When Literary Criticism Doesn’t Work

I first read James Wood’s How Fiction Works nearly ten years ago, shortly after it was published. And it hasn’t aged well. It probably didn’t help that the first time I picked it up, I assumed it was a volume of criticism from the 1950s or 1960s Reading it this time around for my MFA has been,Continue reading “When Literary Criticism Doesn’t Work”

To the Man on the Bus Beside Me

It isn’t you. But it’s not me, either. You saw the way I stiffened when you sat down, didn’t you? You saw me flinch. And now you think it’s because I think I’m too good for you. Or that I think I deserve a seat to myself. Or that I’ve got a chip on myContinue reading “To the Man on the Bus Beside Me”