Alex McCullough

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Notes on an Execu...
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by Danya Kukafka (Goodreads Author)
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The Best American...
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"(the nine-tailed fox explains - 3.5) the fragmented structure, like a bad soup, didn’t agree with me. but the concept is so good that i can’t give this less than 3 stars. i would’ve benefited from some contextual familiarity with chinese mythology before going in methinks" Apr 18, 2026 11:06AM

 
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Lorrie Moore
“And yet wasn't reality always cheesy and unreliable just like that; wasn't fate literal in exactly that way? He thinks of the severed, crossed fingers found perfectly survived in the wreckage of a local plane crash last year. Such fate was contrary and dense, like a dumb secretary, failing to understand the overall gestalt and desire of the wish. He prefers a deeper, cleverer, even tardy fate, like that of a girl he knew once in law school who, years before, had been raped, shot, and left for dead but then had crawled ten hours out of the woods to the highway with a .22 bullet in her head and flagged a car. That's when you knew that life was making something up to you, that the narrative was apologizing. That's when you knew God had glanced up from his knitting, perhaps even risen from his freaking wicker rocker, and staggered at last to the window to look.”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America: Stories

Lorrie Moore
“The simplest discussion—of doorjambs or gutters—made his blood move around his face and neck like a lava lamp.”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America: Stories

Lorrie Moore
“They haven't had a thing to say about it, these ducks, thinks Mack, haven't done a thing to deserve it, but there they are, God's lilies, year-round in a giant hotel, someone caring for them the rest of their lives. All the other birds of the world—the mange-hollowed hawks, the lordless hens, the dumb clucks—will live punishing, unblessed lives, winging it north, south, here, there, searching for a place of rest. But not these. Not these rich, lucky ducks! graced with rug and stairs, upstairs and down, roof to pool to penthouse, always steered, guided, welcomed toward those golden elevator doors like a heaven's mouth, and though it isn't really a heaven's mouth, it is maybe the lip of all there is.”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America: Stories

Lorrie Moore
“The Mother has begun to cry: all of life has led her here, to this moment. After this, there is no more life. There is something else, something stumbling and unlivable, something mechanical, something for robots, but not life. Life has been taken and broken, quickly, like a stick.”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America: Stories

Lorrie Moore
“She thought she could feel herself begin to depart with him, the two of them rising together, translucent as jellyfish, and release, flying until they reached a bright, bright spaceship—a set of teeth on fire in the dark—and, absorbed into the larger light, were taken aboard for home. "And what on earth was all that?" she could hear them both say merrily of their lives, as if their lives were now just odd, noisy, and distant, as in fact they were.”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America: Stories

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