MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O’Malley Coordinating Editor for This Issue Rosellen Brown Associate Fiction Editors Andre Dubus DeWitt Henry CONTRIBUTORS MICHAEL BENEDIKT currently teaches at Boston University. His latest book is Night Cries (Wesleyan, 1976), and the poem here is from a ms. in progress entitled, “The Badminton at Great Barrington; or, Gustave Mahler…
Except for critics like Hilton Kramer and George Levine in The New York Times Book Review or Naomi Bliven in The New Yorker, Martin Green's reviewers have treated each book in isolation, remarking with surprise that here is a very smart man whom we must keep our eye on. This is unfortunate, because Green's work…
When I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, and during the years when I was first falling in love with books and girls, I used to imagine that my Uncle Nathan was twins. Even back then, I guess, his life was a great sadness to me. What I couldn't figure out was how a…
The Nightingale What is it to be free? The unconfined Lose purpose, strength, and at the last, the mind. ANTHONY HECHT: a couplet to accompany Aesop The American poets who were born up and down the 1920s have come into their full powers and fame well before now, though the contours of some careers have…
Roth seems to me the most gifted novelist now writing, at least if one puts a stress on tradition in using the word novelist. He translates his intelligence and his feelings into the terms specific to serious fiction, with more firmness than Bellow, more richness than Mailer, more patience and steadiness and taste and tact…
Butch, determined to wait out the cold, took a stool near the end of the bar, away from the cluster of regulars gathered where they could see the Motorola TV. His back was only two feet from the front window. He could feel the cold seeping through the glass, hear the mean wind off Lake…
The leafless trees are feathery, A foxed, Victorian lace, Against a sky of milk-glass blue, Blank, washed-out, commonplace. Between them and my window Huge helices of snow Perform their savage, churning rites At seventeen below. The obscurity resembles A silken Chinese mist Wherein through caligraphic daubs Of artistry persist Pocked and volcanic gorges, Clenched and…
I too have favorite candidates for whatever literature of the 1970's ought to survive. The poems of Amon Liner and James Applewhite ought to last on, and Marguerite Yourcenar's novel The Abyss and Mary Lee Settle's Blood Tie, and the stories of Eve Shelnutt. I have no real confidence that these works will survive. Almost…
DUDE See I'd met this old dirt farmer in a bar the night before. Said he was selling his truck cheap and I could come down to La Rosa and pick it up. Said $300 and it didn't run too bad but I'd better buy it now. So I hitched down Sunday morning, mud churches…
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