Basically, this is my digital junk drawer, into which I throw the best and worst bits of my work and also the world.
Install Theme
But unlike Franzen’s belligerence about “society” having a deleterious effect on art or “the soul,” or Wallace’s paralyzing concern about the relationship between writers and their television screens, Smith’s work as both a critic and novelist invites her readers to celebrate the delicious and ever disastrous commingling of the world and the self. She blurs these borders in order to simultaneously honor and disparage art’s greatest article of faith-based flapdoodle: authenticity. It is a really neat trick.

- Emily Keeler on Zadie Smith’s NW for The New Inquiry (via thenewinquiry)

Everything I write for TNI is about Realness.

Though some feminists regard “rape equals devastation” as sacred fact, the notion that a man can ruin me with his penis strikes me as the most complete expression of vintage misogyny available.

— Charlotte Shane, “Live Through This.”

Every other time I go out to eat with a group, be it family, friends, or acquaintances of whatever age, conversation routinely plunges into a discussion of when it is appropriate to pull out a phone. People boast about their self-control over not checking their device, and the table usually reaches a self-congratulatory consensus that we should all just keep it in our pants. The pinnacle of such abstinence-only smartphone education is a game that is popular to talk about (though I’ve never actually seen it played) wherein the first person at the dinner table to pull out their device has to pay the tab. Everyone usually agrees this is awesome.

Nathan Jurgenson probably didn’t write that bit about keeping it in yr pants to make me smile… but it kinda feels like he did.

thenewinquiry:

Solitude is a problem for writers generally, who spend so much time alone rehearsing a form of ideal communication. And men —as a practical matter — are often worse at being alone than women. But for male writers, however often an appearance of self-sufficiency can be stripped away to reveal a hidden structure of support, there is a writerly tradition of solitude that has existed at least since Romanticism: Rousseau’s “my habits are those of solitude and not of men,” or Shelley’s “Alastor; or, the Spirit of Solitude.” A man who chooses to be alone assumes the glamour of his forebears. A woman’s aloneness makes us suspicious: Even today it carries connotations of reluctance and abandonment, on the one hand, and selfishness and disobedience, on the other.
- “The Lonely Ones” by Emily Cooke

thenewinquiry:

Solitude is a problem for writers generally, who spend so much time alone rehearsing a form of ideal communication. And men —as a practical matter — are often worse at being alone than women. But for male writers, however often an appearance of self-sufficiency can be stripped away to reveal a hidden structure of support, there is a writerly tradition of solitude that has existed at least since Romanticism: Rousseau’s “my habits are those of solitude and not of men,” or Shelley’s “Alastor; or, the Spirit of Solitude.” A man who chooses to be alone assumes the glamour of his forebears. A woman’s aloneness makes us suspicious: Even today it carries connotations of reluctance and abandonment, on the one hand, and selfishness and disobedience, on the other.

- “The Lonely Ones” by Emily Cooke

thenewinquiry:

The Pulitzer-winningStenographerAsks the Poet LaureateFor a dance.
The Composer of the Year’sEars are talked offBy the Most ValuablePlayer while,
In a darker corner,The First Violinist’s breastsAre pressedBy the Professor Emeritus.
The words “Stockholm”And “Wimbledon”Ribbon throughThe midsummer night’s air.
Lannanites, MacArthurians,Struggle in vainTo explainHow they did it.
An ancient pairOf Nobel Prize winnersSuffocateIn each other’s perfume
And in a tiny chairbehind the bandstand,Last year’s Booker finalist,Looks ever so lost,
A silk tie in his hand.
“To The Victor,” an unpublished poem by Teju Cole on awards and not awards.
Read More.

thenewinquiry:

The Pulitzer-winning
Stenographer
Asks the Poet Laureate
For a dance.

The Composer of the Year’s
Ears are talked off
By the Most Valuable
Player while,

In a darker corner,
The First Violinist’s breasts
Are pressed
By the Professor Emeritus.

The words “Stockholm”
And “Wimbledon”
Ribbon through
The midsummer night’s air.

Lannanites, MacArthurians,
Struggle in vain
To explain
How they did it.

An ancient pair
Of Nobel Prize winners
Suffocate
In each other’s perfume

And in a tiny chair
behind the bandstand,
Last year’s Booker finalist,
Looks ever so lost,

A silk tie in his hand.

“To The Victor,” an unpublished poem by Teju Cole on awards and not awards.

Read More.

But the thing about being a Victorian lady is that you can go to the Gold Coast, but you can’t get away from the mansplaining.

The New Inquiry: TNI Blogger Announcement #1: Aaron Bady →

Be excited!

thenewinquiry:

In the lead up to the launch of the new New Inquiry next Monday, we’ll be announcing our outstanding blogging team. And we couldn’t be more proud to start with Aaron Bady and his blog Zunguzungu.

Aaron is a PhD student at the University of California, Berkeley in African Literature and an…

(Source: thenewinquiry)