Posts Tagged: Alana Massey

What to Read When: A Holiday Book-Gifting Guide

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Rumpus editors share their favorite books to gift to friends and family, from recent 2017 releases to longtime literary loves. ...more

Allowing a Female to Own Her Genius: Talking with Alana Massey

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Alana Massey discusses her debut collection, All the Lives I Want, the best piece of writing advice she's ever received, and acknowledging the work that women do. ...more

What to Read When You Want to Avoid the News

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From drugs to celebrities to murder to just plain good writing, here are five books that offer us a brief respite from the onslaught of terrifying news. ...more

Notable NYC: 2/4–2/10

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Saturday 2/4: John Domini and Carole Firstman celebrate releases from Dzanc Books. KGB Bar, 7 p.m., free.

Cecilia Corrigan and Wendy Trevino join the Segue Series. Zinc Bar, 4:30 p.m., $5.

Sunday 2/5: Chelsea Hodson, Gregory Zorko, Sarah Jean Grimm, Liz Bowen, Georgia Faust, and Amanda Dissinger read poetry.

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Friendless Female Sex Workers

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Not only are these characters destined to die in the cautionary tales and to endure marriages to self-congratulatory men in the redemptions tales, they don’t even have anyone to miss them when they succumb to these fates

At Hazlitt, Alana Massey writes about the baseless trope in films of the depraved and friendless female sex worker needing to be saved by a strong male client, and the poisonous quality it has in an age after movies like Magic Mike and My Own Private Idaho have told the stories of male sex workers in supportive and communal ways.

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Sontag Syndrome

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Over at Hazlitt, Alana Massey walks us through the anxiety that so often accompanies reading great thinkers, laying bare her own insecurities at the altar of famed writer and critic, Susan Sontag. When she finally does sit down to read the writer she had so carefully side-stepped, her worst fears are confirmed, and she is confronted—as so many of us will be—with the intense volume of all that she does not know:

But the devastation of learning that one’s work is unoriginal is not nearly as painful as watching the circumference of the gap in one’s knowledge expand outward from a single piece of missing literature to the limitless, insurmountable pile of works yet unread.

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