burn it down, by maureen ryan
What the industry wants to do is revert to the mean—always.
What the industry wants to do is revert to the mean—always.
Posted in bookmaggot, uncategorized, women are human | Comments Off on burn it down, by maureen ryan
More than a few times she’d even prayed, selfishly, for The End to hold off until after she was dead and buried, so that she might be spared the pain of bearing witness to it.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on true biz, by sara novic
Emotions and feelings were not impediments to reason; they were integral. “Reason may not be as pure as most of us think it is or wish it were,” he wrote.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on the unthinkable, by amanda ripley
She’s a nightmare, top to bottom, but being mad at her is technically biphobia, so.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on really good, actually, by monica heisey
A woman who has reached forty-five in the heterocapitalist economy can arrive at the lesbian economy with a status close to adolescence. Bingo.
Posted in bookmaggot, happiness, women are human | Comments Off on testo junkie, by paul b. preciado
Our deepest problems are the inescapable side-effects of the FIAT system we live in, a system based on domination: our collapsing climate, the gaping wealth gap, discrimation against people of color, the exploitation of women. We need a generative way of relating to one another…
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on radical companies, by matt perez
For the ruling class, in general, politics is a question of aesthetics: a way of seeing themselves, of seeing the world, of constructing a personality. For us it was life or death.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on who killed my father, by edouard louis
…every individual manifestation is only a reflection of Brahman, the absolute reality that underlies the phenomena of the world.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on when we cease to understand the world, by benjamin labatut
My whole life with the girls is telescoped into this moment—running away, running back. Fly, be free! I want to say. I want to say, Stay with me forever! Come to think of it, these are the two things I want to say to everyone I love most.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on we all want impossible things, by catherine newman
The reality that seized me is the reality of a world more abundant and wise and beautiful than anything I deserved, its people more courageous and more generous.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on deep hanging out, by malcolm margolin
A defeated, airless, ugly feeling rose in her whenever she heard a person of her parents’ generation talking brightly about home ownership, or foreign holidays, or financial serendipity, or education for its own sake, or second chances in a crowded field; she felt this way sometimes simply if someone spoke about the future – even the very near future – in optimistic terms.
Posted in bookmaggot, politics, ranty | Comments Off on birnam wood, by eleanor catton
TREES ARE PLANTS THAT PEOPLE CALL TREES—A TERM OF DIGNITY, NOT botany. Personification is intrinsic to treeness.
Posted in bookmaggot, i love the whole world | Comments Off on elderflora, by jared farmer
The British called this conflict “The Great Game,” but no Russian people called it that.
Posted in bookmaggot, history, politics, ranty | Comments Off on the possessed, by elif batuman
Turkish, for example, had a suffix, -miş, that you put on verbs to report anything you didn’t witness personally. You were always stating your degree of subjectivity. You were always thinking about it, every time you opened your mouth.
Posted in bookmaggot, words | Comments Off on the idiot, by elif batuman
Then came the inexplicable shame. Of not being believed. Of not being worth more.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on stolen, by anne-helén laestadius
“I feel a responsibility,” Mom said. “You always want to feel responsible for everything,” Lauren said. “And that’s so bad?” “It’s like—you want to feel guilty about it, like you’re being selfless, but you’re not, you’re just making it all about you.”
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on the fourth child, by jessica winter
“…friendship risks the end of friendship…”
Posted in bookmaggot, friends, grief | Comments Off on the candy house, by jennifer egan
There’s a low-level, specific pain in having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on sea of tranquility, by emily st. john mandel
“Why do you think it’s your fault?” she finally asked. It had never occurred to me that it was not.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on stay true, by hua hsu
“There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—”it’s a haunted house.”
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, by gabrielle zevin
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