The reality of Bolaño’s outlaw image, The Daily Beast gets into books, the Google books settlement’s collapse, Bill Murray’s support of poetry, and more.
At first, there was nothing to do but watch. For days, before the trucks arrived, before the work of clean-up, my brother sat on the stoop and watched.
The first run, from Tampa to McAllen to Greensboro, was a bit of a lark. Maria was living in Tampa, and she was bored. So when a friend, someone she knew to be a Mexican drug cartel–affiliated smuggler, appeared at her door with a business...
Somewhere in the post-Katrina wreckage and disarray of my grandmother’s house, there is a photograph of my brother Joe and me, our arms around each other’s shoulders. We are at a long-gone nightclub in Gulfport, the Terrace Lounge, standing...