I am still digesting Inferno, Eileen Myles’ autobiographical novel, which I’m glad I got (in e-book format) from Emily Books. It was different from any other book I’ve read - a totally punk approach to narrative, which I found interesting, and which I enjoyed in some sections more than others. Some of it was very jumbly, and felt more to me like reading through someone’s scrap book, in a dream. The parts detailing her life in the East Village were especially evocative, and made me ache for my life there. It’s been six years since we lost our apartment and moved upstate, and I know the neighborhood is not at all the same place it was when I lived there. So it’s not as if I really could even go back if I wanted. But sometimes I really wish I could. This passage reminds me of when I was moving out of one apartment and into the next, and left a bunch of books behind. I wasn’t going to have as much room for books in the next place. I got tired of dragging books to the Strand to sell them. And I got tired of packing. So I just left some - in the apartment, in the stairwell, on the stoop. As I was walking away, I heard someone shout to someone else, “There’s all these free books over there!” I made someone happy. This photo is basically of what was the back yard to the last place I lived. Seeing it makes me nostalgic for even the shitty times there.  emilybooks: “When I finally moved into an apartment in the East Village where I lived for the rest of my life there was already a whole pile of stapled books on the floor.  I didn’t even know to call them books yet but they were.  They had light cardboard covers with bad drawings on them, stapled together.  The windows of this apartment were filled with sumac trees and it was marvelous.  Those books were waiting for me in there like a gift.” — Eileen Myles, Inferno BUY IT HERE

I am still digesting Inferno, Eileen Myles’ autobiographical novel, which I’m glad I got (in e-book format) from Emily Books. It was different from any other book I’ve read - a totally punk approach to narrative, which I found interesting, and which I enjoyed in some sections more than others. Some of it was very jumbly, and felt more to me like reading through someone’s scrap book, in a dream.

The parts detailing her life in the East Village were especially evocative, and made me ache for my life there. It’s been six years since we lost our apartment and moved upstate, and I know the neighborhood is not at all the same place it was when I lived there. So it’s not as if I really could even go back if I wanted. But sometimes I really wish I could.

This passage reminds me of when I was moving out of one apartment and into the next, and left a bunch of books behind. I wasn’t going to have as much room for books in the next place. I got tired of dragging books to the Strand to sell them. And I got tired of packing. So I just left some - in the apartment, in the stairwell, on the stoop. As I was walking away, I heard someone shout to someone else, “There’s all these free books over there!” I made someone happy.

This photo is basically of what was the back yard to the last place I lived. Seeing it makes me nostalgic for even the shitty times there. 

emilybooks:

“When I finally moved into an apartment in the East Village where I lived for the rest of my life there was already a whole pile of stapled books on the floor.  I didn’t even know to call them books yet but they were.  They had light cardboard covers with bad drawings on them, stapled together.  The windows of this apartment were filled with sumac trees and it was marvelous.  Those books were waiting for me in there like a gift.”
— Eileen Myles, Inferno

BUY IT HERE