When I was a child I was terrified
of the space between One and Zero
vast as the ages before my birth
strait as my death—late at night
I heard my parents arguing
lovingly in their locked room,
the angora cat coming home
with a sparrow in her mouth,
and the raindrops on the shingles
counting themselves—how to sleep,
how to cross the empty place
between the name “sparrow”
and that limp thing crying,
adamant, creating me with its cry
That so much of the art of “In Minor Keys” is muted in effect is ironic, because so much of it is overproduced, aspirationally eye-catching, and so big.
Chuck Klosterman’s Football is a eulogy for the sport on the eve of its decline.
A new film biography depicts the Palestinian writer as still out of place—and ahead of his time.
In Honey, the novelist offers a different take on the campus satire.
