Brought to his knees by vertigo and desperate for a correct diagnosis, the author pauses during an enforced stillness to appreciate what keeps him steady.
I felt sick in my stomach. The radio was dead quiet in the corner. My mother kept her green eyes on me, waiting for me to say what she hoped I couldn’t.
Once upon a time Berry Morgan published twenty-five stories in the New Yorker, along with two books. According to Edith Pearlman, Morgan creates a fusion of reader and story seldom seen since Chekhov. This classic tale shows why she deserves to be rediscovered.
He offered the men whiskey and quail eggs, maps and divining rods, and, finally, a vision of the township: irrigation, railroads, and a new age.
Life is more believable when it cameos in Jonathan Lethem’s otherworldly fiction. Does his realer-than-real surreality make him the writer for our time?

