The simplest definition of “sacred” in the Oxford English Dictionary has always seemed to me to be “set apart,” and that’s probably why I’ve never felt very happy with the word. I’ve never much liked the idea of things being “set apart.” Somehow, in my staunchly Republican family, I acquired a stubborn egalitarianism. But I […]
Vacant Lots: A Butterfly Hunter Considers the Sacred Read More »
You know, that’s what my sockeyetrist told me. “Catherine,” he said, “you’ve got a person in you, another person besides you, and that person is all the time telling you, ‘Catherine, you’re no good, Catherine, you can’t do thus and that.’ And you are trying to become yourself, but that
A Bunch of Felonies Read More »
For those who weren’t writing back in the nineteen eighties, it’s hard to imagine what a broad shadow Raymond Carver cast across the writing world. His work, and articles about him, seemed to appear everywhere, including The Paris Review, Atlantic, Poetry, and The New Yorker. In his final year, 1988, he was inducted into the
Raymond Carver, Remembered Read More »
I was four years old, and we lived on the top floor of a fisherman’s house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. I could see the ocean from my window, and our landlord often brought us fresh seafood. My father, a USAF radar operator, worked lots of seven day weeks and double shifts because of the Cold
The Persistence of Doors Read More »
You have asked me what the lobster weaves between its golden claws, and I respond to you: The sea knows. You say to me, “What is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent bell? What is it waiting for?” I say to you, it waits as you do for time. You ask me whom the embrace
Alice Randall drove along a desolate road amid the soaked barren wheat fields of northern Kansas. Stands of bare trees separated neighboring properties. Every so often, she would spot hunters in orange vests wandering over the dark wet soil. When she reached Masonville, she took a brief tour of the town to see what had