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Magical Realist Africa: A River Called Time by Mia Couto

The Maias by Jose Maria Eça de Queirós

Maidenhair by Mikhail Shishkin

Make These Machines Mean: Overqualified by Joey Comeau

Malarky by Anakana Schofield

Manazuru by Hiromi Kawakami

The Man Between: Michael Henry Heim and a Life in Translation

A Map of Tulsa by Benjamin Lytal

The Master of the Not Quite: The Broken Estate: Essays on Literature and Belief by James Wood

Matrimony by Joshua Henkin

Me and Kaminski by Daniel Kehlmann

The Meat and Spirit Plan by Selah Saterstrom

The Mehlis Report by Rabee Jaber

Memory Theatre by Simon Critchley

The Metaphysical Club by Louis Menand

Micrograms by Jorge Carrera Andrade

Micrographia by Emily Wilson

Middle C by William H. Gass

The Mighty Angel by Jerzy Pilch

Miguel Hernández: Selected and Translated by Don Share

A Mind at Peace by Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar

Monsieur by Jean-Philippe Toussaint

Moral Victories: The Curiously Relevant Prose of Heinrich von Kleist

More Notes Towards an Ideal Reader: A Reader on Reading by Alberto Manguel

The Morning News Is Exciting by Don Mee Choi

Mortarville by Grant Bailie

Mouroir by Breyten Breytenbach

Mr Gwyn and Three Times at Dawn by Alessandro Baricco

Music from Big Pink by John Niven

My Father’s Wives by José Eduardo Agualusa

My Little War by Louis Paul Boon

My Poems Won’t Change the World: Selected Poems by Patrizia Cavalli

My Prizes by Thomas Bernhard

The Mystery of the Sardine by Stefan Themerson

My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard

my vocabulary did this to me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer

Bonus Articles

From Personae by Sergio De La Pava

Readers of The Quarterly Conversation need no introduction to Sergio De La Pava, author of A Naked Singularity. Our review of the book helped bring this self-published title to prominence, where reader after reader has attested to its high quality. De La Pava has written a second book, titled Personae and to be available soon on Amazon. (It currently can be ordered here from Xlibris.) We present to you the first eight pages in hopes that this second novel will not be as unfairly overlooked by publishing at large as the first.

The Sunset Limited by Cormac McCarthy

To what extent is prose the medium that best allows Cormac McCarthy's particular talents to manifest? To what extent do his skills as an author depend upon setting down words on a page in order to coax out a distinct voice that mediates dialogue, character, and story with its own idiosyncratic ruminations? These questions seem speculative, I admit, but they must be asked because they haunt McCarthy's latest book from the first page to the very last. That book is The Sunset Limited, a verbatim reproduction of the script for a stage play McCarthy wrote in 2006—verbatim except for the addition of a cryptic subtitle, A Novel in Dramatic Form, with which it distinguishes itself from the stage play by making an issue of its own novelistic capacity for prosaic meditation.

Stella by Siegfried Lenz

Lenz, a partirarch of Gruppe 47, emerged with Hans Werner Richter, Ilse Aichinger, Günter Grass, and Heinrich Böll, along with other artists, out of war and collective shellshock. Gruppe 47 envisioned a new future for Germany, one that confronted the horrors of atrocity with compunction, responsibility, and reparations. Lenz's latest novel takes place perhaps twenty years after World War II, although this can only be derived from context. In a similar manner, we assume by the maturity of the prose that the narrator, Christian, writes from an advanced age, reminiscing about a formative relationship he had as an 18-year-old, when he fell in love with his 25-year-old English teacher, Stella. Their student-teacher flirtation evolves to sharing the past. She tells him, "My father was a radio operator in a bomber, his plane was shot down on its first raid, his companions died in the crash but he survived . . . so that's how I became an English teacher." She and Christian grow closer, in part, through literature, communicating by Faulkner, Twain, and Orwell.

