Poet Mary Ruefle will be at the Hill Center tonight. You should go. I am.

I wish they’d review more poetry, but I guess that I’ll settle for New York Times review of a poet’s memoir (Tracy Smith in this case; I heard her read and she’s very good).

Okay, okay. I get it. This looks fun. #Bookface. Just… read the article I guess. Easier than my trying to explain it.

You missed out on your chance to live in a… above ground hobbit hole? Flintstones cosplay re-enactment set? Move-in ready mushroom?

This New Yorker article struck a chord with me, as someone who enjoys reading nineteenth century literature. I have mentioned a couple of times that I am reading from Richard Burton’s translation of The Arabian Nights and some of the racial language goes well beyond cringe-worthy. Of course, this article was written by someone of Turkish descent and I never even thought of how often ‘turk’ was used as a sort of insult or shorthand for someone or something brutish in nineteenth century literature So… food for thought.

Who cares about the Paris Commune?

This… just because I’m a sucker for this kind of stuff.


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