Posts tagged emily carter

Dec 19
Our new and upcoming books are wonderful, but we also have a great and growing backlist. Once a month, we’ll show one of these books some love — and make buying it an even easier decision by offering it for a new low price.  For the rest of this month, you can take 30% off Emily Carter’s Glory Goes and Gets Some with discount code EMILY. 
Sometimes you’re in the mood to be comforted by a story of recovery and self-discovery that contains a lot of heartwarming aphorisms and Velveeta-grade cheese; this is not that book.  Emily Carter’s insistence on hard truth offers a different kind of consolation. Her narrator, Glory, survives a hellish “privileged” childhood, heroin addiction and abusive relationships. She sells her ass for drugs and betrays everyone she loves and contracts HIV. Then she gets clean and sober, and her life is just beginning — a new life with new problems, real and dramatic as any she faced before. It’s not bleak, but it’s also not phony. Carter’s universe contains no happy endings; neither does life. 
Read an excerpt:  the devastating story “Ask Amelio”
Read “On Glamour,” an essay about encountering this book as a young person and rereading it as a slightly older person, by Ruth Curry
Read “No Hierarchy of Pain,” about how ideas about class and privilege inform this book, by Sady Doyle
Read “What You Deserve,” about the logic of desire and regret that informs and misinforms all our decisions, by Miranda Popkey
but don’t forget to read the book! 

Our new and upcoming books are wonderful, but we also have a great and growing backlist. Once a month, we’ll show one of these books some love — and make buying it an even easier decision by offering it for a new low price.  For the rest of this month, you can take 30% off Emily Carter’s Glory Goes and Gets Some with discount code EMILY. 

Sometimes you’re in the mood to be comforted by a story of recovery and self-discovery that contains a lot of heartwarming aphorisms and Velveeta-grade cheese; this is not that book.  Emily Carter’s insistence on hard truth offers a different kind of consolation. Her narrator, Glory, survives a hellish “privileged” childhood, heroin addiction and abusive relationships. She sells her ass for drugs and betrays everyone she loves and contracts HIV. Then she gets clean and sober, and her life is just beginning — a new life with new problems, real and dramatic as any she faced before. It’s not bleak, but it’s also not phony. Carter’s universe contains no happy endings; neither does life. 

Read an excerpt:  the devastating story “Ask Amelio”

Read “On Glamour,” an essay about encountering this book as a young person and rereading it as a slightly older person, by Ruth Curry

Read “No Hierarchy of Pain,” about how ideas about class and privilege inform this book, by Sady Doyle

Read “What You Deserve,” about the logic of desire and regret that informs and misinforms all our decisions, by Miranda Popkey

but don’t forget to read the book


May 10

Jan 11
Marco Roth shared his questions from last night’s event with us.  If you weren’t able to attend but would like some reading group fodder, these are fascinating ways of looking at Emily Carter’s Glory Goes and Gets Some.  People who were there: weren’t her answers incredible? 
 * One of the great things about the collection is how you structure your stories often by playing off a term, acronym or diagnosis. You do great things with the scarlet letter A, but I’m thinking mostly of the story called “The Bride,” a condensed memoir in its own right, where you introduce us to “pwv”—person with a vagina—pwa—person with AIDS—“glamour girl,” “bride of Frankenstein,” “addict,” and “the compliant personality,” just to name a few. These terms are all imposed on you from the outside, and yet you manage to make them your own and make them meaningful—simultaneously an act of resistance and acceptance. Can you talk a bit about this process of acronym appropriation, how conscious you were that this is what you were doing as you were writing, or at what point you realized that the labels that professionals and peers put on you didn’t oblige your complete surrender and submission to those labels?
*Genre Fiction and psychoanalysis, “Dawn of the Dread”—the first radio story, WLUV, the enchantment of inanimate objects. A mixed blessing to have a relative as your interviewer, since I know that you’re an aficionada of Japanese horror and monster movies—I’d like you to read this passage on p. 70 and then talk a little about what drew you to horror films and then also a more difficult question about memoir writing and recalling childhood: do you find that certain sensations of childhood can only be recaptured and brought out on the page via allusions to what’s usually called “genre fiction”? Maybe another way to ask this is to suggest that as children we’re subject to fearful emotions whose objective correlatives we meet only later in the pages of genre fiction or on the movie screen.
* Following off of this, although you express what’s almost become a de rigeur disgust for and rejection of psychoanalysts, you and I both know that it’s not so easy to bury the corpse of the Freudian father, and once in psychoanalysis, even as a background to family life, it’s very hard to get out of it…So, here’s your chance to discuss about what you learned from psychoanalysis, has it helped you as a writer?

