Ian Ross Singleton

Ian Ross Singleton

Writer – Teacher – Беллетрист – Kritzler – Sub Sub Sub Librarian – PS3619.I64
  • About Ian Ross Singleton
  • A Reading List
  • The Blizzard
  • The Lost Soul Boys
  • Two Big Differences (A Novel Query)

Ian Ross Singleton

Posts

  • “I’m Sure You Understand” 10 January 2021
  • Transferred Nationalism (Orwell) 12 September 2020
  • She Wanted Her Words to be Her Own 5 September 2020
  • Husbanding Cyanide 19 August 2020
  • Cleansed of the Dross of Speech 14 August 2020
  • Чёртова баба! 8 August 2020
  • Silly Stories by Chekhov 25 July 2020
  • Happy Holiday 19 June 2020
  • My Fear 2 June 2020
  • Damn. (Spring) 1 June 2020
Older Posts

Fiction

  • *Odessitka* (excerpt) (Cardinal Points)
  • First Time (New Madrid) “It was like looking into a mirror. She was surprised A.J. could still appear so innocent, when she saw the live-motion portrait of him on the television more than a year later. She had seen that primed glance, like the ting off the tip of a fang…”
  • Her Pictures of the South (Fiddleblack) “Lynn’s first photographs of him, taken in a diner unawares, reveal a sneering figure surrounded by a gang of boys hunkered in a booth, devouring sopping fries, wearing a stressed leather jacket and threadbare jeans, pouncing in his seat…”
  • Michigan Central (Digital Americana) “I was only nineteen, alone, out of money, and ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was striking up. When he cracked the seal on a pint of Mohawk vodka and offered, I threw back…”
  • Sweetgum (Fiddleblack) “The sun’s just gone under, the livid pallor of all the surface, save the sweetgum, sucks at me. My neck snaps, I twitch. I shut my window and ride on. The empty fields course and whisper past, the earth rolling over on her shoulder from me…”
  • The Lost Soul Boys (Prick of the Spindle) “At school, we have to tuck our shirts in, remove any piercings. We have to buzzcut our hair. They confiscated my skull rings, my spike bracelet, and my handcuff belt. My head aches from the fluorescent light, my butt from the welded jailhouse desks…”

Fiction Writers Review

  • An Interview with Laura Thomas
  • Apollo In The Grass by Aleksandr Kushner
  • Betrayal
  • Black Holes and Blue Windows
  • Dystopias Future and Past
  • Irony is the New Chastity: An Interview with Charles Baxter
  • Little Histories in Svetlana Alexievich's Secondhand Time
  • Of Translation and Politics in Russian Literature
  • The Translingual Novel
  • The Value of Naïveté: Shishkin’s Maidenhair in Russian and English

Los Angeles Review of Books

  • "Go Home and Keep Going: A Review of Immigrant City by David Bezmozgis" (LA Review of Books)
  • "I'm Sure You Understand": On Pavel Lembersky’s “The Death of Samusis, and Other Stories”
  • "Never Too Soon: a Conversation With Leland Cheuk" (LA Review of Books)

Nonfiction

  • A Prize Muzhik Shirt
  • Gryphon by Charles Baxter, Old and Cold by Jim Nisbet (Word Riot)
  • Interview with Ian Singleton (David Alan Binder)
  • Interview with Ian Singleton (Fringe)
  • Résumé Against Boredom, Occupy the Ports (Fringe)
  • Shirley Jackson : the Library of America Anthology (Ploughshares)

Other Websites

  • Poets and Writers

Poetry

  • Breaking Ice (Dr. Hurley's Snake Oil Cure)
  • The Villainy of Hamlet (The Toucan)

Translation

  • "Janiculum" by Marina Eskina (The Wax Paper) “The hill’s shadow covers the sandy eternal city like the tide,/ as if time wants to wipe itself out, level off its depth./ Sun melts his back, yet the victor stands astride./ It’s our turn to decide: Rome or death…”
  • A Letter from Zürau by Marina Eskina (Asymptote) “Dreams about mice bode despair. The horde buries/ the cat, then envelops the horse from head to hoof,/ and the rider gallops astride mice…”
  • How We Buried You I Don’t Remember (To Father) by Marina Eskina (Cardinal Points) “Sorry that, on the way home/ from the burial, I probably counted crows./ How we buried you I don’t remember…”
  • The Prose of Life by Marina Eskina (Cardinal Points) As for the prose of life, just let it be,/ whether and what for it’s got poetry,/ and what string, other than the one you pluck,/ resonates with the wail of ambulance or fire truck…

Categories

Tags

Beckett Bezmozgis Brecht Cambridge Writers' Workshop Character Character Development Characters Charles Baxter Chechnya Coetzee Denis Johnson Dovlatov Edward P. Jones Empathy Eudora Welty Eugene O'Neill Eugenides Fiction Fiction vs Nonfiction Fiction Writers Review Gabriel García Márquez George Saunders Godot Imagination intertext Isaak Babel Jim Shepard kafka Korczak Love in the Time of Cholera Maggie Shipstead Maidan Maidenhair Martin Esslin Masha Gessen Mattison Mikhail Shishkin naivete Odessa Palestine Pinter Prilepin Pussy Riot Russian literature Russian novel Solzhenitsyn Steven Schwartz Theater of the Absurd Theroux Tolstoy Tom Paine torture porn Translation Ukraine Visual Verse War and Peace Zionism Бабель Венерин волос Война и мир Довлатов Катаев Киев Лермонтов Лимонов Майдан Одесса Прилепин Тольстой Украина Чехов Шишкин Юрий Олеша остранение русский

Ian Ross Singleton (Twitter)

  • RT @MOREcaucusUFT: 267 school buildings are closed tomorrow cuz of #COVID19 cases. That's it. That's the tweet. 1/3: 130 1/4: 138 1/5: 13… 5 days ago
  • RT @PaulCogan: Hitler was found guilty of treason and sentenced to five years in prison after the Beer Hall Putsch. He served nine months b… 5 days ago
  • @CUNYResearch @LAReviewofBooks @BaruchCollege @CityTechLibrary Thank you! 5 days ago
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