I knew I was in trouble as soon as I finished reading Eka Kurniawan's "Beauty is a Wound". Even though I think I did not fully like the book, when asked about it, I could not bring myself to say so. It did not take long for me to realize that I was gently being... Continue Reading →
It does not happen much nowadays but I always like time travel. Twilight zones that leave you dazed mid-step and flit away before the heel hits the ground. It leaves you with a tantalizing whisper of evacuated presence. Elusive and probably all the more delicious because of its ephemeral quality. Diaphanous thoughts and gossamer emotions, resulting in unsettled individuals.... Continue Reading →
When I first came to New York, and if I am not careful even now, I had a tendency to walk looking upward. At stoplights my eyes are drawn to the topmost floors of the tall buildings lining Manhattan where angry NYPD helicopters flit to and fro, like huge metal dragonflies startled from their rooftop sunning sessions. I follow their... Continue Reading →
Every so often comes a book that makes you question your ability as a reader. Here I was happily turning pages when all of a sudden I dread to read another page. I could not fathom reading. It was bound to happen. I did manage to finish the book almost 3000 miles from home sitting in a harshly... Continue Reading →
One April afternoon, right after lunch, her husband announced that he wanted to leave her. From there Turin based Olga documents her descent into madness and rage at her abandonment. Or maybe its her abandonment of identity that she has accumulated over the years that she is talking about. A clawing away of mannerisms, skin, ego,... Continue Reading →
Never have I approached a subject so warily as this. I can review the book and not talk about Kashmir but that is cowardly. Cowering behind literature when opining about Kashmir is the shortest route out of controversy. Before proceeding further I can safely say that Malik Sajad's work, as a personalized account of life in Kashmir, is impactful. This is... Continue Reading →
http://www.refugee-run.org/ Exercises like the above beg the question, how far does one have to go before empathizing with a whole section of the world if they have to simulate a refugee run. I personally think it is demeaning and ostentatious. It is not so much the fact that the refugee has to rely on charity that is... Continue Reading →
I slump forward tiredly. I am losing my home. For many days now, even years maybe, I have felt unmoored with an unpleasant listlessness that I evade analyzing. It could be that I purposefully put off this soul-searching, much like a kid who saves his most favorite candy to eat the last. I am not sure. All I... Continue Reading →
I knew a girl who read Bukowski I knew a girl who read Bukowski. I knew a girl who read. I knew a girl. I knew. I. I did not know the girl who read Bukowski. A girl who smoked like a fish and drank like a chimney. All the words that litter papers and novelists that litter coffee shops are self conscious.... Continue Reading →
There are books that you are unsure about the beauty of while reading. But like the smell of coffee they stick to your clothes exuding a certain effect that affects others but leaves the wearer oblivious. Such I think is the effect "My Name is Red" had on me. I like to think I have an opinion... Continue Reading →
Impersonally Personal Stories.
my love affair with Russian literature
Pandora's Box for Art Lovers and Beauty Seekers
Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue is a lesfic author at amzn.to/36DFT2x. Sign-up for her newsletter at higginbothampublications.com
As I navigate through this life ...
Epic Literary Reviews & Insights
The Reluctant Book Worm 
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