*Another thing that will surprise readers of “Glory” is how many of the stories are really about and from the point of view of other people who are not Glory. Men, especially. [Bad Boy Walking story and Zemecki’s Cat…and then a cast of memorialized ex-boyfriends, men met in bars, etc…] What led you to draw these portraits of down-and-out male loners, recovering addicts and perverts?
*You lived on the LES when it was still dangerous; you lived in Williamsburg in 1989, I think, before it was gentrified; you were punk from the beginning, Goth before people knew to call it that, you got tattoos when it was still seen as transgressive or lower class, how do you feel now when you see how what was a visceral and original style for you has become part of “fashion,” inoculated against transgression?
* What, if anything, would you change about this book, looking back on it ten years after publication? Are there things you’d add to it?
Perhaps particularly about HIV as it becomes not just “no longer a death sentence,” but also something that’s faded as a cultural signifier. You convey a sense of what it’s like to live with a chronic condition, but it seems to me that you can sometimes be almost decorous about the details of various side effects and opportunistic infections.  This might be a reflection of my own experience of living with a PWA who dealt with the disease at an obsessively micro-biological level, but I’m curious whether you felt that a certain degree of medical realism might be more than the average reader could be asked to bear.
* How would you distinguish the feminism in your work from your mother’s or from Katie’s. Is it important to you that readers understand your work as feminist? If not, why not?

Marco Roth shared his questions from last night’s event with us.  If you weren’t able to attend but would like some reading group fodder, these are fascinating ways of looking at Emily Carter’s Glory Goes and Gets Some.  People who were there: weren’t her answers incredible?

 * One of the great things about the collection is how you structure your stories often by playing off a term, acronym or diagnosis. You do great things with the scarlet letter A, but I’m thinking mostly of the story called “The Bride,” a condensed memoir in its own right, where you introduce us to “pwv”—person with a vagina—pwa—person with AIDS—“glamour girl,” “bride of Frankenstein,” “addict,” and “the compliant personality,” just to name a few. These terms are all imposed on you from the outside, and yet you manage to make them your own and make them meaningful—simultaneously an act of resistance and acceptance. Can you talk a bit about this process of acronym appropriation, how conscious you were that this is what you were doing as you were writing, or at what point you realized that the labels that professionals and peers put on you didn’t oblige your complete surrender and submission to those labels?

*Genre Fiction and psychoanalysis, “Dawn of the Dread”—the first radio story, WLUV, the enchantment of inanimate objects. A mixed blessing to have a relative as your interviewer, since I know that you’re an aficionada of Japanese horror and monster movies—I’d like you to read this passage on p. 70 and then talk a little about what drew you to horror films and then also a more difficult question about memoir writing and recalling childhood: do you find that certain sensations of childhood can only be recaptured and brought out on the page via allusions to what’s usually called “genre fiction”? Maybe another way to ask this is to suggest that as children we’re subject to fearful emotions whose objective correlatives we meet only later in the pages of genre fiction or on the movie screen.

* Following off of this, although you express what’s almost become a de rigeur disgust for and rejection of psychoanalysts, you and I both know that it’s not so easy to bury the corpse of the Freudian father, and once in psychoanalysis, even as a background to family life, it’s very hard to get out of it…So, here’s your chance to discuss about what you learned from psychoanalysis, has it helped you as a writer?

*Another thing that will surprise readers of “Glory” is how many of the stories are really about and from the point of view of other people who are not Glory. Men, especially. [Bad Boy Walking story and Zemecki’s Cat…and then a cast of memorialized ex-boyfriends, men met in bars, etc…] What led you to draw these portraits of down-and-out male loners, recovering addicts and perverts?

