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When I was a young man, my father told me that he didn’t want to die in pain or in agony. Didn’t want to fade away in a cloud of narcotics, a mist of scattered memories. He pointed to a pillow and said I would know what to
How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or your real hatred somehow got on paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like a lightning bolt? What are the best things and the worst
When Hermes comes home after stealing Apollo’s cattle, his mother, Maia scolds him over his behaviour. Hermes will have none of it. He explains to her that he doesn’t believe they should go on living obscurely in a cave. He doesn’t believe they should be shunned by
A friend is stuck writing her thesis when, wandering aimlessly through the library, she happens on a carrel where someone had spread out just the article she needed. Antonio Stradivari, walking in Venice one day, comes upon a pile of broken, waterlogged oars, out of which he makes some of
Pier Paolo Pasolini’s collection of stories, sketches and scripts of Rome is a stark, dialectical reminder of a long-forgotten city. A postwar city, a city of dust and concrete, a city of wounds. Pasolini’s writings cover Rome and Italy emerging into the world from 1950 to 1966. From