So I persist and look at the severed head that rests on a pole and stares back at me, and ask the obvious question: Why wasn’t demolishing Abu Ghraib a first priority?
- Heart of Darkness — Gary Garvin
- Numéro Cinq at the Movies | Inga Birgisdóttir’s “Varúð” Introduced by R. W. Gray
- Necessary Truths | Review of Thus Bad Begins by Javier Marías — Frank Richardson
- Not in Noah’s Flood: Poems in Translation — Marjan Strojan
- Review of Absolutely on Music: Conversations with Seiji Ozawa by Haruki Murakami—Carolyn Ogburn
- Ms. Hicks In Hell: Fiction — David Huddle
- Carving the Heavens’ Bones: from Glasshouses | Poems — Stuart Barnes
- The Philosopher’s Progress | Short Story — Noah R. Gataveckas
- Like Kafka’s Ape | Poems — Mary di Michele
- Renato After Alba: Novel Excerpt — Eugene Mirabelli
- Story Hour at the Monkey House Bar | Poems — Alison Prine
- Burlesques Of Togetherness: Review of Assisted Living by Gary Lutz — Jason Lucarelli
- Three Questions for Donald Hall | Interview — Allan Cooper
- Entering the Golden Room | Review of The Selected Poems of Donald Hall — Allan Cooper
- Reflections of a Walking Ruin | Fiction — John Madera
- Windy, With Clouds Breaking | Poems — Kathy Fagan
- Late Afternoon with Shadows Lengthening: Memoir — Laura Michele Diener
- Among the Dead and Dreaming: Novel Excerpt — Samuel Ligon
- Ever-Present Loss: Review of Among the Dead and Dreaming by Samuel Ligon—Dawn Raffel
- Boy Turns into a Yam: Short Story — Laura Fine-Morrison
- Uimhir a Cúig | Trust in Me: Fiction — Mia Gallagher
- The Relic of an Instant: Art — Mark Reamy
- Top of the Page
- Flooding the Zone | Numéro Cinq’s January Issue Preview
The painting betrays us and changes as figures appear. Each time they appear it as though they were always already there, watching, waiting…
We all have secrets we would never divulge and secrets we wish had never been revealed. That we cannot fully know another is axiomatic…
in my dizzier moments, / like the throats, slit open by broken bottlenecks, / of long coated dark men in cheery hats, who, / a few pages on, turned into corpses,
“How did I learn to write?” Murakami asks. “By listening to music.”
‘If that hand crawls any farther north’— / Father F sweltered like devils— / ‘I’ll break its fucking fishy bones.’ I posed.
Once, dureth the premiere quartern of mine simpering nonage (as a-goed I solo in weepsome wander, blown hithery-thitherward ’twixt fortune’s crosswinds), came I to a mansion…
When the moon rises, resplendent / over the cemetery, the young go / there to boogie among the tombs. O city, // O country, where none, not death, not / the devil can ever take me back.
It betrays Alba to say she has died or she is dead and I say it only because that’s what people can understand. I believe Alba will never die, that she has understanding and free will…
Fear settles in the body at variable densities // depending on levels of iodine / or derision in your parents’ conversation. // We get exhausted differently.
The truest satisfaction from reading Gary Lutz comes from considering how the text was made.
The marriage to Jane flowered, and I wrote the book Kicking the Leaves, with my horses and my cows et cetera. It was my breakthrough.
But there is still the residue of love, alive in the great sounding box of memory.
…a series of inquiries toward ascertaining the circumstances under which an event can be said to be unrepresentable…
I’m here, riverbank— / wearing John Berryman’s glasses / like everyone else. // I was thinking that evergreen / looked like a Leonardo, i.e., the umbrella / pines of Rome.
That father to whom I had clung with such adoration was gone already, lost to the shadows that pulled him further into another world.
I ran to Oregon, where I waited for Alina to be born, praying she was Daryl’s baby, but the minute I saw her face, blood streaked and furious, I knew she’d come from Cash.
