George Saunders! Such a Card!

There is something about reading George Saunders that makes self want to laugh in irrepressible delight (Sorry. There was a time when only self knew the two words: George Saunders. She decided he would be her secret indulgence, for the rest of her life. Then he became quote unquote famous. Now, when she shares her love for a George Saunders sentence, she sounds overly enthusiastic, like a groupie)

Nevertheless! Here she is reading Lincoln in the Bardo Page One:

On our wedding day I was forty-six, she was eighteen.

. . . .

I proposed that we should be . . .  friends. Should behave outwardly, in all things, as if we had consummated our arrangement.

(Har Har Har)

Page Two:

She is here, still here.

(Har Har Har again!)

I was not an inexperienced man — had been wild when young; had spent sufficient time (I am ashamed to say) in Marble Alley . . .

(Har to the nth!)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

 

NEXT: Lincoln in the Bardo

First sentence: “On our wedding day I was forty-six, she was eighteen.”

Nostalgia: New York City

Self loves As Lie Is To Grin when the narrator simply describes what he sees as he moves about New York City:

I exited the station at West Eighth Street, heading north, and stood on a traffic island, watching small plane lights appear in the darkness behind One World Trade Center.

She would love to have this book as a walking guide when she is actually in New York City, a city that is dear to her heart because that is where her parents met: her father was a law student at Georgetown, and her mother was a classical pianist who had given concerts at Carnegie Hall and Avery Fisher. Painfully, that is also where her older sister died, so many years ago.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

Re-Reading: THE LESSONS, by Joanne Diaz (Silverfish Review Press)

Excerpt from Granada

To be so far from oxtail stew, sardines
in garlic sauce, blood oranges in pails
along the avenida, midday heat
wetting necks and wrists; to be so stuck
in stone-thick ice and clouds and recall
the pomegranate we shared, its hardened peel,
the translucent membrane gently parting
seed from luscious crimson seed, albedo
soft beneath bald rind, acid juice
running down our fingers, knuckles, palms,
the mild chap of our lips from mist and flesh;


  • Joanne Diaz received her MFA from New York University, where she was a New York Times Fellow, and her PhD in English literature from Northwestern University. She is the recipient of writing fellowships from the Illinois Arts Council and the National Endowment for the Arts.

Asian Cultural Experience

Preserving the history and legacy of Salinas Chinatown

Rantings Of A Third Kind

The Blog about everything and nothing and it's all done in the best possible taste!

Sauce Box

Never get lost in the Sauce

GK Dutta

Be One... Make One...

Cee's Photography

Learning and teaching the art of composition.

Fashion Not Fear

Fueling fearlessness through style and inspiration.

Wanderlust and Wonderment

My writing and photo journey of inspiration and discovery

transcribingmemory

Decades of her words.

John Oliver Mason

Observations about my life and the world around me.

Insanity at its best!

Yousuf Bawany's Blog

litadoolan

Any old world uncovered by new writing

unbolt me

the literary asylum

the contemporary small press

A site for small presses, writers, poets & readers

The 100 Greatest Books Challenge

A journey from one end of the bookshelf to the other

Random Storyteller

“Stories make us more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving.”― Madeleine L'Engle

Rants Of A Gypsy

Amuse Thyself Reader!

FashionPoetry by Val

A blog. My blog

Kanlaon

Just another Wordpress.com weblog