Chekhov’s technical difficulties
Anton Chekhov to Alexei Suvorin: “What do you know? I am writing a novel! I am keeping at it, but can’t see the end in sight.”
Anton Chekhov to Alexei Suvorin: “What do you know? I am writing a novel! I am keeping at it, but can’t see the end in sight.”
This is London nearly faints over a “shocking erotic film” based on my favorite A.L. Kennedy novel, Original Bliss. (Andrew of 3AM emails some perspective on Reid.)
From David Orr’s most probing NYTBR column yet: “The Poetry Foundation . . . hasn’t given up on poetry. The question is: Has The New Yorker?”
D.H. Lawrence was an early literary crush. I read all his books, bought a collection of his (mostly dreadful) artwork, then soured on him suddenly. James Wood makes me nostalgic.