Essays

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“Uplokkid”

“Like medieval mystics in their anchorages, my mind was on the long-term rewards of short-term sacrifices. I found myself embracing solitude for a higher purpose: not holiness, but haleness, wholeness.”

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“A Portrait”

“After lunch, the sitting. The set-up is elaborate: a narrow mirror where I can watch the portrait emerge and a cellphone camera in time-lapse mode …”

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“Duglegur”

“‘Sóley,’ she says, which I understand to mean creeping buttercup. She tells me I can pull them out. Their spindly stems branch off in every direction.”

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“My Mother’s Fingers”

“As I learn about her incarceration during World War II, I better understand the anger that she expressed when pain and dysfunction prevented her from sewing and gardening.”

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“Alone”

“The week after my husband filled out an online application, people from the program contacted him.  He was interviewed on the phone for an hour and encouraged.”

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“Soap: Art of Failure”

“What if instead of saying we have failed we say that we are failuring? What if a practice of imagination is often also a practice of failure?”

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“Fairfield”

“But there was something in the dirt, in the water, my mom’s cousin Troy said — a toxic fallout that made its way into the bodies of the people.”

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“Medicinal History on the Eve of Our Future”

“Galeano, obsessed with actual facts, concludes about America: insofar as Latin countries remain underdeveloped, it’s because of centuries of looting and exploitation by Europe and the U.S.”

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“Motherboard”

“… this is the first time I’ve descended into Adelaide at night rather than day. I’m stunned by its squareness, by the rigid lines of its hyper-planned grid system.”

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“The Man in the Red Car”

“One day, two federal agents in suits knocked on my door. I can’t recall if they said they were with the SEC or the FBI, or whether these were local agents who had been farmed out. They assured me my father wasn’t in trouble …”

Essay |

“Facing It”

“I used a heavy, faux-bone-handled butter knife to knock along the spine, dislodging even more unidentifiable, frangible stuff. Still there was something rattling around inside …”