No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
If you were a filmmaker with an ambition to a make an impact, you might reconsider whether you would be likely to do so with a remake. But A Bigger Splash, the latest offering from director Luca Guadagnino, (a retake more than remake of the 1969 Alain Delon classic, La Piscine), is nonetheless itself destined for the classic shelves of Italian cinema and will, in all probability, muscle its way eventually into the pantheon of notable world cinema.
Two months after my father dies, his older brother Silvio—who my father cherished and promised to take care of after their father died, who looks like my father, and laughs like him—gets married at age 86.
In the recovery area, someone brought Kate a little plastic cup of orange juice and a cold blueberry muffin. Cranked into sitting position, she ate out of groggy obedience. When she was able to stand, she dressed herself. Then a nurse escorted her out to the waiting room.
“Hey, Dan. Borrow your twelve-gauge? Gotta go shoot up a house.”
Yeah. Like that would fly with a guy you haven’t seen in three years. Maybe put “Merry Christmas” first?” While he waited, Marcel shifted kindling from the porch’s woodpile into his backpack and crammed the day’s Northern Times in on top. He zipped up just as the door opened.
Chapter from High in the Streets
My whole life I’ve thought myself defective or at least peculiar. As a boy, I could do what the others did—with some effort I managed algebra, chemistry experiments, and reading Conrad. In this way I was not strange. However, there was one thing I simply could not suffer—foreseeing a future for myself, an attainable goal, something to strive for—as all my friends and classmates did. They saw themselves becoming doctors, teachers, engineers, and judges, and planned accordingly. Take this set of courses, get this certification, intern for this many years, keep your head down, work hard, and you’ll reach your aims.
Every Sentient Being
after Frannie Lindsay
The carcasses have been piling up
All fall—atrophied chipmunk splayed under our kitchen island,