There’s Nothing I Can Do When I Think of You Late at Night by Cao Naiqian

The presence of this distinctive architecture alerts the reader to the fact that Cao Naiqian's collection of linked stories, There's Nothing I Can Do When I Think of You Late at Night, is set in the same hardscrabble region of rural North China where the Communist Revolution had its roots. (The book's able translator, John Balcom, refers to this book as a novel, but it could just as well be seen as a collection of stories.) Born the same year as the People's Republic, 1949, and a veteran police officer, Cao Naiqian belongs to a generation that was raised on Maoist ideology and revolutionary thinking, so there is something rather sly about his portrayal of the peasants of the village called Wen Clan Caves.

Poems from Guantánamo: The Detainees Speak, Edited by Marc Falkoff

It seems that more than ever Hölderlin’s question is in urgent need of a response. What can the purpose of poetry be in a world as barbarous and brutal as ours? Perhaps it can be our most contemporary aesthetic and poets our true contemporaries, especially if we conceive of “contemporaries,” following Giorgio Agamben, as those who look actively and with purpose into the dark in order to see what must be seen. Considering the cruelties of the age we live in, the anthology Poems from Guantánamo: The Detainees Speak, published in 2007, is remarkable for a variety of reasons, the least of which is the fact of its existence.




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The Constant Conversation

Francisco Goldman’s Say Her Name

Francisco Goldman is an unlikely Hades. Other than the cartoonish arch of his black eyebrows and his swarthy overall appearance, he is more Pan than underworld overlord. He is quick to laugh and does so with abandon; he has an infectious appreciation for beauty and eccentricity, is prone to exuberance, flights of fancy.

Mr. Stein drops knowledge

Mr. Lorin Stein making a direct link between the decline of independent booksellers and the falling number of so-called "midlist" literary authors.

Paris Review interview with Anne Carson

We’re big Anne Carson fans around here, so I’d be remiss not to point out that she’s interviewed in the newest Paris Review. This exchange, about a line from Carson’s poem “Stanzas, Sexes, Seductions,” is both interesting–I love Carson’s description of the way the line came to her–and amusing: INTERVIEWER The other line, the one I persist in [...]

The National Humanities Medal, or, the New York Times misses a trick

Yesterday, the Times’s Arts Beat blog featured a post titled “Roth and Oates to receive National Humanities Medals.” Which led me to ask: Where’s Hall? Today, I learned, from an amazing photo on the National Journal Tumblr, that Hall was right there the whole time! Poet Donald Hall, that is. Oh, and the Oates was Joyce Carol. Still, [...]

Why Shop Indie?

"No one should shop at Green Apple out of charity or pity or noblesse oblige, but because you want what we've got. You mold the retail landscape with every purchase; vote wisely."

A little love for Melville House covers

I make a point of encouraging my friends to get their books from me, to consider me their personal bookseller, and to send me e-mails, text messages, or smoke signals whenever they need a book. I like it. It's still very personal, it's reasonably reliable, and it really does strike me as a great marriage of modern convenience and old fashioned bookselling.

“Nothing genuine in a poem, or so I have learned the hard way, can be willed,” or, Charles Simic on sources of inspiration

Over at the New York Review of Books blog, Charles Simic has written a wandering, endearing post about where poets get their ideas, the way those ideas transform in the process of writing, and the “uncertain and often exasperating” work of writing a poem. The post is full of wonderful lines–the sort of aphoristic observations [...]

Mister K meets Mister M

Peter Mendelsund, one of the industry's top designers (and, honestly, one of my favorites) explains the hideous choices he made when redesigning Kafka for Schocken. On the plus side, there's the gorgeous typography by Julia Sysmäläine developed from Kafka's own handwriting (!) and the brilliant Knopf/Arendt story for industry nerds. Enjoy.

“This poetry is not an ornament to the uprising—it is its soundtrack and also composes a significant part of the action itself.”

At Jadilayya, Elliott Colla has published an interesting and informative piece about the role of poetry–slogans and more–in the current protests in Egypt, as well as in earlier protests and revolutions in Egyptian history. Colla writes of a feeling that will be familiar to anyone who’s been part of a demonstration, however small or inconsequential [...]

Congratulations to Peter Cole

Gabriel Josipovici hailed Cole’s work as a “treasure trove, a labour of love and exceptional erudition, which will open up . . . a world of poetry and culture as rich as anything in human civilization”.

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