In many ways, Comyns’s biography does read like the stuff of fiction.Read more.
Problems will be released in print by Emily Books in collaboration with Coffee House Press on July 5, 2016. Preorder a copy here or here!
Girls meets Trainspotting: Problems is a bold and witty novel about a part-time heroin user and her increasingly full-time problems.Read more.
Psssshhhhhht. I ducked as a jet of fine mist shot towards my face from the automatic air freshener on the medicine cabinet. I shook the remaining water off my hands and stepped to the other side of the bathroom.Read more.
MAGGIE IMMEDIATELY LOVED ANYA LANDER, HER ANTHROPOLOGY PROFESSOR AT BOSTON UNIVERSITY, LIKE MANY STUDENTS DID. This was the first most important thing that happened to her at college. It was, in a way, her first chance in life.Read more.
Check out their conversation here!Read more.
Our Spoons was Barbara Comyns’s second published novel. Her first, Sisters by a River, also drew on her remarkable early life experiences, describing a largely unsupervised childhood taking place in the first decade of the twentieth century in a crumbling estate on the River Avon.Read more.
I look at pictures of myself sometimes
And I can see my skeleton
Skull all hard
Around the eyes
Where they sink in a little
These pictures are rare but becoming less so
It’s blue around the eye sockets
Like a mortal gleam
I can be plain-spoken when I have to be
When I see the network of capillaries mewling close to the surface
Over time there will be less and less youthful pictures of me until I perish
Lana Del Rey says: “I love the look of girls with red lips and shiny skin”
She says this after she poses for British GQ naked
Her butt smashed up against a floor surface
Hugging her knees to her chest
Covering her vagina and stomach
I love this woman I think
But she must be lying right now
This cannot be what she is thinking
Sitting there looking just like how my brain thinks
Being my brain twin on the magazine
Covering the exact right two things
Because even though as a person I’m not
As a woman I’m just so
I’m confused because if I was in that white room
And I put on red lips and shiny skin I would feel wrong
Foody and gleaming
I would want to minimize the surface
Like she’s doing
Looking fucked up in a photo is hard
Under the skin
The soft skin I allegedly own
That is disappearing from me every day
That is a temporary boon for me and my loves to touch
Is a skeleton
Under the vagina and guts
Even in a Lana
A skeleton hides
Ready to grin in your face
Ready to fuck your shit up like a nightmare
Ready to be a pile of dead bones in the moonlight
I was sitting on the rooftop of my apartment building in May waiting for July’s fireworks. I was cleaning high-rise condos in Manhattan, teaching fourth grade in Queens, eating wheat bread and American cheese sandwiches that the government delivered to the school. I was writing everything down as if I knew what I was seeing.Read more.
I look through his inboxes. He has three addresses: one for activity as an author, almost entirely devoted to his publicist, whom he bombards with slightly flirtatious and falsely jocular messages: “I wonder why I haven’t been invited to the radio program From the Bookshop, since I understand it’s about literature, and I happen to write books . .Read more.
It was Janine Stromboni, an old acquaintance from high school, one of the few girls Mona had liked, even though they’d had zero in common. Janine looked much the same: huge hair, liquid eyeliner, fake nails, tight jeans.Read more.