Lit-Link Round-up


I woke Friday morning to the news that Emily Rapp’s son, Ronan Louis, had died. Ronan had Tay-Sachs, but the “expected” nature of a death does nothing to soften a blow when someone is not yet even three-years-old. Emily’s dear friend, yoga teacher and writer Jennifer Pastiloff, wrote a piece for Ronan on Facebook that I asked to share with Rumpus readers and that serves as today’s Sunday essay. If you would like to help other families struggling under the blow of Tay-Sachs, please give to NTSAD here.

A Valentine’s Day love song of sorts to Regina Spektor, on The Weeklings.

17 Essential Essays by female writers that everyone should read.

A very good reason to endeavor never to be famous and then die early? So that Katie Roiphe can’t write about you on Slate. Actually, I jest. This piece, in which Roiphe points out that the “Daddy” in Sylvia Plath’s most notorious poem, might also refer to her mother seems…well, honestly, sensible on most levels. More to the point, “Daddy” probably did–and should–harken more than any one individual figure in Plath’s life, and take on both imaginative and archetypal proportions for both her and the poem’s generations of readers. I’m not sure why there is a firestorm of rage at Roiphe about this except in the sense that she perhaps miscasts this question as a binary when it’s more likely a question with multiple answers. Which is the nature of writing that survives beyond its author, generally speaking, anyway.

Guernica’s “Erotica” issue looks seriously kick ass.

Going to AWP? Well of course you’ll want to come play with The Rumpus. And there’s also this ridiculously awesome little thing I’m co-throwing, with James Greer of Guided by Voices playing music, and readings by Jillian Lauren, Rob Roberge, Joshua Mohr (whose new novel, Fight Song, dropped last week), Tyler McMahon and more.

Pablo Neruda is being exhumed to ascertain whether a medical practitioner may have given him a fatal injection. Yeah, I’m serious.  Check it out here.

And while we’re at it, this from Neruda:

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Wow. If we exhume him, will he give us some more? Or shouldn’t that have at least been his tariff to rest in peace?


Gina Frangello is the Sunday Editor of The Rumpus. She is also the Fiction Editor of The Nervous Breakdown and the co-founder and Executive Editor of Other Voices Books, an imprint of Dzanc Books. Her third book of fiction, A Life in Men, is forthcoming from Algonquin Books in February 2014. She is also the author Slut Lullabies (Emergency Press 2010) and My Sister's Continent (Chiasmus 2006). She lives in Chicago and can be found at More from this author →