Content Tagged ‘binocular vision’

Last week we were busy bees here in the Pub Lab! Edith Pearlman is coming to North Carolina for her tour soon (mid-April! Who’s ready?), and so we were getting together her press kits. They are so very beautiful, filled with reading guides, stickers, posters, Binocular Vision, and much more! All right, all right, enough ogling, it’s back to work for us!

– Sally J. Johnson, Lookout Intern

Edith Pearlman

• In case you haven’t heard, Edith’s Binocular Vision won the National Book Critics Circle Award last week.
• She is also nominated for The Story Prize. The winners will be announced tomorrow, March 21!
• Her next reading tour begins April 15 at the University of North Carolina Wilmington, with stops in Charlotte, Durham, and other cities to be announced.

Steve Almond

• This guy writes like it’s his job. Well…you know what we mean. The Newer York
• Steve also continues his “The Week in Greed” articles in The Rumpus.
• His collection of short stories, God Bless America, received an honorable mention from The Story Prize.
• (www.theneweryork.com) just published a flash fiction piece by Steve, as well as a featured quote we’re particularly fond of: “Stay horny for art.”

John Rybicki

• First, you need to know that John’s astounding poetry collection, When All the World Is Old, will be available April 10. Pre-orders get it early, so be sure to visit www.lookout.org.
• He will join Edith at the April 15 reading to celebrate the first year of our little press doing big things.

Sipping, not thinking, she drifted on a cobalt disk under an aquamarine dome. Birches bent to honor her, tall pines guarded the birches. She looked down the length of her body. She had not worn rubber boat shoes, only sandals, and her ten toenails winked flamingo.

The spring was in the middle of the roughly circular pond. Usually a boat given its freedom headed in that direction. Today, however, the canoe was obeying some private instructions. It had turned eastward; the lowering sun at her back further brightened her toenails. Her craft was headed toward the densely wooded stretch of shore where there were no houses. It was picking up speed. Cornelia considered shaking herself out of her lethargy, lifting the paddle, resuming control; but instead she watched the prow make its confident way toward trees and moist earth. It would never attain the shore, though, because there seemed to be a gulf between pond and land. No one had ever remarked on this cleavage. Perhaps it had only recently appeared, a fault developing in the last week or two; perhaps the land had receded from the pond or the pond recoiled from the land; at any rate, there it was: fissure, cleft…falls.