Eric Kraft




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Eric Kraft

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The United States
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November 2007


Eric Kraft grew up in Babylon, New York, on the South Shore of Long Island, where he was for a time co-owner and co-captain of a clam boat, which sank. He met or invented the character Peter Leroy while dozing over a German lesson during his first year at Harvard. The following year, he married his muse, Madeline Canning; they have two sons. After earning a Master’s Degree from the Harvard Graduate School of Education, Kraft taught school in the Boston area for a while, moonlighting as a rock music critic for the Boston Phoenix. Since then, he has undertaken a variety of hackwork to support the Kraft ménage and the writing of the voluminous work of fiction that he calls The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Pet ...more

“When I opened the book, it released into the kitchen a rich, earthy, damp odor that I have ever since associated with reading, an odor that I’ve come to expect to smell when I’m about to begin reading a book, an odor that produces an anticipatory thrill and an appetite for graham crackers and milk. Of course, the odor is missing from new books, which smell only of paper and ink, and even from... Read more of this blog post »
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Published on August 22, 2016 04:53
Average rating: 3.76 · 972 ratings · 92 reviews · 28 distinct works · Similar authors
Herb 'N' Lorna: A Novel

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Little Follies: The Persona...

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Where Do You Stop?: The Per...

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The Static of the Spheres

2.93 avg rating — 161 ratings — published 1983 — 6 editions
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Reservations Recommended

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Inflating a Dog: The Story ...

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Flying

3.38 avg rating — 53 ratings — published 2009 — 3 editions
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What A Piece of Work I Am: ...

3.87 avg rating — 47 ratings — published 1994 — 4 editions
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Leaving Small's Hotel: The ...

4.07 avg rating — 41 ratings — published 1998 — 3 editions
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At Home with the Glynns

4.03 avg rating — 38 ratings — published 1995 — 5 editions
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Eric Kraft wrote a new blog post
“When I opened the book, it released into the kitchen a rich, earthy, damp odor that I have ever since associated with reading, an odor that I’ve c... Read more of this blog post »
Eric shared a quote
19254
“A boatman on the bay, when the day was done and the desire to be at home and at rest became so tangible that he could feel the cold glass in his hand, would see the Babbington water tower above the roofs of the town, burnished by the late sunlight, more magnificent in its way than any cathedral—earthy, not ethereal, speaking of the simple comforts of this life, of home, a shower, a comfy chair, a full glass, a full stomach.”
Eric Kraft
Eric shared a quote
42968
“I remember [Meyer] Schapiro telling us that before Cézanne, there had always been a place in landscape painting where the viewer could walk into the picture. There was an entrance; you could go there, like walking into a park. But this was not true of Cézanne’s landscapes, which were cut off absolutely, abstracted from their context. You could not walk into them—you could enter them only through art, by leaping.
Anatole Broyard, Kafka Was the Rage”
Anatole Broyard
Eric has read
Solar by Ian McEwan
Solar
by Ian McEwan
read in January, 2015
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Artaud Anthology by Antonin Artaud
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Antigone by Jean Anouilh
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Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson
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London Fields by Martin Amis
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Girl, 20 by Kingsley Amis
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Take a Girl Like You by Kingsley Amis
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More of Eric's books…
“A statement about luck is a statement about the mind, not about the world... We find what seems to have been the lucky break or the big mistake, and so we thank our lucky stars that we took the road less traveled or curse the fates that sent that little wavelet that flipped us on our backs. With hindsight, we seem to see that everything preceding the pivotal point was leading up to it, tending toward it, and that everything following it grew from it.

To any observer outside the lucky one himself, however, luck is simply chance. Chance is neutral.”
Eric Kraft

“Something told her to hide the feeling from Herb. That something, that damned something, was the sense of civilized dignity that is one of our most civilized attributes, the source of so many missed opportunities.”
Eric Kraft, Herb 'N' Lorna: A Novel

“I didn't understand at all that the memories accumulated during years of happiness could weigh enough to balance so large a loss, or that the mind will sometimes find a way to free the heart from pain.”
Eric Kraft, Little Follies: The Personal History, Adventure, Experiences and Observations of Peter Leroy

Topics Mentioning This Author

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Gigi's Company: The Last Letter Game (Book Titles) 3763 836 2 hours, 9 min ago  
“I wonder if any of you have ever noticed that it is sometimes those who find most pleasure and amusement in their fellow man, and have most hope in his goodness, who get the reputation of being his most carping critics. Maybe it is that the satirist is so full of the possibilities of humankind in general, that he tends to draw a dark and garish picture when he tries to depict people as they are at any particular moment. The satirist is usually a pretty unpopular fellow. The only time he attains even fleeting popularity is when his works can be used by some political faction as a stick to beat out the brains of their opponents. Satirical writing is by definition unpopular writing. Its aim is to prod people into thinking. Thinking hurts.

(John Dos Passos, 1957, from the speech he delivered upon accepting the Gold Medal for Eminence in Fiction from the National Institute of Arts and Letters)”
John Dos Passos

“Porky poked me on the shoulder and asked, “It’s a lot like life, isn’t it? A bus ride, that is.”
“Mmmmm?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Just think about it. You’re always on your way from one goddamned place to another, and you have to pay for the trip, and nobody cares whether you get there or not, and you feel miserable the whole time, and when you get there nobody’s there to meet you, and like as not you step off the bus into some dog shit.”
Eric Kraft, Life on the Bolotomy

“Her work failed her. She had reached a desperate, claustrophobic stage of being imprisoned halfway in a novel: there was too much behind her for her to retreat and not a glimmer of light ahead. She sat for hours without writing, staring at the last few wrods on the page, seeing no significance in them. Her characters fell into frozen poses, speech died on their lips: they had sat at a banquet for weeks and she had not the power to bring them to their feet again.”
Elizabeth Taylor

“He’d worked for his bread, been hounded, hounded and oppressed by people and by necessity, just like everyone else. He’d worked nights; in Amsterdam he came home from the office at one or two in the morning, then sat up, brooded, scribbled, written whole novels and burned them.
What could he do? What did they accomplish with all that? . . . The world was still turning, turning exactly the way it always had, and it would keep on turning without him. He let it get to him. Now he was more sensible. He washed his hands of it. There were enough salesmen and writers and talkers and people who let it get to them — more than enough.
And they were always afraid of something and sad about something. Always scared to be late somewhere or get a scolding from someone, or they couldn’t make ends meet, or the toilet was stopped up, or they had an ulcer or their Sunday suit was starting to wear thin, or the rent was due; they couldn’t do this because of that and couldn’t possibly do that because of this. When he was young he was never that stupid.”
Nescio

“The cool wind blew around us. The ocean made a complaining sound, the ocean that complains and doesn’t know why. The ocean washed woefully up onto the shore. My thoughts are an ocean, they wash woefully up against their limits.
A new age would dawn, we could still do great things. I did my best to believe it, my very, very best.”
Nescio




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