In this week’s New Yorker, this short story was dark and twisting. Its quick, choppy style made it seem like rapid flashes of black and white scenes.
So glad to see Joshua Ferris in the New Yorker. 100% deserved.
Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
In this week’s New Yorker, this short story was dark and twisting. Its quick, choppy style made it seem like rapid flashes of black and white scenes.
So glad to see Joshua Ferris in the New Yorker. 100% deserved.
