Literary guts, literally

Harris Sockel writes with a defiant sense of wonder. He leaves behind arguments and agendas to marvel indiscriminately at iPhones, intestines, and human tenderness. In his world, technology has a soul and people are all too material, oozing and wet on the inside.

Reading his newest piece, “We Will Never Know What’s Inside Our Bodies,” feels like walking in on a stranger in the bathroom or watching someone you love have a seizure—it’s deeply uncomfortable and a little thrilling.