ellefsens

Lang, flott opplesning.

Anmeldelse av Lars Frosts Ubevidst rødgang. I Morgenbladet.

Og: Intervju med Redaktøren.

Fra lederen: 

Prosopopeia feirer i år sitt 15-årsjubileum, og sentralt i feiringen står utgivelsen av vårt jubileumsnummer, som kommer i desember. Mange av våre redaksjonsmedlemmer har opp gjennom årene brukt tidsskriftet som et springbrett mot sentrale posisjoner i nasjonens litterære liv: I Prosopopeia #04/08 byr vi på et gjensyn med noen av dem. Jubiléet vil selvsagt også bli bli behørig market gjennom en kombinert lanserings- og jubileumsfest som vi gi gjenlyd mellom De Syv Fjell.

Dette vil jeg se, og den festen vil jeg på!

James Wood om biografien om V.S. Naipaul, den gretne, gamle gubben han setter så stor pris på. En biografi som definitivt er noe utenom det vanlige.

The public snob, the grand bastard, was much in evidence when I interviewed V. S. Naipaul in 1994, and this was exactly as expected. A pale woman, his secretary, showed me in to the sitting room of his London flat. Naipaul looked warily at me, offered a hand, and began an hour of scornful correction. I knew nothing, he said, about his birthplace, Trinidad; I possessed the usual liberal sentimentality. It was a plantation society. Did I know anything about his writing? He doubted it. The writing life had been desperately hard. But, I said, hadn’t his great novel, “A House for Mr.Biswas,” been acclaimed on its publication? “Look at the people’s choices for the best books of the sixties,” he said. “ ‘Biswas’ is not there.” His secretary brought coffee, and retired. Naipaul claimed that he had not even been published in America until the nineteen-seventies, “and then the reviews were awful—unlettered, illiterate, ignorant.” The phone rang, and kept ringing. “I am sorry,” Naipaul said in exasperation. “One is not well cared for here.” Only as the secretary showed me out, and novelist and servant briefly spoke to each other in the hall, did I realize that she was Naipaul’s wife.

The New Yorker

Feeds (aka strøm) her. Nike+, last.fm og flickr. Web 2.0-slaveri. Uhelbredelig.

I’ve gone Bora!

Nå husker jeg alt:

Min master

Mine delicious-tags

Med Wordle.