Minor ResurrectionsGoading myself through writing my brother’s eulogy, I felt as if I might die from the effort of expression, and yet people insisted that it was fortunate that I was a writer, not understanding that words could only truly be a consolation if they called him back.
Atoms as they fall upon the mindWhat does the stream of our consciousness feel like today, and what kind of novel could capture it? In this issue, we’ve selected two extracts from novels that at the time of this writing are very difficult to find in the U.S.—one untranslated, the other out of print—and perhaps for this very reason have something to teach us.
Ethnic StudiesThe process of acquiring self-knowledge was not a benign, summer-school activity; rather, there was a sense of danger here, a fear of falling, the dread of being dropped into a dark airless room that smells of something rotten.
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