountering someone else's subjectivity twice over. The translator must act as a prismatic filter, faithfully attempting the impossible task of replicating someone else's experiences and ideas. To read in translation is to read two stories in harmony with each other: The one the author wants to tell and the one the translator has brought into your linguistic world.
In an age where we are all drowning in electronic communication, handwritten notes really stand out. The company's website brags that its robo-scrawl is virtually indistinguishable from human writing, produced with unmatched speed, quality, and realism through a large language model that generates content and a proprietary robot that inks it onto stationary.
The Center for Literary Arts presents acclaimed author Venita Blackburn, Compton-born creative writing professor and founder of Live, Write, an organization offering free creative writing workshops.
Anytime an Oregon author, or any other prominent writer, gave a reading at Powell's Books, Steve Arndt would show up early, sometimes by a couple hours, and reserve front-row seats for his fellow writers. He wanted the writer giving the reading to know they had the support of Portland's literary community. His friends say that habit embodies Arndt's kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness, and the way he fostered and strengthened a sense of community in Portland's literary scene.
We've all been there. Someone starts telling a story, and within seconds, your mind starts wandering. Maybe you pull out your phone, suddenly remember an urgent email, or find yourself mentally reorganizing your weekend plans. The storyteller doesn't notice. They keep going, completely unaware that they've lost their audience. After interviewing over 200 people for various articles, I've noticed patterns in how people communicate their experiences. Some captivate you from the first word, while others lose you before they've even gotten to the point.
The term "conspiracy theory" calls to mind a variety of dubious claims and controversies, like rumors about Area 51, claims that the Earth is flat, and the movement known as QAnon. At first blush, these phenomena would seem to have little in common with bogus word origins. But there are a variety of false etymologies that spread virally and refuse to go away, in much the same way that stories about chemtrails, black helicopters, and UFOs refuse to die.
Many lawyers have eagerly adopted the buzzword "BLUF"-bottom line up front-as if invoking the acronym were synonymous with careful thinking. The catch is that almost no one stops to ask the important question: What exactly is meant by "bottom line"? The answer isn't obvious, and it shifts with context. In military writing, the "bottom line" is a concrete decision or action a commander must take-stated at the very start because the commander already knows the mission, the terrain and the stakes.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light, and a sulfurous mist flooded my apartment. Marax, President of Hell, stood before me. Marax entered my summoning circle, eyes burning with unholy fire, and I gave him the stack of homework to flip through while I brushed my teeth. Marax marked up the papers and fleshed out my bullet points into thoughtful feedback before I even got to my molars. Then-three hours of my life, saved!-I banished him back to Hell.
