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Posts Tagged ‘David Means’

Paris Review Nominated for Two National Magazine Awards

April 2, 2013 | by

standard-champagne-toast-wedding-chocolate-coins-0On the eve of celebrating our sixtieth birthday, The Paris Review is up for two National Magazine Awards: Fiction and General Excellence. Our fiction finalist is Sarah Frisch, whose story “Housebreaking” appeared in issue 203.

These nominations are the latest in a series of recent plaudits. Last month, we received seven nominations for the Pushcart Prize. We also had a story (“The Chair,” by David Means) chosen for The Best American Short Stories and an essay (“Human Snowball,” by Davy Rothbart) selected for the year’s Best Nonrequired Reading.

This week, New York magazine placed our new issue in the top quadrant of its famous, feared Approval Matrix, while Adam Sternbergh, blogging for the New York Times, called it “great … great … great.” He singles out “a great, long interview with Mark Leyner,” the Art of Fiction with “New York literary icon Deborah Eisenberg,” and “a great new poem from Frederick Seidel”; plus, “you’ll look great toting The Paris Review,” thanks, presumably, to our great cover.

 

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Story Time!

March 1, 2013 | by

Man-Megaphone-3We are delighted to report that our contributors are racking up all kinds of well-deserved honors!

First, David Means’s story “The Chair” (issue 200) has been chosen for this year’s Best American Short Stories anthology.

We also have seven nominees for this year’s Pushcart Prize:

  • Sarah Frisch, “Housebreaking,” issue 203

  • David Gordon, “Man-Boob Summer,” issue 202

  • Lorrie Moore, “Wings,” issue 200

  • Davy Rothbart, “Human Snowball,” issue 201

  • Sam Savage, “The Meininger Nude,” issue 202

  • David Searcy, “El Camino Doloroso,” issue 200

  • John Jeremiah Sullivan, “The Princes: A Reconstruction,” issue 200

    Congratulations, everyone!

     

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    What We’re Doing Tonight: TPR at Greenlight Books!

    October 4, 2012 | by

    Tonight! Join us for a panel discussion of The Paris Review’s new fiction anthology, Object Lessons, and readings from Donald Antrim and David Means, moderated by our very own Lorin Stein. Free!

    Greenlight Bookstore
    686 Fulton Street
    Brooklyn, NY 11217 7:30-9:30

    See you there! P.S. There will be wine.






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    Why David Means Is Not a Novelist

    June 22, 2010 | by

    Photograph by Max Means

    Since his 1991 debut “A Quick Kiss of Redemption,” David Means has established himself among the finest and most incisive American writers of contemporary short fiction—and as the member of his generation perhaps most invested in the short form itself. In his three previous books—each curated with remarkable care and enviable devotion—Means has delivered exquisite local portraits of the destitute, desolate, and disconsolate in postindustrial America. In the course of discussing “The Spot,” his marvelous new collection of razor-sharp shorts, we wondered, is he tempted at all to go longer—to essay the novel?

    Yeah, I'm tempted by the novel. Tempted is the correct word because compared to the demands of the story it would seem that the novel, all that wide-open space, would be enticing after four story collections. But what's not enticing to me is the idea of simply going big and wide for the sake of giving into the possibility of going big. I love novels, and I read them more than anything, but stories cut in sharp and hard and are able to reveal things in a different way: they're highly charged, a slightly newer form, and inherently more contemporary.

    Big and wide can mean expansive and comprehensive, but it can also mean bloat. Novels often thin themselves out to a watery hue—some even start that way—and at times seem to only ride along the surface of things, giving us what we already know, reporting the news that is just news. Ezra Pound said that literature is news that stays news. I keep reading novels that feel, even if they're trying new tricks, like old news, and often resort to cliché to keep moving: out of the corner of his eyes, his heart was pounding in his chest, that kind of thing. Those books are just surfing along on a very small waves—reading them is like watching surfers on Cape Cod trying to catch whatever's coming in on a lame day. Read More »

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