I Went to Paris Because I’m a Writer Now
by Kobi Ansong
My phone buzzes. A text from the homie: Ay bruh, you in Paris reading books? lmao
I wander over footbridges and cobblestone streets.There’s perpetual cigarette aroma, but you don’t mind it. I read Ernest Hemingway’s memoir, Moveable Feast, about his misadventures bumming around the City of Light, getting drunk with Picasso and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and that was enough for me.
In our weekend reading: thoughts on Laurie Anderson’s new live album, a playlist from Patrick Cottrell, and more.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson once wrote a poem so moving, so poignant in its depiction of grief and loss of love that the piece’s eventual impact would ripple far beyond the Victorian literary world of its time and straight into international legal code.
In our morning reading: thoughts on books by Mónica Ojeda and Nancy Lemann, pondering a new Smug Brothers album, and more.
In our afternoon reading: an interview with Sara Nović, a pair of fundraisers, and more.
The downside of an enchanting revelry comes at waking to realize it was all a dream. This was the feeling on learning Nedra Talley, the final nightingale of that inimitable trio, The Ronettes, had emitted her last sigh.
Hello. You know the drill. It’s May; we have some books we’d like to recommend. Some fiction, some nonfiction, some poetry. In other words, here’s what we’re excited about this month.
In our morning reading: Siri Hustvedt on her new memoir, writing from Ilana Masad, and more.