Analysis
Don’t Ask Bukowski for the Rings
From 1967 on, Bukowski wrote the column “Notes of a Dirty Old Man” for Open City, an underground weekly in Los Angeles, and later for various other counterculture papers, winning wide approval among a decidedly mass readership; it was the main engine of his later fame. Some of the stories collected in Tales of Ordinary Madness were born on those pages, in prose written for the newspaper reader and therefore direct, almost spoken, with a first-person narrator identifiable with the author himself: a “wise fool” who laid bare the contradictions of American society.
By Federico Berti3 days ago in BookClub
Finnegans...Awake?
“If you think I’m going to review it, you’re crazy. But I am going to swim in it.” * Oh, Lester, you great demon of the dirty noise; you critic of the cringe. How far ahead could one man be who died when I was child and yet seems to haunt me in my old age? I read this many a day ago, and it comes from the anger and disappointment that anyone would feel watching one of their favourite bands slip from a great high into a lethargic trough of clichés and uninspired poses. The Rolling Stones had finished an incredible run with “Exile on Main Street” and “Sticky Fingers” , and then…they lost their way. “Goat’s Head Soup” was the first sign that maybe the boys from South London were a little tired and could not possibly live up to the anti-establishment stance they were believed to hold. Money, fame, drugs, sex and the general malaise of the seventies got to them and every other band that survived the rollback at the end of the sixties, and they threw their hands up and said, “We are done…but we still are who we are.” The Rolling Stones had to go on, and Mick and Keith, those notorious Glimmering Twins, had to keep the ball rolling and the money pumping in.
By Kendall Defoe 4 days ago in BookClub
So, You've Just Published a Book. Top Story - October 2026.
It’s actually been about four months since I published my first book, The Gragon. I originally planned on writing this article three months ago, but work got in the way. That’s actually a recurring theme in my life for the last few years. Too much work, not enough time to write. But I do my best to strike when the iron’s hot. Or at least lukewarm.
By Atomic Historian6 days ago in BookClub
Hidden in Plain Sight? Gender, Sexuality and the Politics of Representation in Harry Potter
For an entire generation, Harry Potter was a story about belonging. Its central character was an abused, neglected boy who discovered that the qualities which made him different were the very things that made him extraordinary. Hogwarts offered a home to outsiders, friendships crossed social divisions, and the overarching narrative condemned prejudice, persecution and the pursuit of blood purity.
By Millie Hardy-Sims9 days ago in BookClub
Poetry Talk
The Curious Thing — Published by W.W Norton Another short poem today. I like 'em short. This one is 15 lines, so it can getaway as a sonnet give or take. I'm not going to complain—It's all about love. This book by Sandra Lim titled The Curious Thing is a beautiful book about love, dreams, and all its ways. And who knew all the ways, I certainly don't. I'm particularly attracted to this poem in a sense—it kind of reminds me of the type of young man I was and who knows if in my old age and under certain circumstance would I still be this way. I'm at that age where my love and I now have completely transformed into its final act. Most of the kids are gone, one grandchild and another on the way. I can't even imagine a change but this book shows all the possibilities, and for me its like gossip. Everybody loves gossip and it's like peering into the hidden side of relationships. The dirt and drama. Bliss and heartbreak.
By Gerry Thibeault12 days ago in BookClub
Poetry Talk. Top Story - October 2026.
Alison Prine I really don't know who Alison Prine is and gravitated to this poem of hers titled Yellow shortly after I wrote my poem with the same title. I have now idea where this poem has come from, only that I had found it on the internet and filed a screen shot of it.
By Gerry Thibeault20 days ago in BookClub
The Last Light on Maple Street
The first snow of December arrived without warning. By late afternoon, Maple Street had disappeared beneath a thick white blanket. Cars stood half-buried along the road, porch steps vanished beneath snowdrifts, and the branches of the old maple trees bent under the weight of the storm.
By GoldenSpeech21 days ago in BookClub
