Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 54
September 15, 2022
Read Excerpts by the Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing 2022 Finalists
RESTLESS BOOKS
The ethos of the modern world is defined by immigrants. Their stories have always been an essential component of our cultural consciousness, from Isaac Bashevis Singer to Isabel Allende, from Milan Kundera to Yiyun Li.
The ethos of the modern world is defined by immigrants. Their stories have always been an essential component of our cultural consciousness, from Isaac Bashevis Singer to Isabel Allende, from Milan Kundera to Yiyun Li.
Antropófaga
ANANDA LIMA
She devoured tiny Americans that slid out of a vending machine. Their thin metallic plastic packages almost opened themselves when punctured. Emerging with their tiny hands on either side of the rip they declared their nutritional value (calcium, sugar, fat).
She devoured tiny Americans that slid out of a vending machine. Their thin metallic plastic packages almost opened themselves when punctured. Emerging with their tiny hands on either side of the rip they declared their nutritional value (calcium, sugar, fat).
Excerpt from BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT
PRAVEEN HERAT
"Mr. Federenko come soon," the driver said, lugging Fearless's duffel up the stairs. Above, on the landing, he saw a blur of pattering feet and what looked like a cowled figure disappearing through a door.
"Mr. Federenko come soon," the driver said, lugging Fearless's duffel up the stairs. Above, on the landing, he saw a blur of pattering feet and what looked like a cowled figure disappearing through a door.
In the Rain, Sugar Runs in Tears
GEIMY COLÓN
The blackout falls over the neighborhood like thick ink, darkening everything, forcing things into slow motion. It is like night on night—a doubly deep darkness. There are no stars lighting the block in the rainstorm.
The blackout falls over the neighborhood like thick ink, darkening everything, forcing things into slow motion. It is like night on night—a doubly deep darkness. There are no stars lighting the block in the rainstorm.
Brenda Smith
A. MOLOTKOV
The residential street was lit with soft yellow lights floating over a long hedge. The moon sat on top of a building on their left. The air smelled of water: rain, rot, autumn. It was 6:17 a.m. Brenda was cold, her skin tight.
The residential street was lit with soft yellow lights floating over a long hedge. The moon sat on top of a building on their left. The air smelled of water: rain, rot, autumn. It was 6:17 a.m. Brenda was cold, her skin tight.
September 14, 2022
Between States
ROSE McLARNEY
He is Risen signs go up in the neighboring yards, making sure I remember Easter. On Easter in 1865, Union troops attacked Columbus, Georgia, the city closest to my current address. This was the Civil War’s last battle, and useless.
He is Risen signs go up in the neighboring yards, making sure I remember Easter. On Easter in 1865, Union troops attacked Columbus, Georgia, the city closest to my current address. This was the Civil War’s last battle, and useless.
September 12, 2022
Belonging Is a Complicated Thing: An Interview with Viet Thanh Nguyen
VIET THANH NGUYEN
There's a difference between having a sense of haunting that's very explicit when you know that there are ghosts there—that was growing up in the Vietnamese refugee community. Then there's another sense of haunting where you don't know the ghosts are there, but they are—and that's growing up in the United States.
There's a difference between having a sense of haunting that's very explicit when you know that there are ghosts there—that was growing up in the Vietnamese refugee community. Then there's another sense of haunting where you don't know the ghosts are there, but they are—and that's growing up in the United States.
September 9, 2022
Friday Reads: September 2022
SOFIA BELIMOVA
For our September round of Friday Reads, we spoke to two TC contributors, who recommended vibrant prose that leaps off the page and compelling poetry that transcends linguistic barriers while echoing with the sound of home.
For our September round of Friday Reads, we spoke to two TC contributors, who recommended vibrant prose that leaps off the page and compelling poetry that transcends linguistic barriers while echoing with the sound of home.
September 6, 2022
Translation: On the Greenwich Line
SHADY LEWIS
Of course it’s not unusual to be unaware of certain other people’s existence in the world; of many people’s, even. But the fact I was now responsible for his body, suddenly and out of the blue, was bound to cause me some anxiety. Death was going after people half my age.
Of course it’s not unusual to be unaware of certain other people’s existence in the world; of many people’s, even. But the fact I was now responsible for his body, suddenly and out of the blue, was bound to cause me some anxiety. Death was going after people half my age.
August 31, 2022
Coast of Ilia
LISA ROSENBERG
Wave after wave of clustered consonants / and open vowels swell and crest over us— chords of her father’s
mother-tongue, and hers. / So many syllables to name this smooth / crescent of coast. So many words for blue.
Wave after wave of clustered consonants / and open vowels swell and crest over us— chords of her father’s
mother-tongue, and hers. / So many syllables to name this smooth / crescent of coast. So many words for blue.
