Emily Temple, over at Literary Hub, takes readers on a tour of 35 different bars and cafes where libations were sipped by writers and literary luminaries. I personally am not a fan of writing anywhere other than my desk. I’ve tried working in coffee shops, but I just can’t relax – let alone write. I feel exposed, like a deer eating its way through a prize-winning garden right in front of the owner’s sliding glass door. I’m going to be spotted any moment! Of course, the people on this list weren’t actually writing in these cafes. They were drinking and procrastinating, something I that I have done in a cafe. So me and…
In a short piece over at the Paris Review, Susanna Forrest attempts to discover who Selika was. Working with nothing more than six pictures which turned up on Tumblr in 2012, Susanna tries to find something, anything about this enigmatic, tragic figure. This much I do know: she was a black amazone in Belle Epoque Paris, a city where black “Amazons” were shown in a human zoo; she was a celebrity who left no other trace than these six tokens of her celebrity; she was a horsewoman without a horse, a power hinted at but not granted. The whole thing is well worth a read.