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A Reading by Jay Cantor
1989 MacArthur Fellow Jay Cantor reads from his new book, Forgiving the Angel: Four Stories for Franz Kafka.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Campus Center, Weis Cinema
 [A Reading by Jay Cantor] Introduced by Bradford Morrow, this event is free and open to the public; no tickets or reservations required.

"These fluently empathic, mordantly ironic, and unflinching stories of love, dissent, torture, and sacrifice carry forward Kafka’s eviscerating vision and affirm Cantor’s standing as a virtuoso writer of conscience." —Booklist
 
“Forgiving the Angel links disparate time, places and characters in an ingeniously unified and admirably purposeful fiction. [In its] formal circularity, ethical ambiguity and scrupulous undecidability, Cantor’s fiction is a worthy homage to Kafka. It is also an original work that pulls our mind through the kind of biographical and historical contraption that Kafka would probably never have put together, would probably not, as a Jew in Czechoslovakia, have survived to put together.”—New York Times Book Review

“Four evocative, ambitious, and highly varied tales aim to bring Kafka back to us by showing that he never left. Instead, he haunts everyone and everything he touches … Cantor creates gripping stories around innumerable epistolary and biographical artifacts … Superb.” —Slate
 
“This fictional tribute to the life and work of Franz Kafka follows in the vein of Cantor’s previous works of fiction … all of which use familiar figures and true events as a springboard for offbeat and psychologically incisive storytelling. The four stories here center on real figures in Kafka’s life … The writer himself is a distant but powerful force in the stories, a Kafkaesque presence haunting his own legacy.” —New Yorker

JAY CANTOR is the author of three novels, The Death of Che Guevara, Krazy Kat, and Great Neck; and two books of essays, The Space Between and On Giving Birth to One’s Own Mother. He is the recipient of a 1989 MacArthur Fellowship, or "Genius Grant."

Contact: Micaela Morrissette, mmorriss@bard.edu, 845-758-7054

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In Print

Vol. 76
Fortieth Anniversary Issue
Spring 2021
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

October 20, 2021
Launch

codes, we stripped species,
            our insecure
hands of gloves
to crack the test           to our capitalizable
future. Pray
            for the multiverse I’m working on
at midnight.
October 13, 2021
Forgive us. We were waiting
here, in the thickening ice. We worked a long time. Now
we try to give what we found, a little basket
hiding behind each back, full of the young shoots.
They are so green. Mercifully green. We say so. Yes,
they are alive, we say. We, too. We are still sick.
October 6, 2021
Friday night, and you have done the unthinkable. You’ve taken your father’s Jackal Ghost bowling ball from its locked hard-shell case under your mother’s bed—the ball that looks like a purple and black version of the earth, a jackal’s head rising from the swirls—and gone to meet Teddy and Zeke and Evan and Marya, most importantly Marya, for a night of bowling, the game your dead father was obsessed with: the game that, according to your mother, ruins people.
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