My thoughts on Albertine Sarrazin’s 1965 novel, Astragal—recently reprinted by New Directions—are over at Numéro Cinq. The novel, written while Sarrazin was in prison for armed robbery, slots in nicely with the French New Wave movement. It really is a brilliant work, full of long, rhythmic language and cruel bouts of misfortune. Click on through to read the full report.
You know that scene in Pulp Fiction, when John Travolta and Uma Thurman are at Jack Rabbit Slims, and Uma goes to the bathroom, only to come back and see that her food has arrived?
I’m kind of feeling like that right now. See, I spent a few days in Maine, away from technology (I’m not a cellphone guy, really, and had no internet connection), and now that I’m home, I find that I have two new publications out there in the big, wide world.
decomP magazinE was kind enough to run my micro-fiction piece, “Big Country,” in their August issue. You can read—or listen to—the story right here.
Also, my review of the short story collection War Stories just went live at Rain Taxi. Interested parties can find my thoughts by clicking here.
This is a review I almost forgot existed. I wrote about Noy Holland’s strange and beautiful collection, Swim for the Little One First, for Drunken Boat, but since DB only comes out once a year or so, my thoughts have been sitting on ice for a few months. The wait is worth it, though, because Drunken Boat always contains some of the sharpest design in online journals. Not to mention the stories, poems, and Non-fiction pieces, which routinely shake and rattle the bones. Feel free to explore …
I can’t think about Independence Day without my brain switching over to Aimee Mann’s song “4th of July.” Such a heartbreaking and beautiful tune, full of memory and regret. If you don’t know it, you’re missing out.
We all sit around cookouts and light fireworks, but the 4th of July simmers with an emotional undertone, doesn’t it?
There’s a new book out, titled The Fourth of July, that I recently reviewed for Rain Taxi. It’s a fun story, one that takes the chaos of the holiday and spins it like a screwball comedy. I compare it to an old Saturday matinee, and I think that’s a pretty good description. The men are loud and obnoxious. The women are nags. The rug gets pulled out over and over. People learn. Others don’t. Mix-ups are a common occurrence.
If you’re interested, you can find my thoughts right here.
Benjamin Woodard 