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Posts Tagged ‘Jeffrey Eugenides’

Eugenides on Moshfegh

April 16, 2013 | by

THE PARIS REVIEW Spring Revel

Every year, at our Spring Revel, we give three honors: the Hadada Prize, the Plimpton Prize, and the Terry Southern Prize. This year, Jeffrey Eugenides presented the Plimpton Prize to Ottessa Moshfegh.

The Plimpton Prize for Fiction is a $10,000 prize awarded to an author who made his or her debut in our pages in the previous year. Moshfegh had two stories in the Review: “Disgust” (issue 202) and “Bettering Myself” (issue 204).

Nothing is harder for a writer than getting published for the first time. The road from the bypass to the byline is paved with misery. In fact, it’s not even paved—that’s the problem: you’re stuck knee-deep in a bog, and no one cares if you ever get out.

Of equal difficulty, on the other side of the equation, is the task of finding an unknown writer. Reading through the slush pile is like looking for tigers in the jungle: they’re camouflaged not only by their stripes but their surroundings. An editor has to be unflaggingly alert and discerning, alive to any perceptible movement in the shadows. Read More »

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Notes from a Bookshop: March, or Waiting for Redbird

March 15, 2013 | by

Picture 16

“The sky was darker than the water
it was the color of mutton-fat jade.”
—Elizabeth Bishop, “The End of March”

On more Saturday afternoons than not this month, I’ve watched swirls of snow blow past the blue door of our bookshop. The parking lots in town have small mountains of mud-encrusted snow piled in their corners, monuments to the length of this winter. At home, the firewood is running low, our freezer is nearly empty of the lamb we split with our neighbors back in the fall, and the local farmer’s market offerings have dwindled down to the last rutabagas from the root cellars. This has been a long winter, and everyone who comes into the bookshop looks a bit tired, drawn, impatient for spring and the promises that come with it.

My favorite customer came in three weeks ago with his pregnant wife, her hair and eyes glowing, everything about her bursting with her own impending spring. Her husband is my favorite customer because he is my good luck charm—on the bookshop’s first Saturday he walked in and poked around until he found our poetry section. He gaped, not believing our little cache of modern poets. He revealed he was also a poet, had written his graduate thesis on Franz Wright. He’d grown up in town and I thought the presence of a local poet on one of our first days open was an auspicious sign. Read More »

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Notes from a Bookshop: February, or the Folly of Love

February 12, 2013 | by

Hedder

Sitting alone in my tiny bookshop on a cold February morning, I have the sensation that I’ve conjured a dream into reality. The light is crisp and blue through the door. A flight of red paper swallows—a Valentine homage to Chaucer’s poem “The Parliament of Fowls”—hangs from the ceiling, fluttering quietly from the heat whooshing out of the floor grate. The room is small, just shy of two hundred fifty square feet, and an old pickled farm table sits squarely in the middle. The top of the table is covered with books, and the shelves lining two of the room’s walls also contain a patchwork of brightly colored spines.

Valentine-themed woodblock prints handmade by my husband line the farm table and a grid of nature-inspired prints hold a wall. We live on an old dairy farm up in northeast Pennsylvania, and instead of cows in our three-bay English barn, we have two etching presses. Mark carves the images into blocks of clear pine, inks them up, and sends them through the press, cranking the smooth silver wheel like a captain on a ship. This is our store together, a kind of celebration of works on paper. We live on Moody Road, and so we call the shop Moody Road Studios.

An artist and a writer, respectively, my husband and I had both been teaching and working in the city for more than a decade, until a little over a year ago. The idea of running a bookshop never entered our consciousness while in New York, mostly because it never could have happened. Space and funding were impossibilities—as one might guess, a writer and an artist in business together don’t quite make for a crack commerce force. But here, on Main Street in the small town of Honesdale, everything clicked into place. Read More »

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Show Us Your Soulful Side to Win a Briefcase

February 4, 2013 | by

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I had a briefcase at one point, but it was a kind of 1980s new wave briefcase. It was made of some kind of cardboard and it had metal hinges. It was kind of faux industrial looking, and I used to carry my books in it rather than a backpack. I didn’t want to have normal student accoutrements.

Jeffrey Eugenides

We know the feeling. If you too had a visibly bookish phase, we want to see it: send in a picture of yourself at your most literary, and, in honor of youthful self-seriousness everywhere, you could win a Frank Clegg English Briefcase. Send your picture, along with a brief description of your influences of the time, to contests@theparisreview.org.

 

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Dahl, Maps, The Royal Tenenbaums

August 14, 2012 | by

  • The new Vogue features contemporary authors as members of Edith Wharton’s circle and was shot at the Mount. Look for Jeffrey Eugenides, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Junot Díaz as Henry James, Morton Fullerton, and Walter Van Rensselaer Berry. (Wharton herself is played by model Natalia Vodianova.)
  • Essential cartography books.
  • Bookshelf of the day: a literary staircase.
  • The hundred best-selling British books of all time. (The usual suspects, plus Eats, Shoots and Leaves.)
  • The books from The Royal Tenenbaums, actualized.
  • “For material things, we were fortunate, but it was not a happy beginning to my life.” Tessa Dahl talks about the difficulties of growing up with her famous father. Perhaps sensationalism is no shock in The Daily Mail, but we defy you not to be taken aback by Roald’s penchant for home-medicating his children.
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    Cuckolds and Commutes: Happy Monday!

    May 21, 2012 | by

  • This writers’ workshop is inspired by the 7-train commute.
  • Feel-good alert! A good samaritan bails out an endangered Vermont bookmobile.
  • One affair, two sides of the story: when both cuckold and cad give their versions, and, by the way, the latter is John le Carré.
  • The Marriage Plot, coming to a multiplex near you. (Okay, maybe not a multiplex.)
  • Jay McInerney: “I was fortunate to get a lot of mileage out of my vices.”
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