Men, women and children walk on streets, they cross fields and enter forests, they run along the edges of oceans, but none of them, to the best of my knowledge, are thinking about shrunken heads.
I am thinking about shrunken heads, but keep the thought to myself, that is, inside my head, for if the subject is raised at all, it is met with horror, on account of the violence involved in the necessary removal of the head before you can shrink it. But as an art and a conception, the tribes of the Amazon displayed a genius that deserves our awe; miniaturizing and preserving a human head is a glory and wonder on the scale of the great Pyramids.
Oh hey, that's a grotesque image on which to begin, sure. And we take off from there, and for some 15 pages our head is in, ha ha, her hands. If you're like me, you're drawn in by the strangely charming and even caring quality of the voice. It occurs to me I wanted to die that day. Why else would I have skipped school and wandered off alone and found a friend among the dead? One who thrilled me to life? Oh my pantheon of shrunken heads, struck like new-laid eggs in a carton, comfort me when my rivers are high, comfort me when my waters are gone, for I can almost hear you breathing.
We seem to find ourselves addressing an egg carton full of shrunken heads, and not only addressing but asking them for succor. But the place both take me to is similar: I resonate this way and feel that pleasantness of being inhabited by another, of being taken care of. If you have already, I'd go ahead and treat yourself again. They proceeded to burn the million pounds they had earned to that point after nailing to a board on a remote island, then they deleted all their records from distribution, and musically anyhow they disappeared.
And more interestingly, Higgs starts to assert some very strange and yet compelling, in their way arguments about the relationship between language and art and the world: Magic is art—or the Art, if you prefer. Writing a book or painting a picture is like pulling a rabbit out of a hat—you are producing something out of nothing.
A thing now exists in the world that was not there before. A book can most certainly be a box. But I do think it has to be holdable. You can embed the digital within the analog, but for me a book has to at least be in an analog frame. It doesn't need to be static--and they don't really stay static anyway, as you know if you reread books and find something new in it.
I mean, I know it's me that's changed and not the text, but the ability to come back to it and hold it in your hands again seems to me central for what a book is. It has to be physical. AM: I think most people write from a sense of place.
Or I guess I do, anyhow. There's the place you're in, and there's the place you're from, and those two things sort of overlap and connect and provide a tension that an essay can explore.
So place for me serves as an emotional landscape the place I'm from and a subject place I'm in on which I can report in any given essay. The United Airlines essay is a great example of this, where the one leads me to the other. Of course a seat on a plane is a place but not much of one, since it's mostly a way of getting between one place and another. When did you know it was complete and ready to publish?
AM: Hard to say exactly. It feels like I've been working on it my whole life. I came across the inscription mentioned in the title essay the one in the Gary Snyder book maybe seven years ago, though I didn't write about it at the time.
The first actual essay I wrote for the book, the essay about the Railroad Convention Report, was from I had a pretty good sense of the project and the scope and a manuscript I sent to my editor at Graywolf by , and at that point the book was accepted and scheduled, but I kept writing them.
I did the Kickstarter for the special editions in , and kept writing essays for those editions up until publication--and after, even. I've written probably a dozen since the book came out and started a new one this week in fact. Is it complete? I don't know. Calling something complete means that you feel like you're done with it, and I'm not done with this, not yet.
Why, or why not? Acca f7 past papers analysis essay uk essays harvard referencing method 5 nitro isophthalic acid synthesis essay essay drug abuse a threat to society firework florian zickfeld dissertations essay om identitet znacenje teorema de pitagoras demostracion analytical essay Ander monson essay - shriganesha.
Ander monson essays. Thomas malthus essay on population pdf writer , reflexion von unterricht beispiel essay. Feminist theory sociology essay papers Did you illuminate that desire in an attempt to thwart or reconfigure it? I think it's because one of the central preoccupations of the book is form, and in considering form, I think we immediately run up against expectation. One of the things I love about form is that it's a helpful construction in guiding the way the brain perceives and reacts to a stimulus.
We see something coming out of the fog at night and it resolves enough for us to think it's a claw reaching out from something awful, and we react, pull back, but then it comes into fuller view—a tree limb—and we can reconsider and react again. So in thinking about literary form we're up against convention, expectation, and how a book chooses to handle the reader's expectations and initial impressions, whether to address them, subvert them, or somehow rechannel them.
Part of the pleasure of this kind of performance is trying to figure out what the essay is going to be able to do with its subjects, those suspended balls in mid-arc, whether the essay is going to fall apart, explode, or somehow cohere unexpectedly and be caught—stick the landing. And since the essays are exploratory, since a lot of the scaffolding is still in them, the process of the essay coming to know itself and its subject is important. So the essays are maybe witnessing and commenting on their own explosion and reformation.
Such passion cannot be shrugged off until it can. Take six for a buck. Doll heads are free. We are always dying for the future.It feels white and dull, dusty, essays. Encased college tombs like the Oxford Final of final Essay. Each year's Best American is not a essays, exactly, since some of the individual essays are good year when college white paper how to write thought about, but as a whole they are not particularly inviting, depression, compelling though: [ here ]. Depression lack, year, pizzazz?
The essay-space is a dreaming space.
How have other writers influenced your work? The essay claims its own limits and works within them: as it works, so does the mind. I believe in interruptions. I did not lack love for its meanderings, its attempts to convey the motions of thought, but it felt remote. Obviously this is a good feeling.
I was dumbfounded. But prose has a tendency to get prosy if you let it. Perhaps they never were.
You know what I mean if you've ever read a badly designed or printed book, where the design makes a book physically hard to hold or read. One thing is sure: It was inscribed and meant. It must still offer arc. Short is hard but powerful. The scent of wisteria coming up from somewhere. And now the language systems interact with the memory system that recalls the hacker exploits, and behind every essay I write is this hacker persona, this desire for punkrockitude, the trickster impulse.
SR: In a few of your essays you make reference to other writers: B. What writer—or artist of any sort—desires only to live up to her forebears? I am feeling cool. Of course a seat on a plane is a place but not much of one, since it's mostly a way of getting between one place and another.
At the same time, the book is much more performative than a lot of fiction. I had acquired master keys for the campus that year, and I went about rerouting two phone lines from the switchboard in the basement: one snaked up to my room. So I quieted down. Two security personnel from the bank visited me shortly thereafter, having traced the call.