Rebecca West’s words keep coming back to me, like a refrain that I can’t shake. I first read her memoir, “A Train of Powder,” a few years ago, and since then, I’ve found myself returning to it again and again.…
Yasunari Kawabata’s writing has been a constant companion throughout my college years. I remember stumbling upon his short story, “The One-Armed Swordsman,” in a literature class and being struck by the quiet beauty of his prose. The way he described…
I’ve been reading about Alfred North Whitehead, and I’m stuck on his concept of “eternal objects.” It’s this idea that there are abstract entities that exist independently of the physical world, and they’re what give rise to the diversity we…
Isak Dinesen’s writing has been a constant companion for me over the past year, ever since I stumbled upon her stories and essays while rummaging through my mother’s old bookshelf. There was something about her words that resonated deeply with…
I’ve been fascinated by Jose Ortega y Gasset for months now, ever since I stumbled upon his essay “The Revolt of the Masses” while browsing through a used bookstore. There’s something about his writing that resonates with me, a sense…
Mary Beard. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, especially after finishing college. It’s funny how certain people seem to pop up at exactly the right (or wrong) moment in our lives. Maybe it’s because we’re all searching for…
Denis Johnson’s words have a way of getting stuck in my head, like a tune I can’t shake. It’s been years since I read “Jesus’ Son,” but the cadence of his prose still echoes through me. His writing is like…
Vera Brittain’s letters have been haunting me for weeks now, like a quiet echo that refuses to fade away. I first stumbled upon her name while browsing through a used bookstore, and something about the title “Testament of Youth” resonated…
I’ve always been fascinated by Geoffrey Chaucer, but not in a way that’s easy to explain. It’s like he’s hovering just out of reach, and I keep circling around him, trying to grasp what draws me in. As I reflect…
Martha Graham’s name has been floating around my mind since I first started dancing. It was during a particularly grueling ballet class, and our teacher kept referencing her as the “mother of modern dance.” At the time, I found it…
I’ll be honest, Wilhelm Reich’s name has always left me a bit uneasy. I stumbled upon him while researching for a writing project – his life and work are like a whirlpool that draws you in, but makes you feel…
Wallace Stevens. I find myself coming back to his poetry again and again, like a puzzle that refuses to be fully solved. It’s as if each time I think I’ve grasped one of his poems, it slips through my fingers,…
I first stumbled upon Svetlana Alexievich’s work while browsing through a used bookstore during my junior year of college. I was immediately drawn to the cover of “Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War,” her stark, black-and-white photograph of…
I’ve been reading Erich Auerbach’s work for a few weeks now, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around his ideas about literature and history. What keeps drawing me back is the way he talks about how texts can…
Nancy Cunard’s name has been lingering in my thoughts for a while now, ever since I stumbled upon her name in a book on the Lost Generation. Something about her story resonated with me – maybe it was the way…
I’ve been thinking a lot about Osip Mandelstam lately, and I’m not entirely sure why he’s stuck with me like this. Maybe it’s because his poetry is like nothing I’ve ever read before – raw, unflinching, and somehow still beautiful…
Emmy Noether’s name keeps popping up in my math textbooks, but she was more than just a formula or a theorem to me – at least, not until I started digging into her life. There’s something about the way she…
Jean Cocteau’s face haunts me, a mix of elegance and disquiet. I’ve been drawn to him for months now, but the more I learn about his life, the more complicated my fascination becomes. I think part of it is his…
Susan Glaspell’s name keeps popping up in my writing classes, and at first, I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. Another dead white woman writer who’s only notable for being married to someone famous – in this case, George…
I’ve been thinking a lot about Zbigniew Herbert lately, and I’m not entirely sure why he’s stuck with me like this. Maybe it’s because his poetry has a way of crawling under my skin and refusing to let go –…
