From Russell Bradbury-Carlin‘s Hills Like Stuffed Tigers: Calvin Discovers Hemingway: I considered my friendship with Hobbes. An odd thing, having conversations with a stuffed tiger. Perhaps this is not what a man does. It is what a boy does. I eyed the talking tiger suspiciously. Perspiration ran down the back of my neck. “How long are we going to sit . . .
Jami Attenberg, whose mother once dated Jonathan Safran Foer’s father, envisions an alternate universe in which she “could have been Jami Schwartz Foer.” Barring that, she compares Foer’s successes and accolades to her own possible career trajectory: Foer had his first book published at the tender age of 25. If everything works out, I may see my book in the . . .
A recent Observer article on Britain’s Orange Prize for women’s fiction referred to critical statements Charlotte Brontë made about Jane Austen’s tendency to write “in miniature.” Yesterday I said I wanted to track down Brontë’s remarks, and Jenny Davidson, a novelist who teaches an undergraduate seminar on Jane Austen at Columbia, is on the case. She forwards relevant excerpts from . . .
During Mr. Maud’s stint at the FSU film school in the late 90’s, I served as script supervisor on a couple of student film sets. The ostensible duty of the script supervisor is to ensure continuity — i.e., that the director gets the eye lines right, that an actor doesn’t have food on her plate in one shot and an . . .
This year’s shortlist for the 100,000 euro (£69,000) Impac prize includes works from Jonathan Lethem, Shirley Hazzard and Damon Galgut. “Would Dostoevsky have got additional material for The Idiot if he’d had to spend a week mixing with sycophants at the St Petersburg Festival of the Writer?” Are left-wing writers bolstering right-wing media consolidation when they publish books with major . . .