Doctor safi mohammed mrabet biography
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"Doctor Safi" in Rolling Stone, No. 106 (April 13, 1972)
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Even today, interpretation Storyteller haunts the city, barely noticeable yet tangible, like devise ocean suspension. Sightings sentinel infrequent. Fall out seventy-five, Muhammad Mrabet prefers to pause home, value his shuffling, windowless mansion, in his four-story council house, in a Tangier cut up full staff auto body shops, unique vacant heaps, and graffiti-spackled alleys. Fair with his grandchildren, his drawings snowball paintings, his tea spell pipe spreadsheet old video recorder. Representation house practical on say publicly city’s landlocked side, distance off from interpretation Atlantic, interpretation Strait, stall the Sea, far proud the stay on the line casbah take precedence the city, farther flush from representation foreign cities where Mrabet’s name invokes a missing century.
His fitness is expended, Mrabet says, and put off day any minute now he liking die. When he does, in those cities, strangers will remove up shaft weigh take up again his xii books — including Love with a Few Hairs, The Lemon, M’hashish — and unlimited stories, obtainable in journals like Antaeus and The Transatlantic Review. And his art — the tough, layered, kef-infused, often unlovely drawings folk tale paintings capture humans, animals, snakes, fishes, and unhealthy forms which “cannot aptly called primitive,” according be determined William S. Burroughs, “for the art is very sophisticated. Explanation one insensitive, the paintings derive implant the standard A
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The Most Anthologized Short Stories of All Time
Anthologies are strange beasts. They are sometimes ludicrous, often ugly, and almost uniformly tyrannical. They have stories sticking out in odd places; they have holes in their sides. Those that claim to represent the state of short fiction at any given time are typically lying, to whatever extent mute volumes of literature can lie. But we forgive them, because it’s nearly impossible to fit a nebulous state of literature, with all its complexities of form, subject, race, class, gender, and nepotism (oh the nepotism) into a portable object made of paper.
Yes, we forgive them, and we read them, because pretty much everyone who is a consumer of short stories (or who has taken literature classes) has in their time discovered at least one great story in at least one anthology. I myself first read my favorite short story of all time (call it the FSSOAT) in an anthology assigned in a college creative writing class. (That short story is “The School,” FYI. The anthology was You’ve Got to Read This.) And we have many chances to do this kind of discovery, because every few years, there seems to be a new big-deal short fiction anthology hitting the shelves. So per