A writer’s obsessions are inescapable; his are desire and peril, tinted noir.
“If you want it to last forever,” Grandfather groused, “take it to Solwezi and have it canned.” Mother began to cry.
‘They eat people,’ she said, nodding at Kaa. ‘I heard about a fella who had one. He forgot to feed it. Left it for a week and one night it swallowed him.’
Unnerving, disturbing, apocalyptic and tiny — Mark Reamy’s slide film images are conflations, invasions. The series in hand carries intimations of the biblical Flood and the future rising of the seas.
NC’s best of the best book reviews hand picked by Joseph Schreiber: work by Melissa Matthewson, Jason DeYoung, Eric Foley, Frank Richardson, Natalie Helberg, Benjamin Woodard, and Joseph himself.
Volume VII, No. 12, December 2016
- Into the Lollipop Light: Poem — Rikki Ducornet
- Invocation of the Unicorn: Poem — Cassidy McFadzean
- A Shadow Text: Review of The Book of Things by Ilhan Berk — D. M. Spitzer
- Hell and Back | Review of American Philosophy: A Love Story by John Kaag — Melissa Considine Beck
- Cat: Short Story — Dawn Promislow
- Notebooks of Jean Mongeau: Poems by Pierre Nepveu — Translated by Donald Winkler
- My Life in Clothes & Books, a Memoir — Karen Mulhallen
- While the Cat’s Away | Review of The Private Life of Mrs. Sharma by Ratika Kapur — Natalia Sarkissian
- Why We’re Doing Art in Today’s World: Interview with Composer David Smooke — Carolyn Ogburn
- Uimhir a Cúig | Excerpts from Stealing Life: Memoir — Eamonn Sheehy
- Lecture the Lemurs: Poems — Russell Bennetts and Rauan Klassnik
- Loving: A Novel Excerpt — Henry Green
- Always Hinting | Review of Loving by Henry Green — Dorian Stuber
- Numero Cinco | Poems by Elsa Cross Plus Interview with Translator Anamaría Crowe Serrano
- Opferlingen: Fiction — S.D. Chrostowska
- Evolution of Lust: Poems — Hilda Raz
- In the Antechamber of Hallucination: Art & Prose — J. Karl Bogartte
- Mad for Sorrow: Time, the Demon, & Being (at One’s Wits’ End) in the Cloud of Unknowing — Nicola Masciandaro
Vol. VII, No. 11, November 2016
- Mad Mad Mitfords | Review of The Six: The Lives of the Mitford Sisters by Laura Thompson — Laura Michele Diener
- She Will Not Have Crying Jags | Review of Jen George’s The Babysitter at Rest — Benjamin Woodard
- Renderings of Oblique Strategies: Poems — Leslie Ullman
- A Nobel Prize and a Glock: Essay on Neoliberalism & Chicago — Jeremy Brunger
- It’s All Signal: Review of Nell Zink’s Nicotine — Carolyn Ogburn
- Numero Cinco | Maracuyá: Fiction — Agustín Cadena
- Level, Headstrong & Balls: Prose Poems — Mark Cox
- I’m Alive I Tell Myself: Fiction — Jared Daniel Fagen
- The Sublime: Review of Mary Ruefle’s My Private Property — Lawrence Sutin
- Hell is (Researching) Other People — Mary Brindley
- Uimhir a Cúig | The County Manager: Short Story — Dave Lordan
- Stilled Life/Frozen Motion: Ceramic Art — Anne Hirondelle
- Novel Explosives: A Novel Excerpt—Jim Gauer
- The Encyclopedic Novel: Review of Jim Gauer’s Explosives — Jeff Bursey
- Panorama: A Novel Excerpt — Dušan Šarotar
- At the Crossing of Words, Landscape & Memory: Review of Dušan Šarotar’s Panorama — Joseph Schreiber
- Trakl’s Daughter: Poems — Pamela Stewart
- Where Went Niola? | Short Story — Brian Leung
- Making Meaning: Italian Journeys — Genese Grill