Author Archives: Anthony

About Anthony

Like all those possessing a library, Aurelian was aware that he was guilty of not knowing his in its entirety.

All Damned

In a gloomy corner of hell reserved for readers, the damned clutch copies of the books they dislike most. The masters of scholarly misunderstanding and the critics who turned a profit on review copies fight over the armchairs in which … Continue reading

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Beautiful Books, Bibliophilia and Vladislavić’s Loss Library

If I were asked which publisher I admire most, I should say Seagull Books. In truth, possibly because I never request and very rarely accept review copies, I give individual publishers little thought (though I do also have fondness for … Continue reading

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A Lilac So Magical

A passage below from a letter that Alejandra Pizarnik wrote to Léon Ostrov. I love that you stole an ice bucket from the de Flore. I, for now, behave sensibly, only a few books. But if I had to steal … Continue reading

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Could Have Made Do With Less

Samuel Beckett writing in January 1952 about Waiting for Godot. At this time it had not been staged. I do wish writers took this line rather than assuming they have any unique insight into the meaning of what they write. … Continue reading

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The Impossibility of Connection

On another day I’ll read László Krasznahorkai’s Seiobo There Below hungrily. After an intensely beautiful first chapter, the second chapter begins with an untranslated Italian crossword. This, and the sections being arranged according to the Fibonacci sequence, struck me as … Continue reading

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The Murmur of Language

The words are everywhere, inside me, outside of me … I hear them, no need to hear them, no need of a head, impossible to stop them, impossible to stop. I’m in words, made of words, others’ words, what others … Continue reading

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An Image of Death

I’ve always disliked that threshold between waking and sleep, when the “I” and the self separate. A flash of recognition from the following paragraph, which opens Aurélia (and is its high point). Our dreams are a second life. I have … Continue reading

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Fra Keeler’s Influences

Reading is pure pleasure for me, without obligation, professional or otherwise. I abandon books frequently after fifty pages or halfway through, whichever comes first. For every book I finish, three preceding books end up in a bag by the front … Continue reading

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Love’s Work by Gillian Rose

Last night, or rather this morning, I stayed up far too late finishing Gillian Rose’s Love’s Work. It was recommended by a friend whose literary judgement I have come to unfailingly trust. Nick Lezard begins his review of Love’s Work thus, “I … Continue reading

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Pure Wartime

God knows what you all see in America. I see war and devastation. The fucking pilgrims leaving England ’cause there wasn’t enough law and rigidity there, coming here hating all ideas, thought, questioning; the Quakers and the Pilgrims fighting it … Continue reading

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