*You lived on the LES when it was still dangerous; you lived in Williamsburg in 1989, I think, before it was gentrified; you were punk from the beginning, Goth before people knew to call it that, you got tattoos when it was still seen as transgressive or lower class, how do you feel now when you see how what was a visceral and original style for you has become part of “fashion,” inoculated against transgression?

* What, if anything, would you change about this book, looking back on it ten years after publication? Are there things you’d add to it?

Perhaps particularly about HIV as it becomes not just “no longer a death sentence,” but also something that’s faded as a cultural signifier. You convey a sense of what it’s like to live with a chronic condition, but it seems to me that you can sometimes be almost decorous about the details of various side effects and opportunistic infections.  This might be a reflection of my own experience of living with a PWA who dealt with the disease at an obsessively micro-biological level, but I’m curious whether you felt that a certain degree of medical realism might be more than the average reader could be asked to bear.

* How would you distinguish the feminism in your work from your mother’s or from Katie’s. Is it important to you that readers understand your work as feminist? If not, why not?


Jan 2

Getting Rid of Some

by Zan Romanoff

J was a curly-haired sophomore who drove what we called the party car: whenever he showed up he would unload an enormous duffel bag of hookahs and weed and terrible alcohol, for some reason usually electric blue bottles of Alizé. There were other drugs, too, but I didn’t partake so I couldn’t tell you what all he provided. It was never clear to me where it all came from, how my prep school classmates scored their ‘shrooms, E, coke and meth, or who met the actual drug dealers so that my friends could distribute in the parking lot before first period.

J’s parents found out about his habits and the company he was keeping and sent him off to boot camp rehab out in Utah, which sounded like it was as much a scared straight punishment program as it was treatment for any actual substance abuse issues.

After J went other classmates peeled away in short order, five or ten more pulled from class mid-week, leaving us with rumor and speculation: he was in the psych ward at UCLA before they would let him get on a plane; she was doing heroin in her bedroom by the time her parents figured it out. These rumors ought to have served as cautionary tales, but seventeen year olds experimenting with hard drugs are not exactly looking for the lesson in things. It seemed like every time one of them went, those who remained would redouble their efforts, hellbent on proving to everyone just how untouchable they were.

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The Same Situation

By Sari Botton

I got a nice email from Emily (Gould) the other day about my conversation with Emily Carter, published as part of a series I write for The Rumpus. She said she wished the piece had been longer, and I immediately regretted two choices I had made.

            The first was not pursuing further with Carter the subject of addiction to male approval and attention. We touched on it briefly at the beginning of our talk.

I told her that when I read the opening lines of “The Bride,” – “It may seem, by now, that males have always had incredible power over me, even more than over the average PWV, which stands for Person With A Vagina, the first of many acronyms in an initial-cluttered life.” – I wanted to both laugh and cry (urges that continued throughout the piece, and the rest of the collection). This has been the “Red Thread” running through my history, too, this feeling that without boys’/men’s love, “I had no power.” Of course, that is not vaguely original. This illness, while hopefully curable, is pretty much epidemic in our culture.

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What Glory Gets

by Alice Gregory

As the title suggests, Glory “gets” things. She gets more punishments than prizes, though, and together her list of experiential acquisitions is long: She gets expelled from all the good schools in New York City. She gets thrown out of CBGB (literally). She gets “dope-sick.” She gets fucked in the ass by guys whose last names she doesn’t know. She gets HIV. She gets sent to rehab in Minnesota. She gets sober. She gets married.

It’s only those last three events—and only in retrospect— that lend Glory’s life any appearance of ascent, and even those come with a lot of caveats. Glory Goes and Gets Some is, I guess, a success story, but it’s hardly redemptive.

