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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winner, two-time Pulitzer nominee, and widely acclaimed fiction writer and essayist reads "Walking Wounded," an new, unpublished story specially commissioned for its world premiere at this event.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. 79
Onword
Fall 2022
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

November 30, 2022
Alice was actually a labeler and not a pickler. Still, she knew what Mr. H’s picklers did was nothing like her grandmother’s pickling, sweaty and stained and clouded by hot vinegar steam, shoveling already rotting vegetables into their boiling bath like some kind of unbelieving prayer. Everyone winced when eating what came out of her grandmother’s pickle jars. Mr. H’s were made of faceted clear glass, and the bobbing pickles inside were a bright, inviting candy-green. To look at one was to feel it snip crisply between your teeth, to set your mouth watering. Alice was midwife to that salivary burst. That was what she dressed up for. Today it mattered even more than usual.
November 23, 2022
I SAW ALL THE STRANGENESS IMMEDIATELY,

I saw it in this very particular slide of swell’s,
the sylphspun silk of the sylph, she sideways,
her garage is paradise in masque, her sweep
is saturn, szturn im sturm & string, install’d
in the area’s traverse. he follows that lucky
old sun, the gesture of her lining and loose
knot, and pulls herself through burns and a
dry wash and some soft lead. in discorporate
minerals, or in the sharing of the black sleek
sharing with the wild man in her soft shoes,
all over the panes of the various sworld and
out into the superhighway of bywater, hard
by marigny. to flow through one to another
indetermination, the posture of their brush
must be immaculate fray, all them, all they.
November 16, 2022
Day Book

One wants to grasp a latch.
The broken star, the cellophane.
One suffers if untethered from
the pain that brought a lock.
Across the way the husband tends his teeth.
The wife redresses, parted from her paper.
To emblemize, to separate the word
grief reaches. Grief reaches, unseduced.