“Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Most experiences happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art.”
—Ranier Maria Rilke


Carol Edgarian’s novel, Vera, is a tale of hookers, thieves, and con men told by the wily daughter of a notorious madam at the time of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.
Francoise Gilot’s memoir, My Life with Picasso, intimately features the great artist and his peers but shines most for Gilot’s brilliance, vision, and graceful indepedence.
Susan Minot’s genius, announced by her first collection, Monkeys, and fulfilled in her insightful and ravishing novel, Evening, continues in her new collection, Why I Don't Write.


IN THE PAST HALF CENTURY, electronic media and a trend away from speech and recitation in the teaching of literature have resulted in student writers and readers who are too little aware of the sound of good writing. Years ago, much of culture was connected to the spoken word—by recitation at school, programs at oratorical societies, amateur theatricals, and reading aloud at home—but today all that has largely been lost. The writer’s task involves restoring the physicality of words to give them life.