Jane Eaton Hamilton

"At the bottom of the box is hope." – Ellis Avery.

Tag: Maggie Nelson

Many Gendered Mothers

Ah, but we have a smart and sharp bunch to celebrate over at Many Gendered Mothers, where we publish essays on writers’ mentors. Today Rose Cullis writes on finding and admiring Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts and feeling “…as I read it, I felt a shift in that place where the meanings are.” There is no more you could ask from someone’s work, is there?

Please join us and send us 800 words about your lit hero. We especially welcome submissions from and about marginalized authors.

 

Books books books

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A periodical inquired about the books I’m reading and this was my reply:

I couldn’t be any author’s ideal. I read around. I can’t borrow books from the library because deadlines are too linear. I read ten or more books at a time, a book soup that simmers forever. I always think that I don’t read much, but I read constantly, just not in the way I’d like to, finishing one title and moving along to the next. When I look at what I’m reading now, it’s:

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson—I love her frankness; I love her smarts

My Mother: Demonology by Kathy Acker—Yag. They should publish this wallet sized

Marry and Burn by Rachel Rose—this country has fine poets. Damn

Tomboy by Nina Bouraoui–this choice because she’s translated into English here (by Marjorie Attignol Salvodon and Jehanne-Marie Gavarini) although I prefer her in French and should persevere despite my lousy language skills

A Primate’s Memoir by Robert M Sapolsky—lots to deplore here about colonialism etc but I admire his language skills

How Animals Grieve by Barbara J King—I don’t think research on animal sentience could ever move speedily enough for my liking, but sound data on grieving is good to have

Holy Mōlī by Hob Osterlund—the compelling story of Hawaii’s albatross

Myrmurs by Shannon Maguire—surely one of our best and brightest poets

Peggy Guggenheim by Francine Prose—say no more. Francine is good

Mother and Child by Caroline Maso—ahhh, stylistically mind blowing, of course

The Book of Dead Birds by Gayle Brandeis—a daughter kills her mother’s pet birds (! In so many accidental ways) and goes off to rescue pelicans

I have another stack on the go in the bedroom, but I hesitate to add more to this. Suffice to say that every day I’m humbled by my own meagre skills, as well as gratified and indebted to the numbers of brilliant writers generously available to enrich my experience.

For fun, here is one of maybe 5 stacks to get to (athough I notice there are a few I’ve recently read in there like The Mercy Journals and Lydia Kwa. I do try to shelve the read ones, ordinarily):

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Oh my god, you guys. Dress like a book.

It would be impossible to tell you what a kick I get out of my publicist and literary sorts around Vancouver dressing like book covers. I’ll bet they had a hoot making these, and I surely wish I had been the photographer because I would have had such a gay old time.

Meantime, here’s what I look like when I wake up (or, really, pretty much anytime). If there was a book cover to match, the title would have to be: Slob. Has anyone written that title?

Hey! I looked for plaid book covers but nothing. Find me a book, folks?

Slob

Dress Like WEEKEND

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Dress Like a Book

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