aging
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The Amazing Disappearing Woman Writer
To refuse to disappear at mid-life—I am forty-two as of the writing of this essay—is perhaps the best rebellion a woman poet can make to the literary world and to the world at large.
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Writing on Old Age
For Slate, Laura Miller reviews the way old age is explored and rendered through literature, especially by those of old age themselves: The essays in Alive, Alive Oh! resolve in a stubbornly untidy fashion; Athill rejects the unspoken, oppressively conventional “wisdom”…
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When Does a Writer Grow Up?
The Atlantic examines adulthood and how we get there, including a close look at the life of a writer: Henry published his first book…when he was 31 years old, after 12 years of changing jobs and bouncing back and forth between…
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Whole Lotta (Middle-Aged) Love
The first time I saw Adam on television, on American Idol, past and present collided, as if psychedelic clothes, gnawed by moths, are suddenly rewoven, resurrected.
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Our Parents Get Their Own Genre
Baby Boomer-centric literature is the next big thing, declares The Telegraph. Just as YA literature deals with one of life’s major milestones, so does boomer literature as older adults come to terms with aging, retirement, and the final chapter of their…
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The Last Poem I Loved: “On Turning Ten” by Billy Collins
I wish I could tell my daughter to please don’t leave her world. To stay where she is as long as she can.
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The Pause That Does Not Refresh
You hear a lot about hot flashes, but hot flashes are the least of it, totally inconsequential in every way: you get as hot as a steam iron at odd moments – so what? The media would have you believe…
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Words Fail
Martha Bayne runs away with the circus and finds unexpected meaning in the effort required to achieve its gaudy display. “Can it really be escapism,” she asks, “if you’re working so hard?”
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Fall
We are always falling, all the time, under the sway of one another, in and out of love.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Out on the Coast
When he was five, six, seven, and eight, Max spent most of the summer thinking about the whale, sitting in his room with the shades drawn remembering the first visit and looking forward to the second, just before the new…

