A Gatsby

A charming rich asshole in Burning got called a Gatsby. After I left the theater I went to the Dial and picked up a copy of Fitzgerald’s book. I’d read it in high school, then again in my early twenties and hated it both times. I didn’t understand the characters, why they did what they did, theContinue reading “A Gatsby”


I finished Linn Ullmann’s Unquiet a week or two ago, but it keeps following me around like a polite but persistent ghost. It’s a novel about an unnamed girl and her unnamed mother and father. But everyone knows it’s Liv Ullmann and Ingmar Bergman. By leaving them unnamed, Ullmann somehow manages to make them both particular andContinue reading “Unquiet”