Instead of posting three times, here are three different things wrapped up in one neat little post.
1. Charles Stross is being bitchy about my review. You can find said review here.
2. A new volume of Elizabeth Bishop’s letter’s is out. It’s called Elizabeth Bishop and the New Yorker: The Complete Correspondence, and it’s edited by Joelle Biele. I ordered it last week. Here is a snippet from a review in the NY Times.
Over the next four decades, until her death in 1979, Bishop would publish nearly all of her best poems — fastidious, plainspoken, uniquely potent — in The New Yorker. She helped define what a New Yorker poem, in the best sense of that phrase, was. She was their gold standard. In turn the magazine helped define her. Bishop surely agreed with the poet Karl Shapiro, who viewed The New Yorker at midcentury as “one of the few places where a poet can be in the right company and get a proper reward and audience all at once.” But she also sniped at the magazine, which rejected her more intimate and experimental work and which vexed her in myriad other ways. One of the pleasures of “Elizabeth Bishop and The New Yorker,” a new collection of her correspondence with that magazine’s poetry editors, is snooping around in the excellent footnotes and front matter for the wicked comments she made behind the magazine’s back.
3. There’s a new X-Men movie about to be released. Below’s the trailer. Don’t ask me why they’re wearing New X-Men style uniforms. Don’t. With the X-Men movies it’s always better to not ask.
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