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Dec 25

Elisa A. on Glory B.

a little appreciation from Elisa Albert

These stories have the self-satisfied fierce unflinching ha-ha-ha-oh-I’m-going-to-kill-myself quality of having been written very, very late at night, probably almost dawn.   Glory in all her hilarious bleak alcoholic junkie glory is unsustainable, of course, even if she is a crazy fucking joy to read, so the bulk of the book is like a rough come down, this infinitely challenging detox parallel.  Which is as it should be, yes, sure, no question.  And yet.  That fucked up girl prowling neighborhoods her great-grandfather worked his whole life to get his family out of, well.  If a more luminous shameless wretched delight exists in literature, I haven’t met her.

Anyway, she survives, she recovers, she is worse for the wear, and she endures.  There is actual redemption in this book.  Actual redemption, people!  Come and get it!  Weird redemption.  Redemption so complex and sad it might not even seem much like redemption at all.  But oh-ho, believe it. 

She’s a special one, our Glory B.  A seer.  She’s like the love child of Elliott Smith and Kristin Hersh but brasher, untouchable.  Nick Flynn’s twisted sister.  It’s like Bob Dylan sang to me this morning: “She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back.  She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back.  She can take the dark out of the nighttime and… paint the daytime black.”  

God, it’s so much more difficult to talk about something I love, something precious and valuable.  Absurdly hard.  Shit I hate, I could go on all day (ask me about obstetrics!).  But awed and inspired, words fail.  Hey, this is the best book ever, seriously, you have to read it, you’ll be so happy, it’s so good, if you care about anything at all just read it we can shake our heads at each other and say nothing, okay?

buy it here


Dec 22

No Hierarchy of Pain

by Sady Doyle

Emily Carter spends a lot of time, in Glory Goes and Gets Some, playing with ideas about who has the right to pain. I suspect that inside many of us there’s a voice that says me, I’m the one with the problems, pay attention to me, along with a conviction that we will lose out if we’re not the saddest person in the room.  Carter actually invites you to do this. She pushes your buttons, pisses you off, gets you to actively dislike her protagonist Glory until finally she turns around and slaps you full force with what Glory’s been through.  

Glory is holding a good hand in this particular game. She’s been beaten by her first husband, been addicted to several controlled and uncontrolled substances, been fucked cruelly to pay for them, been diagnosed with HIV, been put through rehab, and has lost New York and an “intellectual” family and a punk rock lifestyle, in favor of a recovery-centric existence in the Midwest. These are serious problems. If you were foolish enough to get into a competition with Glory, over who had the most serious problems, you might lose.

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Dec 21

What You Deserve

by Miranda Popkey

I didn’t expect to recognize myself in a short story collection that centers on an HIV-positive ex-heroin addict who moves to Minnesota to get her body clean and her life in order. I own a lot of skirts that hit below the knee and the only thing I’ve ever really been addicted to is other people’s approval.

Emily Carter knows what it’s like, whatever “it” is. She knows the sweet seduction of willed failure, the feeling that makes you want to “go have a drink, or  … eat an entire Philadelphia cheesecake, which will make it impossible to think about anything but [your] intestines for the next three hours,” immediately after meeting someone accomplished. She knows that “There is no man anywhere so psychotic, so drunk, so evil, so helpless, so brutal, indifferent, or even just annoying that some woman somewhere won’t keep him warm even if she freezes to death doing it, just for a chance to wipe away the invisible tears she thinks she sees on his face, like clear ice on a cold windowpane.” She knows that this is especially true if other people are helpfully pointing out that there are, really, no tears. Glory says, “But I didn’t want to get what I deserved. Who does?”

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“It’s a ruthless business. And there isn’t much you can do to make that  easier for people, especially if it’s somebody who really has a  resistance against it. But I’d say you can stick to your guns about your  intention, and say it’s not to expose or hurt or offend, but to tell  and to explain. Because, if you believe your story will connect with  other people, that it’s a story worth telling, you have to tell it.”
Sari Botton’s interview with Emily Carter is up at The Rumpus

“It’s a ruthless business. And there isn’t much you can do to make that easier for people, especially if it’s somebody who really has a resistance against it. But I’d say you can stick to your guns about your intention, and say it’s not to expose or hurt or offend, but to tell and to explain. Because, if you believe your story will connect with other people, that it’s a story worth telling, you have to tell it.”

Sari Botton’s interview with Emily Carter is up at The Rumpus


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