Peter Schmidt

“Grandma I’ve been writing in names that are missing, the ones I know, which is by no means all of them. That’s what happens, you see. First, there’s no need to write who they are, because everyone knows that’s Great-Aunt Sophia or Cousin Rudi, and then only some of us know, and already we’re asking, ‘Who’s that with Gertrude?’ and ‘I don’t remember this man with the little dog’, and you don’t realise how fast they’re disappearing from being remembered … Wilma It’s still an amazing thing to me, to know the faces of the dead! I can remember Grandpa Jakobovicz’s tobacco-stained whiskers, but his wife died giving birth to Poppa before there were photographs, so now no one knows what she looked like any more than if she’d been some kind of rumour. Grandma Everyone was mad to have a photograph when I was a girl, it was like a miracle and you had to go to a photographer’s to pose for him … wedding couples, soldiers in their first uniforms, children in front of painted scenery … and, always, women dressed up for the carnival ball, posing with a Greek pillar. Later, when we had a camera, there were too many pictures to keep in the album, holiday pictures with real scenery, swimming pictures, pictures of children in dirndl pinafores and lederhosen, like little Austrians. Here’s a couple waving goodbye from the train, but who are they? No idea! That’s why they’re waving goodbye. It’s like a second death, to lose your name in a family album.”
― Tom Stoppard, Leopoldstadt

“while we’re at it, please can Quaker Oats ban Ethan Frome from the curriculum altogether? It’s a snoozefest of repressed, milquetoast characters, all building up to the climax of—no joke—a toboggan ride. We should end on the Whartonian high of The Age of Innocence, which is probably the best novel set in New York City, ever. It’s about rich white people planning hits and takedowns at fancy balls like it’s The Godfather. Even though The Age of Innocence was written a hundred years ago, you just know that Edith Wharton knew what was up.”
― Patricia Park, Imposter Syndrome and Other Confessions of Alejandra Kim

“Before I continue with the scholarly account of tribalography, I want to tell you a Choctaw story. My tribe’s language has a mysterious prefix that, when combined with other words, represents a form of creation. It is nuk or nok, and it has to do with the power of speech, breath, and mind. Things with nok or nuk attached to them are so powerful they create. For instance, nukfokechi brings forth knowledge and inspiration. A teacher is a nukfoki, the beginning of action.”
― LeAnne Howe, Choctalking on Other Realities

“At some point early on I must have understood that all the great writers whom I so loved, all those white Europeans whose works I revered and hoped to emulate, I must have understood that they—either for reasons of my class, or gender, or mixed race, or for being a crass, shallow American—would have looked down on me. But I can’t remember this ever mattering to me. Now, in our brave new cultural world, I keep being told that it’s the only thing that should matter to me.”
― Sigrid Nunez, The Vulnerables