He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window. “It’s better not to sleep at all,” he decided. There was a cold damp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday—Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere—at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself—were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself. She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled
The Blog
Cheever Mania 
784 pages of homosexuality, alcoholism and solipsism: how could “Cheever: A Life” get any better? The New Yorker reviews the Cheever bio (written by Blake Bailey) under the condemning-by-faint-praise title “Basically Decent,” which serves for both man and book, I suppose. Also, the byline is John Updike. Perhaps his last review? Harper’s Magazine (behind a […]
Read More Netflix for Books [Editor’s Note: This post was written in 2009, and only one of the three companies still exists. Read my 2016 review of the four new companies who offer a netflix for books service.] I grew curious about the book rental companies out there, and decided to compare the three options: BooksFree, BookSwim and […]
Read More Lo, How The Mighty Have Fallen The Tournament of Books, every literature geek’s equivalent to March Madness, is in full swing, and my bracket is already devastated. Sure, Bolano’s juggernaut 2666 steamrolled over the competition yesterday, but how about the titanic upset of O’Neill’s Netherland today? I didn’t foresee that one, but I am predicting a return in Zombie Round. Why […]
Read More Daniyal Mueenuddin Interview (Video – Part II) Daniyal Mueenuddin Interview: On Pakistan from James Roland on Vimeo. In this second part of a two-part video interview with Daniyal Mueenuddin, we talk about Pakistan — the power struggles between genders and class and its inevitable plunge into chaos. Also, we discuss the wonderful and delightful benefits of misery. Daniyal Mueenuddin’s book is “In […]
Read More Daniyal Mueenuddin Interview (Video) Daniyal Mueenuddin Interview: On Writing from RedFence Video on Vimeo. Daniyal Mueenuddin’s debut collection of short stories, “In Other Rooms, Other Wonders” chronicles the struggles among the affluent and destitute in Pakistan. The stories revolve around the extended family of a wealthy landowner, Mr. K. K. Harouni, mostly taking place on farms in Pakistan. Previously, […]
Read More The Story Prize Winner Yes, I did just happen to predict the winner of The Story pharmacy online no prescription usa Prize . . .
Read More Book Cover Design I love the story of Atmospheric Disturbances by Rivka Galchen and I love its cover art as well. It’s cover art that’s not only beautiful, and hooks your attention, but is connected to the events and people and meaning of the novel. It’s the type of cover that gives you a sense of what […]
Read More Zoetrope in the Winter I just got around to reading the winter issue of Zoetrope, and it was quite good, especially the lead story “We Were Champions” by April Wilder, which deals with molestation by a softball coach and a metaphor-heavy image of a roasting pig. Beat that! I do wish that instead of re-printing the Scott Fitzgerald story […]
Read More David Foster Wallace in The New Yorker The New Yorker has the most authoritative article on David Foster Wallace that I’ve seen yet. Quite long, with a goody-bag of detail about his life and struggle with depression. It’s an accurate portrait of the man’s intelligence and empathy. This issue also has an excerpt from Wallace’s work in progress, a novel about IRS […]
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