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No one ever told me not to talk about the company, which didn’t mean that there wasn’t an unspoken rule against it. I was a voracious consumer of any and all things business of media, and it wasn’t hard to notice that no one from Conde was going on People versus Algorithms to talk their…
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There is something in me that resists the heaping of pleasures when the heaping requires additional foresight or logistical effort. I would never think to pack a nice hamper for the beach, let alone a tent or an entire small, rolling house. I have always been this way, and my friend Ann has always been…
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I am a self-absorbed and fairly selfish person, with persistent and unwarranted faith in elastic time, and these traits leave scant accommodation for anyone else’s activities. I want my children to be happy, and to find things they like or even love doing, and have the freedom to do them – and, as with parenting…
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Here was a night, mid-May, that dropped into the thirties. The pregnant wren had endured a week of blustery rain; the mudroom, in these conditions, gets no light at all. I was sorry for her, and then, once her chicks were born, anxious. A newborn carolina wren is a goofy, fragile thing – goofy and…
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The highway leading out of Mexico City to the pyramids at Teotihuacan is eight lanes, four to a side, that wrap around the subway and then the railroad and are braced by inner and then outer city buses. The peseros run on diesel, still, and are both charming – boxy and enameled in cream and…
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Great Expectations reads like a memoir; it has the memoirist’s capricious elisions and divulgences; because it is written from a distance, elements that might, in a novel, serve as key plot points (eg: becoming a father at nineteen) are bulleted; we get a different coming of age: the dawn of a critic, ambivalently participating in…
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I come home from New York ravenous. Nine forty five at night, that backlit dark of mid autumn, with it tremulous hunter’s moon. I hear soft music and O’s high, piping voice – she is in her bed, curled against my mother, looking at photographs of herself. Only when she is very tired will she…
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A thin strip of sand-edged road, fast eroding, separates the Vineyard Sound from a large salt pond the Wapanoaug named Sengekontacket, place where the brook flows. Here, the cormorants scritch scritch from the opposite bank, and a flock of blue-white gulls rear up in a wild, undulating fracas, but the water is still and temperate,…
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The sky and sea were the same color, lapis shot through with malamute steel, an open mouth with a hangnail moon under which I mostly drifted, though occasionally I stood to get the full, battering force of the incoming tide. Yards away, my friend was chanting up at the sky, “flourish,”relish,” some pleasant, sybillant incantation…
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“Did any of you happen to see –” desperately, he wracked his brain for an op-ed or headline relevant to order forms. “To see–” he repeated. Wing it. “What happened to the bond market this morning?” The maybe engineer’s eyes were trained on Jamie’s, and he smiled at her. “Something very unusual occurred,” he said.…
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