This Thursday I am going to be interviewing Mary Gaitskill at her home in Red Hook. Because mail seems to mysteriously vanish before it gets to my hands (my Juliana Hatfield Cd and book also never made it to my door) I have not yet gotten her new collection of short stories so I am fretting that it might not get to me in time. I'm nervous, because not only is Gaitskill one of my favorite writers, she is also the subject of my MA thesis (which I finally finished last week.)
I was thinking today as I walked through cold, austere Prospect Park that perhaps what made me connect so much to her work during my late teens--early twenties is the fact that she has always written on the darkness and trauma that seems to be inherent in sexuality, something that I was always aware of growing up.
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