New Yorker winter fiction 2007.

Now online, with entries by Anne Enright, Junot Diaz (I still haven’t read Drown; can you believe me?!), and J. Lethem, whose "The King of Sentences" opens very promisingly:

This was the time when all we could talk about was sentences,
sentences—nothing else stirred us. Whatever happened in those days,
whatever befell our regard, Clea and I couldn’t rest until it had been
converted into what we told ourselves were astonishingly unprecedented
and charming sentences: “Esther’s cleavage is something to be noticed”
or “You can’t have a contemporary prison without contemporary
furniture” or “I envision an art which will make criticism itself seem
like a cognitive symptom, one which its sufferers define to themselves
as taste but is in fact nothing of the sort” or “I said I want my eggs
scrambled not destroyed.” At the explosion of such a sequence from our
green young lips, we’d rashly scribble it on the wall of our apartment
with a filthy wax pencil, or type it twenty-five times on the same
sheet of paper and then photocopy the paper twenty-five times and then
slice each page into twenty-five slices on the paper cutter in the
photocopy shop and then scatter the resultant six hundred and
twenty-five slips of paper throughout the streets of our city, fortunes
without cookies.

Inexplicably, it features an illustration of Jughead staring at what can only be Veronica (because I can’t remember the other girl’s name) in her underwear, which may or may not be emblazoned with sentences.  Must be this Brave New Archie I’ve been reading about at Galleycat.  Is this a snarky swipe at Lethem’s professed love for comics?  You heard it here first, friends.

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2 thoughts on “New Yorker winter fiction 2007.

  1. Also this issue of The New Yorker has a story by Raymond Carver before Gordon Lish edited it. Also on the New Yorker web site is the complete story with all of Lish’s edits. Included are letters between Carver and Lish about the stories.

    Worth it.

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