In our Roundups segment, we’re looking back at all the great posts since the blog started in 2009. We explore posts from our archives as well as other top literary magazines and websites, centered on a certain theme to help you jump-start your week. In honor of Mother’s Day, this week we have posts by and about literary mothers.
Is Mother’s Day not your thing? You might be interested in this list of “The Meanest Moms in Literature.”
For those of us with lovely mothers, we’ll end with Albert Cohen’s essay on “My Mother’s Love” from The Paris Review.
As Albert Cohen puts it, “Toothless or not, strong or weak, young or old, our mothers love us. And the weaker we are, the more they love us. Our mothers’ incomparable love.”
When Don DeLillo’s White Noise was first published in 1984, the United States was at the peak of the Cold War, suffering from a disease of discontent and anxiety similar to our post-election malaise.
Not all wandering is equal; not all bodies can move easily through all spaces. While there is always the possibility of danger in wandering, there is also, however, a benefit to changing our surroundings and seeing a world beyond what we are used to.
I have a writer friend whose employment info on her Facebook profile always makes me laugh. Under “Position,” she wryly reports “Hunched Over a Desk.” Treadmill desks and Hemingway-style standing aside, most writers spend a lot of time sitting. We’re exhorted to with quotes like this one from Mary Heaton Vorse: “The art of writing…