The New Yorkerさんのインスタグラム写真 - (The New YorkerInstagram)「When Joyce Carol Oates was 34, in 1973, she started a journal. “Query,” she wrote on the first page. “Does the individual exist?” The writer has investigated that question over the course of her prolific career. At 85, Oates’s oeuvre encompasses 63 novels, 47 collections of short stories, and numerous plays, librettos, children’s novels, and books of poetry. “There are only so many ways to dramatize the problem of being a self, one might think,” Rachel Aviv writes, in a new Profile of the author, “but Oates keeps coming back to it, as if there is something she still needs to figure out.” In the pages of her journal, which is stored in the archives of Syracuse University, Oates questions the existence of her personality and alludes to a mysterious secret, calling her writing “both an escape from this secret and a means by which it is incorporated into a continuous imaginative & productive activity.” This secret felt like a riddle, Aviv writes: “it had to be small, because it had been successfully hidden, but it also had to be large, because it was constantly on Oates’s mind.” Read a Profile of the elusive writer at the link in our bio. Photograph by Andrea Modica (@andreamodica.photo) for The New Yorker.」11月21日 5時00分 - newyorkermag

The New Yorkerのインスタグラム(newyorkermag) - 11月21日 05時00分


When Joyce Carol Oates was 34, in 1973, she started a journal. “Query,” she wrote on the first page. “Does the individual exist?” The writer has investigated that question over the course of her prolific career. At 85, Oates’s oeuvre encompasses 63 novels, 47 collections of short stories, and numerous plays, librettos, children’s novels, and books of poetry. “There are only so many ways to dramatize the problem of being a self, one might think,” Rachel Aviv writes, in a new Profile of the author, “but Oates keeps coming back to it, as if there is something she still needs to figure out.” In the pages of her journal, which is stored in the archives of Syracuse University, Oates questions the existence of her personality and alludes to a mysterious secret, calling her writing “both an escape from this secret and a means by which it is incorporated into a continuous imaginative & productive activity.” This secret felt like a riddle, Aviv writes: “it had to be small, because it had been successfully hidden, but it also had to be large, because it was constantly on Oates’s mind.” Read a Profile of the elusive writer at the link in our bio. Photograph by Andrea Modica (@andreamodica.photo) for The New Yorker.


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