What are your Rumblr editors reading this week? Well…

Molly: I do not enjoy spending time with Ralskonikov. Glad this is over!

ClaireI’m reading NW by Zadie Smith, which I had read once before for book club with Molly. It is SO GOOD the second time through. I don’t even have anything to say, I’m just amazed all over again by how smart and how good Zadie Smith is. 

LucyI am reading Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle! Compulsively.

JenI’m reading Summer of Hate by Chris Kraus. I think it may be illegal to read a book with ‘summer’ in the title in autumn so I’m making sure to finish by the equinox.

“The power structure ought to be very simple: the storyteller possesses the tale, and imparts it to an audience. One has the original, and the other creates, upon hearing it, a copy in their own minds. In a way, this is how a community is formed: through a sharing of stories.

But the dynamics of an interrogation result in a complete power shift: a story is no longer something to be shared or accepted, but something to be coerced, questioned, tested, and enslaved. With power now located in the interrogator’s hands, how can the speaker redeem himself? Tell the truth, or convince the interrogator. It will never be clear whether those two goals are identical in execution, or mutually exclusive.”
— Jeffrey Zuckerman reviews Guantanamo by Frank Smith
“I feel ashamed for the fat on my cheeks
try to disappear, but an American can be seen from miles away.
And Mom refuses
to hide her real Rolex
even when a watch
is unnecessary.”
— From Souvenir by Aimee Suzara, reviewed by Kenji Liu
“I remember very clearly writing a couple songs, or the genesis of a couple songs coming on swing sets, as I am swinging for exercise. Before I became more of a cripple it was a great form of exercise and anger management for me to sneak on the swings at McCarren Park if the kids weren’t there, to sneak on the swings at Prospect Park when I lived in Brooklyn, and ride the swings and have the Walkman with me. Occasionally these melodies would come because my body was feeling freer and physical, moving up and down on a swing set like a pendulum. It liberated the music and then I’d go back later on and sit there and try to shape them into a song.”
The Rumpus Interview with Chris Stroffolino, of Silver Jews, by Rob Rubsam. Stroffolino has a new solo album, Griffith Park.

soleilho:

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The Rumblr loves Quaint Magazine — help them publish their first print issue!

(via soleilho)

“This question is the subject of Simon Critchley’s thin volume Bowie. Critchley, a philosopher who teaches at The New School and moderates the New York Times‘s philosophy column “The Stone,” may seem an unlikely source for an exegesis of Bowie’s art, but he stakes his claim in the book’s first line: “no person has given me greater pleasure throughout my life than David Bowie.” Critchley first saw the star in a career-defining performance on the British TV show Top of the Pops, where Bowie sang “Starman” while sporting deep orange hair and a catsuit of many colors. He was, Critchley writes, “At once cocky and vulnerable. His face full of sly understanding—a door to a world of unknown pleasures.””
“Dennis Rodman, Dolly Parton, Prince Rogers Nelson are my role models. Mariah Carey, Fiona Apple, and Celine Dion for a time, fit this role for me. In some sense they are all divas who embrace their importance while highlighting their own absurdities, reveling in the artifice of their successes while always creating, exploring, demanding more from a world that so often tells us we deserve nothing”
— And this is the part of “The Radical Possibilities of Being Human: A Survival Guide for Liminal Feminists” where I started crying. (via mollitudo)
“I’m wearing a dead woman’s socks. Suzy. She gave them to my husband a couple months ago, a 3-pack of white Polo socks. Said she’d ordered them online but didn’t need them, or they didn’t fit. I can’t remember. I lose socks a lot. I’m mildly famous for wearing two different socks at all times, so I gladly accepted them. Also, my dad sold Polo clothing at Dimensions, the men’s clothing store he worked out in Philadelphia, so I have a spot soft for the dude on the galloping horse, his mallet in the air. I’m wearing Suzy’s socks and thinking about what the dead leave behind.”
The Sunday Rumpus Essay: We Are Not Dead by Jennifer Pastiloff