by Lisa Peet
“I’m not comforted by happy endings. I’m deeply comforted by always being in the middle of a story. I tell myself, this is the middle, and I hang on to that—I don’t know the ending and I’ve got to see this through.” Continue reading
Tag Archives: Eudora Welty
In Search of Isabel Bolton
by Alice Lowe
In his 1946 New Yorker review of Do I Wake or Sleep, Edmund Wilson, one of the most prominent critics of his day, called Isabel Bolton’s voice “exquisitely perfect in accent.” Continue reading
Q&A With Lynn Sloan
Sometimes I become frustrated with writing, when I know a photograph would communicate in an instant what I want to express, while prose will take five thousand words, and those five thousand words won’t come close. But then words, one after another after another, can expose layers that no photograph can reveal. Continue reading
BLOOMERS AT LARGE: “What the Greats Have in Common”
by Vicraj Gill
“There are people . . . like me . . . who seem to stay latent until a suppressed vocation gene is switched on by the attainment of some appropriate life stage. I remember registering the following thought: now that I’ve waited out the lived part of my life, my real work can finally begin.” Continue reading
Deep Creek: On History, Fiction, and Truth
by Alison Gazarek
Historical fiction is a kind of “looking back,” but also an opportunity to reinvent, or to color the way the past is perceived. Similarly, nonfiction history books are, for better or worse, a kind of story-telling, colored (no matter how hard one tries to be impartial) by the teller. Continue reading
BEST OF BLOOM: Anna Sewell Growing into Compassion
by Amy Weldon
Throughout August we are revisiting some of the “best of” Bloom from the past year: Anna Sewell, spinster invalid, wrote one of the most influential and original books to come out of Victorian England. Continue reading
An Interview with Elaine Neil Orr
A first-time visitor might have a hard time seeing the natural beauty of the land as I experienced it growing up, or would have to travel far afield to do so. But I felt absolutely at home, as if a veil or film had been lifted from my eyes and I had returned to the real world—all my American years thrown into a second reality. Continue reading
Bloom 