Being 4767 miles away from Manhattan, Moscow has had good reason to feel left out lately.
With all the hullabaloo about ‘oversharing‘, media blogs and New York culture, culminating in the appearance of sultry literary saloniste Emily Gould on the cover of the New York Times Magazine, this Blog has been forced to mantain a dignified, yet distinctly provincial, silence.
Frustrated, I had taken to neurotically refreshing the Gawker homepage several times a minute, scanning the New Republic's back section, and even reading the obligatory Keith Gessen paean to post-Harvard ennui, All the Sad Young Literary Men (stingingly reviewed here by the critic John Minervini)… in vain.
Not only did the travails of these achingly hip young literati have sorely little to do with my achingly loserish existence, they had even less to do with Russia!
Until now…
In the second issue of the new ‘it’ magazine, “Russia!”, Emily Gould tells all about a devastatingly ‘relevant’ phenomenon sweeping the US literary landscape: the RUSSIAN-AMERICAN WRITER.
Good writing on a very interesting subject with very little to fault it.
All of which still has painfully little to do with my own life, but at least I can now continue to enviously stalk these literary guys with the excuse that I’m just conducting research for future posts.