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A Reading by Joyce Carol Oates
Monday, October 26, 2015
3:00 pm – 4:00 pm EDT/GMT-4
Olin Hall
 [A Reading by Joyce Carol Oates] The National Book Award winner, two-time Pulitzer nominee, and widely acclaimed fiction writer and essayist reads "Walking Wounded," an new, unpublished story specially commissioned for its world premiere at this event.

Introduced by Bradford Morrow and followed by a Q&A, this event is free and open to the public; no tickets or reservations required.

Praise for Lovely, Dark, Deep

“Oates, one of few writers who achieves excellence in both the novel and the short story, has more than two dozen story collections to her name and she continues to inject new, ambushing power into the form. Oates’ stories seethe and blaze.” —Booklist

“With every new book Oates proves anew that she is perhaps our greatest contemporary American writer.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune

Praise for Carthage

“Knotted, tense, digressive and brilliant.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Joyce Carol Oates has outdone herself.” —NPR

“Brilliant … amazing. A compassionate tenderness suffuses the final sections of the book, as palpable as the cold irony with which the book begins. It’s a breathtaking effect.” —Washington Post

Praise for Evil Eye: Four Novellas of Love Gone Wrong

“An extraordinarily vivid depiction of lives gone awry ... A creepy, macabre thrill from start to finish. Terrific stuff.” —Independent

“Oates at her best—spare, swift, beautifully observed and quietly lethal.”—Times

Contact: Micaela Morrissette, [email protected], 845-758-7054

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In Print

Vol. 82
Works & Days
Spring 2024
Bradford Morrow

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June 19, 2024
I am sorry for not writing sooner. To be completely frank, I was afraid of receiving a response and knowing for certain that you’re finished with me. I am very troubled by the way we’ve left things.
 
June 12, 2024
It took place in London at the end of the seventeenth century—a man was spending the evening at home, often thinking of a friend of his, a woman, who was very ill, worrying about her, hoping she would live, when there was a knock on the door, and she entered, looking fine, thriving, in fact, and sat down in a normal way and began a normal conversation, though she seemed a little more serious than usual until he began to cry, at which she continued quietly, discussing things of the soul, aspects of time, and he began to sob, and she continued speaking quietly, as he sobbed and sobbed, and when he finally looked up she was gone.
June 5, 2024
I’ll just speak for myself. This seems to be the best plan. When you try to speak on behalf of others you run into trouble. See? Already I has become you, but I cannot be you. But you can come along with me, at my side if you like, even if my walk is a bit awkward and you probably want to move more quickly over the terrain. Probably you wouldn’t say “terrain.” You would say ground or path or street. These choices don’t amount to a disagreement, just a different habit of mind. The mind’s terrain. Just now my mind’s terrain is a bit foggy, a bit dreary. It feels, inside of this fog, quite empty, as if, when the fog lifts, there will be nothing but an expanse uninflected by things to see or do, undisturbed by names and places, recollections and glimpses into other times and other places.