When you can run 3 miles you can run 4, and when you can run 4 you can grossly round up to 7. And then, suddenly, you’re piecing together a marathon team from the largest group of people you see most frequently: Daily Arts.
The Forest Hill Cemetery describes itself as “an unfinished landscape that welcomes all,” the private, non-profit brainchild of a 1857 collab between some University of Michigan profs and “a group of leading Ann Arbor businessmen.” Synergy, baby. She buries the dead.
Few volumes of poetry boast such backmatter — flipping back and forth between text and notes is a style of reading I figured highly academic and contained to, say, John Whittier-Ferguson’s Joyce class.
I have a crush on Rachel Kushner — everything about her. I was initially turned on by her debut novel “The Flamethrowers,” a smart and stylish sojourn from the dirty art hoes of 1970s Soho to the political underground of Italy, complete with glamorous touches of DMT churches, performance art and street violence. Swoon.
It came up in conversation a short while ago that Verity and I were reading the same book — “Paradise Rot,” the debut novel of the Norwegian musician Jenny Hval. I asked Verity if she was interested in co-writing about Hval’s work, which is equally split between her writing and her musical projects, and would thus match our respective backgrounds in literature and music.