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The Prague Sonata
A Conversation with Bradford Morrow and Mary Caponegro
Monday, October 2, 2017
4:45 pm EST/GMT-5
Campus Center, Weis Cinema
 [The Prague Sonata] Monday, October 2nd, at 4:45 p.m. in Weis Cinema, Bertelsmann Campus Center, Bradford Morrow presents a reading from his brand-new novel, The Prague Sonata. Hailed as "an elegant foray into music and memory" (Kirkus Reviews), the novel revolves around an unsolved eighteenth-century musical mystery that transports readers between Nazi-occupied Prague and turn-of-the-millennium New York. This event also features Morrow in conversation with Richard B. Fisher Family Professor in Literature and Writing at Bard, Mary Caponegro.

Bard Center Fellow, Conjunctions editor, novelist, and Bard literature professor, Morrow is the author of novels including Trinity Fields, The Forgers, and The Almanac Branch. His many awards and honors include a Guggenheim Fellowship in fiction, O. Henry and Pushcart prizes for his short stories, an Academy Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the PEN/Nora Magid Award for excellence in editing a literary journal. 

Mary Caponegro has authored numerous short story collections including All Fall Down, The Complexities of Intimacy, The Star Café, and Five Doubts. Among her accolades are the General Electric Foundation Award for Younger Writers, the Rome Prize Fellowship in Literature from American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, and the Bruno Arcudi Award.

Refreshments will be served. Oblong Books will offer copies of The Prague Sonata for sale.

Contact: Corinna Cape, writtenarts@bard.edu, 845-758-6822 x4454

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In Print

Vol. 75
Dispatches from Solitude
Fall 2020
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

November 25, 2020
The smell was profound, suffocating, singular. My skin and clothes stank until I washed them; I had to stop at a gas station and wet my shoes under a faucet and scrub them with disintegrating Kleenex because the smell hung so potently in my car. It was dead fish and bird droppings and the bottom edge of a body of water, brought to the light and baked too hot. I once visited a blooming corpse flower at the Huntington and it smelled alive, at least. This was death of a hundred kinds braided together.
November 18, 2020
Where there is no fact, there can be no consolation. 

We chose to be plural in the presumed grace of what

is presumed to be moving in the dark. 
November 11, 2020
You, Shtuli, went to a school and sang a few songs.
            The children, with skybright eyes, listened rapt, their mouths hanging moistly open.

Strumming my balalaika, I, Shtuli, sang.

Shtuli, you asked Asfalyi, your child, to come to a noisejazz concert with you.
            “I’d rather stay home and read my grimoire tonight, to be honest, Boombi,” Asfalyi said.
            “That’s all right,” you gloomily said. “I’ll go by myself.”
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