the Yale Literary Magazine

we publish original poetry, prose, and interviews twice a year at re-publish other things we like here.  

A new literary movement has struggled out of the muck, stretched its legs, and howled into the air. It’s called “eco-fabulism,” anointed by a panel at the 2014 AWP Conference (titled “Fabulist Fiction for a Hot Planet!”) and re-anointed (or extra-anointed?) by Matt Bell in an interview with Sonora Review. Eco-fabulism refers to a group of texts that explore, in one way or another, mankind’s destructive tendencies regarding nature—a literary movement that, unfortunately, seems unlikely to fade out anytime soon. I write “unfortunately” not because the texts—which include Ben Marcus’s The Flame Alphabet and Cormac McCarthy’s The Road—are bad, but because, given the intractable problems of global warming, eco-fabulism seems like a type of fiction that could reflect American society for a long, sad while.

People think of compassion as, like, kindness. The image comes to mind of some nice New Age guy bending to something with a look on his face like he’s about to cry. And I don’t think that’s it.

An interview with the inimitable George Saunders, author of Tenth of December, on humor, pathos, Chicago, his parents’ diner’s “crazies,” and being edited by his inner nun.
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Seven Prose Poems by Charles Simic

My father loved the strange books of André Breton. He’d raise the wine glass and toast those far-off evenings “when butterflies formed a single uncut ribbon.” Or we’d go out for a piss in the back alley and he’d say: “Here are some binoculars for blindfolded eyes.” We lived in a rundown tenement that smelled of old people and their pets.
         ”Hovering on the edge of the abyss, permeated with the perfume of the forbidden,” we’d take turns cutting the smoked sausage on the table. “I love America,” he’d tell us. We were going to make a million dollars manufacturing objects we had seen in dreams that night.


Bizarre - Perera Elsewhere