Henry Miller, Genet, Sade, Bataille are really important writers for me and I love them, but I feel often they don’t love me, you know? I feel I always have to wrap my head around...

Agnes always wanted to go out. Out was better than in. In was inside, in was interior, in was introspection.

Sometimes she is struck by how much she goes through life almost unconsciously. She is being swept along. She is a pale ghost.

What does she want to be? A green girl doesn’t like to consider this question. She is waiting around to be discovered just for being herself.

The Crack-Up” or Georges Bataille in Guilty for being drunken and totally wading in their own pathos, but Jean Rhys is too much of a victim.

And I *know* I wrote in the above that I hate biographies and reviews that focus on the psychological, surface detail, especially when they pertain to women writers, because I think it’s really about the...

confessional.” She has been referred to, several times, as the first blogger. Whereas her writing does not confess much – it is much more spiritual memoir than anything, or perhaps something akin to a mystic’s...

The green girl necessarily pines for the past, because the present is too uncomfortable to be present in and the future, unimaginable. The need to long, to desire that which she cannot have, that which...