Chicago Review

An international journal of literature, interviews, and reviews. For academic audiences.

Articles from Vol. 41, No. 4, Fall

Background
Okay, this is a good one: Carl suspected she was cheating on him with his editor, with his own editor, but he wasn't sure, then last week she's undressing and he recognizes a backwards page of the galley proofs to his new book on her ass! Right. Not...
Detail
They moved into apartments and hurt each other. The pattern seemed awfully plain on a rainy morning. But detail is somehow welcome. Others mattered to others, these mattered to these. The way they hurt each other, the how of the hurting, was inflected...
Entropy as the Bone Queen
Always smoking inside my skin with your nagging territorial stamens with your chronic teutonic measuring worms always coughing up snakes under sun embargoed baobab trees your nostrils corroded by lobotomy & brine with a history of horrified mortality...
Glossolalia All the Way to Buffalo
Poppy is in the storm cellar, cleaning. Chippie and her little friend Arlene up top are riding along on the swells of a joke about the Russian tank-commander, Colonel Vladimir Khotchokakov. They are beside themselves, each wave of laughter gaining force...
Image of Song Unsounded
The changeableness of Picasso + The simplicity/complexity of Matisse = Lester Young. In America, jazz is the art by which all others must be measured. Believe me, there are different intensities of black: night is only one phase of darkness....
I Want to Be a Ferris Wheel
This soft body turned into shining steel, stretching toward farms and spiders and the clean windows of the Midwest. Neon lights on me, that weird kind of green that a tree wouldn't really recognize but aliens might, if they happened to be looking in...
New Arrival
For years, Jia Cheng thought of leaving his wife and starting a new family. When he bought her out of a brothel in Gold County eighteen years before, he had not expected her to be sterile, although she had told him about her numerous abortions and miscarriages...
Reading Cicero's 'De Oratore.' (Poem)
I. The edge of the text is where we sample the remarkable, as if gist were a kind of outward drift, pith a sponginess only substituting for the absent center. Ezra Pound, whom we forgive, knew this. He "tried to write Paradise" and found only wind--what...
Red Love
My immigrant grandmother bestowed her good drugs upon me just to show she loved me most. When I visited her I usually toked up strutting along the sidewalk to the hospital, blithe and clear as a gentlemanly stroller. Five months pregnant, my wife was...
Song of the Andoumboulou: 31
Sound was back. Bukka White sang "Single Man Blues" on the box, renamed it "Ogo's Lament." He and Eronel lay chest to chest, right leg to left... Some we met said they were outmoded, failed andoumboulouous birth brought back to life, trek we resisted...
The Last Mambo
Down Calle 19, past the Museum of Decorative Arts--less a shambles than most with its sand-blown Ionic columns and corbeled gate--I fight off memories of my sleepless night, the plumber's candle sputtering. The apartment I've rented is decorated with...
The Man in the Well
I was nine when I discovered the man in the well in an abandoned farm-lot near my home. I was with a group of friends, playing hide and go seek or something when I found the well, and then I heard the voice of the man in the well calling out for help....
The Message Is the Medium: A Reply to Sven Birkerts and 'The Gutenberg Elegies.' (Essay)
"Where am I when I am involved in a book?" --Sven Birkerts, The Gutenberg Elegies "You're in cyberspace." --Kevin Kelly, executive editor of Wired magazine, responding to Birkerts in the Harper's Magazine Forum, "What Are We Doing Online?" (August...
Uttar Pradesh
You were dozing over Uttar Pradesh well after the shadows of Annapurna swept across the big plane's starboard wing, dreaming a peevish little dream of Stinky Phil, your playground tormentor from fifty years before, his red earmuffs and curious cigar...
Virtual Realities
VR-1. The condemned prisoner, fed intravenously, sits locked in an electric chair. The wires from the chemotrodes implanted in his cranium lead to a toy trainset on a table beside him. The miniature locomotive whirs around the track on the weak current...
Wake Up, It's Time to Go to Sleep
Sometime after the power returned and water began rumbling through the pipes, my young friend Leni arrived, still dressed in his cook's uniform. "Coffee?" he said, pulling a small butcher-paper bundle out of his satchel. "I've brought extra from the...
Young Man on Sixth Avenue
He was a young man in the big city. He was a young man in the biggest, the most overwhelming city--and he was not overwhelmed. For see, he strode across Fifth Avenue just before the light changed, and his head was up in the sharp New York wind and he...
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