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Shaun Randol

Rue de Paris, Temps de Pluie (1877) by Gustave Caillebotte

[Read part one of this dispatch here.]

I had intended on discovering the literary scene in the Caribbean with only a slight side trip for the briefest of philosophy discussions, but the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray when one encounters Frédéric Gros.

Shaun Randol

I found myself on a windy and rainy evening at the Westbeth Center for the Arts, a massive warren of beautiful apartments crammed full of writers, dancers, visual artists, actors, poets, and other artistic folks. For what the PEN World Voices Festival deemed a Literary Safari, several of these creative-types opened their apartments and hosted visiting writers in mini-salons, where the scribes read for fifteen minutes and answered questions for another fifteen, and then whoosh!

Shaun Randol

Paul Berman reads at PEN World Voices Festival's opening night as Salman Rushdie and Judith Butler look on (© Beowulf Sheehan/PEN American Center)

[Read part one of this dispatch.]

Shaun Randol

Salman Rushdie reads at PEN World Voices Festival's opening night (© Beowulf Sheehan/PEN American Center)

Yvette Granata

Emmanuel Iduma

Nguyễn Ngọc Loan executing Nguyễn Văn Lém on February 1, 1968 (Eddie Adams)

Bushra Rehman

Corona is a poetic on-the-road adventure comedy told by me, Razia Mirza, a Pakistani woman from Corona, Queens. When I was ex-communicated from my Muslim community, I hit the road thinking I could live like the Beats.

Ed Hancox

Cæmeron Crain

The Mantle is pleased to present the fourth in a series of important blog posts by Cæmeron Crain addressing critical concepts in contemporary political philosophy. Cæmeron's previous post explored the contours of life in what the philosopher Gilles Deleuze called a "Society of Control." In what follows, Cæmeron begins the difficult process of articulating a practice of resistance to the "diffuse matrix" of late-capitalist power. 

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Tim Fredrick

The world does not need another literary journal.

This might seem like an odd statement from someone who started a literary journal eighteen months ago. Perhaps I should add a “just” in that statement. The world does not need just another literary journal. It’s time for the literary journal to be more than just a book on a shelf or digital real estate on the Internet.

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