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A Reading by Rick Moody
Monday, April 4, 2016
2:30 pm – 3:45 pm EDT/GMT-4
Campus Center, Weis Cinema
 [A Reading by Rick Moody] The celebrated author of Garden State, The Ice Storm, The Ring of Brightest Angels Around Heaven, Purple America, The Black Veil: A Memoir with Digressions, and other books reads from his new novel, Hotels of North America.

Introduced by Bradford Morrow and followed by a Q&A, the reading takes place at 2:30 p.m. in Weis Cinema, Bertelsmann Campus Center, and is free and open to the public; no tickets or reservations are required.

"Rick Moody is one of the most prodigiously talented writers in America." – Wall Street Journal

"Moody is a stylishly clever writer." —Time

"Rick Moody writes exquisite, word-smitten prose." —Elle

"Entertaining and often poignant, Rick Moody probes the limits of technology, consciousness, and language in the face of grief." – The New Yorker

"Moody’s powers of invention, his ease in his own prose, his ability to develop interesting characters — in short, his enormous gifts as a writer — are on full display." – New York Times Book Review
 

Contact: Micaela Morrissette, mmorriss@bard.edu, 845-758-7054
http://www.rickmoodybooks.com/

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In Print

Vol. 78
Fear Itself
Spring 2022
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

—Translated from Polish by Katarzyna Szuster-Tardi
June 29, 2022
Here, they combine the knowledge of choosing words with the art of touch. Before somebody utters soft fur, they keep their hands on a dog’s head for years.

From granaries, they dispense hunger, a spice that stimulates the sense of lack. The king trusts that absence is the saltpeter of things susceptible to nonexistence: what doesn’t keep in salt will be preserved in hunger. No myth can be cut like the fabric for a coat, the halves of which will be dragged through life. Thanks to the spice, the subjects of the kingdom don’t know stale love, only unfulfilled. The professed religion is apnea. All maturing is mutiny. Red fruit get a visit from hangmen.
June 22, 2022
No, that’s not it, that’s not how it happens, it’s—

—because I’m here, have been for years and years, in the backseat of the Oldsmobile 88, top down, wind enraged, tearing along some country road at night, Jackson drunk at the wheel, Ruthie by his—

—the world all quick nervous giggles and skinfizz, the whirled world, the world like leaves spinning in a crazy autumn gust, only it’s not autumn, no, that’s, it’s what, it’s—
June 15, 2022
THE SPEECH OF THE THIN KING’S MINDER

The thin king bound in the fiery hollow shook
The chain by which his left arm was suspended
And from a hatch that rattled open just

Above his right eye dropped a demon like
A glass-winged gerbil, who immediately
Began to stab the thin king’s pupil with

A dripping claw, and said, Forgive me, king,
For my unwilling violence. I bite
My paws off, but they grow back while I chew


So that I wonder while I’m chewing, Is
This still my paw I’m chewing, and, forgive
Me, king, but that thought helps me swallow.
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