Scrolling through my Facebook feed, I feel poisoned: the figments are both overwrought and vacant. I want to know what my friends are feeling but would prefer a conversation over a café crème or good bottle of wine. Why status updates and short videos instead of living in the moment? Obviously a traitor to my generation, I recently marooned myself in Europe for a short time. While strolling through Shakespeare & Co., I bought a fitting souvenir: a copy of Granta 140: The Mind (The Magazine of New Writing), the summer 2017 edition of the journal for up-and-coming writers. In white lettering across the cover, the title of this edition, "State of Mind," contrasts sharply with the black background and a vaguely Egyptian figurine

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Ernest Hemingway wrote and rewrote A Moveable Feast, the memoir of his impoverished years as a young writer in Paris, but was never satisfied. He could not decide on a title, or an ending, or which chapters to include or reject. In the end, he did not decide any of this. His editors (first his fourth wife and then, in a later edition, his grandson) chose for him posthumously. This is the version of A Moveable Feast we read today: a pieced together memoir Hemingway himself never finished. Yet, the fragments lend humanity to a literary legend, bringing author and reader closer together. A Moveable Feast is a jaunt through the St. Germaine district of Paris. As he drinks at bars, writes and dines in cafes,

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The Internet Will Eat the World I installed my first computer in my bedroom when I was nine. What a machine! This box ran Windows 95, which meant I could play games, and it had a modem, which meant I could email my best friend across the country and browse usenet groups. Then came this great software called Netscape that opened an entire world: pages on any topic I could dream of. My bedroom transformed into a library, making my world much larger than a rural Maine town. Opportunities seemed infinite. Since those days, few things have made me so excited that I've lost sleep and forgotten to eat. All, though, have been related to this decentralized, world-opening, business-eating thing called the Internet. Fast forward to

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In the first sentence of what turns into an uncommonly poignant and funny book, Nathaniel Barber dives headlong into a familiar topic: the interview for the job your don't want. We've all been there, sitting across from our future boss, being talked out of a position we never really wanted anyway. We all come to the same conclusion: My team would be cordial, for a day or two. But they'd eventually come to believe, as a district implant, I'd stolen their rightful path to middle management. He passes on the job and gets a new one. Unfortunately for Barber, as he walks to work on his first day, a man in a window somewhere above pisses on him. This, we learn, is just his luck. What

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This week I realized two things: 1) there are two people in this world I will assemble furniture for; and 2) there are two people in this world who could convince me to read young adult fiction. They happen to be the same two people: my stepdaughters. Both of their bedrooms were remodeled this week and in the hours spent assembling desks, dressers, and chairs, I had time to think through why I dislike certain book genres. In particular, I refuse to read young adult fiction. I'll readily admit that I am a genre snob. Unlike many book reviewers who will read anything and everything, I'm not drawn to books because they are books. Some are just not worth my time and I draw a line

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