Glück’s voice is a reminder of the usefulness of a kind of aesthetic discipline, a ruthless desire to seek out the core of the poem.
Karl Ove Knausgaard and the New Literary Autobiography.
Manual is not a manual in the literal sense, but closer in kin to a journal, written by a sardonic portrait painter under the pen name H.
“If Americans were ever forced to leave their country, they would have a word for saudade.”
What we should notice here is the kind of ingenuity that is possible when confronted with a material world in fragments.
“I’m a person and not a piece of paper…A person is not a static thing, or a bunch of words.”
Sontag uncensored, it turns out, can be as playful as she can be pitiable.
Aira leads us toward a realignment of values in our literature, where representing totality is unnecessary.
Does Professor Burnett imagine that the inclusion of “Walt Whitman” – or the many other bumbling snippets of nonsense like it – strengthens Larkin’s oeuvre? If so he is seriously mistaken.
It’s a moment that Beattie undercuts in the next chapter, chiding the reader for enjoying such autobiographical manipulations. And yet, it’s one of the few places in the book where Mrs. Nixon seemed, for a moment, to be a flesh-and-blood human being.