James Joyce
About ten years ago, when I was running a small record label in partnership with a publisher more interested in literary pursuits, he got himself into a lot of trouble for trying to publish a DVD with spoken word elements by James Joyce himself. It seems that his grandson had been viciously protecting the copyright, and understandably so. Still, this article may allow said former business partner to complete his project without the fear of being financially bludgeoned for his efforts.
Mark O’Connell of The New Yorker writes on the possibility of James Joyce’s copyright ending here.
I love posting this story yearly. I used to do it at old websites I used to run, and I thought it would be nice to continue the tradition here at Steinblóm.
The Gift of the Magi is American writer O. Henry’s masterpiece. Though Christmas is, obtensibly, about the celebration of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, it is, in many ways about the love and sacrifice we are called to give each other in His name. This story is one of the most touching examples of love I’ve ever had the pleasure to read, and it is my hope that it gives you some joy for the Christmas season.
Sam Anderson of the New York Times does a wonderful job profiling Japan’s most intriguing writer. His new book, 1Q84, is now available.
Happy Halloween, readers! In honor of the day, John J. Miller of National Review provides several great links to some timely ghost stories:
Brian Ruckley on The Edinburgh Dead
Mary Downing Hahn on The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall
Otto Penzler on The Vampire Archives
Joseph Pearce on Frankenstein
You also may want to check out the Ghostly Kirk site, full of Russell Kirk ghost stories!
It’s the pushing aside that I do.
To make way for my sins, my thoughts, my actions.
The folding up and the putting away of God – into a corner closet
To take out another day.
To unfold and shake out and wrap myself into
When it suits me
When I can no longer stand the cold.
Will the day come
When I’ve forgotten where I put God?
Which closet? Which shelf? Which corner?
And I’ll be alone, wrapping my arms
Around myself.
Shivering in the chill,
God, waiting for me to unfold Him,
Like a summer blanket
Faded and needing creases ironed out.
“Seek for Me and you will find Me
If you search for Me
With all your heart.”
I will not find God if I have pushed Him
Away in a corner closet
And I never even open that door
To look.