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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, [email protected], 845-758-7054
http://www.rickmoodybooks.com/

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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.