Gregory and his scribes (Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, 10th century).
"When you first saw her—beauty, the dream—the human vortex of your life—or him—did you stop, and stand in the crisp air, breathing like a tree? Did you change your life?"
× Mary Oliver, excerpt from Blue Pastures (Harcourt, 1995)
“I don’t think science fiction is a very good name for it, but it’s the name that we’ve got. It is different from other kinds of writing, I suppose, so it deserves a name of its own. But where I can get prickly and combative is if I’m just called a sci-fi writer. I’m not. I’m a novelist and poet. Don’t shove me into your damn pigeonhole, where I don’t fit, because I’m all over. My tentacles are coming out of the pigeonhole in all directions.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
Read our 2013 interview with Ursula K. Le Guin, now available in its entirety online.
The difference between the narrator in Swann’s Way going to bed and finding an entire world of memory and experience dislodged by a madeleine dipped in tea, and us as readers, is not to do with his richness of feeling and perception and our poverty of it. He is not cleverer or more brilliant or more sensitive than we are. It is to do with what happens next, and what Proust as a writer gives us: language coming to grips with variations of thought and feeling, remembering and misremembering, fullness and emptiness of emotion, that we all have but which we cannot find a language for.
-Patrick McGuiness’s lovely Guardian piece, "Who’s Afraid of Marcel Proust"