My novel Flicker in the Porthole Glass was published by MAMMOTH Books in 2002. The Review of Contemporary Fiction observed that, "...the achievement here is Desautels’s prose, an aural event both jagged and elegant, assaultive and inviting, that moves with the clipped, dangerous, urgent kinesis of hard bop jazz." Seven years down the road, I'm…
The novel is a form of prayer to the provisional gods we invent, having seen evidence of no other.
My novel Flicker in the Porthole Glass was published by MAMMOTH Books in 2002. The Review of Contemporary Fiction observed that, "...the achievement here is Desautels’s prose, an aural event both jagged and elegant, assaultive and inviting, that moves with the clipped, dangerous, urgent kinesis of hard bop jazz." Seven years down the road, I'm…
The extended summer we've been enjoying in southwest PeeYay finally seems to have burned itself out. Just two weeks ago the sun shone and we basked in lovely, sweaty, ninety-degree afternoons. But the shortening evenings laid bare our delusions of endless summer, and yesterday I froze my ass for five hours trying to play tournament…
In Swann's Way, the opening work of Marcel Proust's opus In Search of Lost Time, you will find the following oft-remarked-upon passage [2003 Viking edition, translation by Lydia Davis]: I would stop by the table, where the kitchen maid had just shelled them, to see the peas lined up and tallied like green marbles in…
Ed Desautels' Maximum Fiction 