Lucy Ives

The “weak novel” declines to serve as bland entertainment.

Dodie Bellamy’s bereavement chronicles.

Passing by a local strip mall known, as if in confirmation of the longstanding fangless-ness of irony in the United States, as “Miracle Mile,” I’m sometimes compelled to pause. I’m at a light in my car, idling between the two major commercial and residential hubs in the ...

The social novel at the end of society

These names were like swear words, like drugs, like magnetized tokens in a game played by mildly sadistic immortals.