The Blog

The Creative Process Interview with Hilary Mantel

By Mia Funk

Hilary Mantel is the two-time winner of the Man Booker Prize for her best-selling novels, Wolf Hall, and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies—an unprecedented achievement. The Royal Shakespeare Company recently adapted Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies for the stage to colossal critical acclaim and a BBC/Masterpiece six-part adaption of the novels.

The author of fourteen books, including A Place of Greater Safety, Beyond Black, and the memoir Giving up the Ghost, she is currently at work on the third instalment of the Thomas Cromwell Trilogy.

Mantel delivered this year’s Reith Lectures which will be broadcast this month on the BBC.

Harriet Levin Millan’s HOW FAST CAN YOU RUN

Nicole Banas

In 2000, the U.S. government granted political asylum to almost 4,000 unaccompanied minors from South Sudan. These so-called “lost boys” had survived deadly fighting between the Sudanese government and the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army during the country’s second civil war. Many had walked thousands of miles, seeking shelter in Ethiopia before being expelled back to Sudan or to refugee camps in Kenya. Some of these children saw their families killed in government-led attacks on their villages. They fled wild animals and survived days without ample food or water. Resettlement in the U.S. provided Sudanese refugees access to education, employment and valuable resources. It could not, however, ease the gravity of their loss.

I Don’t Blame You for Attempting Escape

Parke Haskell

I too did not ask for this skin.

But the land made, like a bug trapped
​beneath a glass, your breathless 

boundary.  Inside, insidious
fish dart and glitter, 

greedy appetite of the dumb—  

these envelopes of bodies
bursting. 

You deserve better
than to disappear  

into a vast and teeming
hunger.

We know our world.

 

Parke Haskelllives in LA, where she directs plays and writes poems.

 

Photo by Jeremy Bishop

Our Favorite Actress

Michael Judge

We are, in a public setting, comforted
by the lack of expectations 

until something awful happens,
an accident, someone choking 

on a peach pit, for example.
Or worse, something intentional 

but entirely unexpected, inappropriate,
the indiscriminate shooting of passengers 

on a train, for example. We get sleepy
in public. We fall asleep in the audience, 

lulled by the comfort of coughs,
laughter, the crowd breathing in and out. 

It all feels so civilized until
our favorite character, played 

by our favorite actress, falls
face-first into the orchestra pit. 

The show continues with no understudy.
Death grants us a private audience.

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