Granta | Eaton Hamilton

09/20/2021

Memoir Monday features ‘Benzo Mama’

Memoir Monday‘s weekly newsletter and a quarterly reading series, brought to you by Narratively, The Rumpus, Catapult, Granta, Guernica, and Literary Hub. Each personal essay in this newsletter has been selected by the editors at the above publications as the best of the week, delivered to you all in one place.

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09/16/2018

“The Also Best American Anthology,” said Kerry Neville. The Notables:

Here are just a few of the 2018 Notable Essays from Best American Essays, with mine stuck on the end, by people I know. It’s an honour to be listed with them; these essayists are skilled and talented. Have a look at Best American Notable lists … you’ll be in good hands if you seek out any of the work. It’s a trustworthy source of recommended literature.

The Grammar of Untold Stories, Lois Ruskai Melina, Colorado Review

(…), Lia Woodall, Literal Latte

How Deep is Your Love? Alison Kinney, Lapham’s Quarterly

Beyond the Primordial Ooze, Dinty Moore, Issues in Science and Technology

Mates, Kelly Sundberg, Gulf Coast

Swan, Late, Irina Dumitrescu | Longreads

The Human Cost of the Ghost Economy, Melissa Chadburn, Longreads

Things I Never Told Her, Marion Ryan, Granta

Finding El Saez, Alia Voltz, Travel Stories

Rain Like Cotton, Jennifer Kabot, Bomb Magazine

Manifestus, Kerry Neville, Juxtaprose

A Life Story, Ashley P Taylor, Entropy

What We Aren’t, Or the Ongoing Divide, Jennifer N Baker, Kweli Journal

Skinning the Rabbit, Jane Eaton Hamilton, The Sun

03/26/2017

“Alice began to undress the past.”

Here, then, from 2011, Jeanette Winterson peeking in at the cows between Gertrude and Alice. How, precisely, did Gertrude bring Alice to her bovine pleasures? Did Gertrude, too, have cows, whether self-administered or Alice-administered? From what acts did cows materialize? How often did they find each other? Did sex wane over the years as Gertrude took lovers?

I traveled to Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris and after I had run my palm over the red kisses on Oscar Wilde’s grave I strolled around the corner to Gertrude’s grave, which seemed immense. I thought about fat corpses needing fat coffins needing wide graves, and I thought about how small the eventual skeleton would be underneath. I thought that when Alice, years later, was interred and recognized on the back of Gertrude’s gravestone, she could easily have fit, by then, into Gertrude’s box, with Gertrude, there to produce bubbles of heavenly cows for the rest of eternity.

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