She arrived at the Mercy Ship Anastasis with a definite air of expectation. For over 50 years Felisia had lived without a nose.
She credits this as the beginning of her suffering. After three months the wound almost covered her entire arm.
She says her anguish was perpetrated by the treatment by the Beninese village witchdoctors. When the wound on her arm seemed to be healing, Felisia felt a similar malaise on her head. Within days her nose throbbed with pain. After four years of suffering, the pain disappeared — along with her nose! A scalping flap was created from her forehead to build her a completely new nose. These days, becoming a "published author" requires less of a grunt than evacuating the bowels after breakfast buffet at a Mexican restaurant. And if you are among the shrinking minority of mutants who don't even pretend to have this predispositional urge to be literary, I can barely imagine the enviable sterility of your imagination, the lucky numbness of your sensorium.
You and your drastically dwinding kind are excused from listening to what I've been assigned to say in this foreword to the new edition of My Hands Were Clean. Bless your vacant souls, you can fuck off to your early earthbound oblivion now. Unlikely Stories Press has asked me to exhort everyone else to do something or other in relation to this book. Or maybe I'm supposed to beg them to refrain from doing something else.
Whichever, whatever--it keeps slipping my mind.
I'll assume that, if everyone else behaves in the desired way, they won't be robbing us. I'm not sure if I'm supposed, further, to be urging these readers and these writers, these poets in their hundreds of thousands, to behave in other ways that will actually cause our coffers to swell.
I'm told swelling of coffers to an exponential degree is made at least theoretically possible by this satellite-engendered pus bubble that swells overhead, assuming it doesn't pop before clearing the heliopause at the fizzling-out point of our niggling solar clump, seventeen-point-six billion miles away. With a swollen coffer, yearnings for the early arrival of Brahma's Night will evaporate from my mind.
Felicia's Nose [Carol Novack, Tom Bradley, Nick Patterson] on lasulecatla.cf * FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Annotator's Note by Tom Bradley At the end . Editorial Reviews. Review. A dog-whistle palimpsest, a riddling box of questions left unfinished Felicia's Nose by [Novack, Carol, Bradley, Tom].
The rigmarole of incarnation will begin to take on the illusory appearance of meaningfulness. I will be able to move into an apartment that most human beings would consider at least minimally livable.
I'll become acclimated to this coat of skin, develop social skills, and write the complacent sort of smugness that can aspire to Oprah's canon. My words will be secured and copy-protected in the gated community that is Kindle, and everyone else can fuck on their "Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike 2. As little boys will, he looked up all the places in the world that start with the F-word.
There were two, Fukien in China and Fukuoka in Japan. Little did he suspect that he would one day be exiled to both.
Tom is a former lounge harpist. During his pre-exilic period, he played his own transcriptions of Bach and Debussy in a Salt Lake City synagogue that had been transformed into a pricey watering hole by a nephew of the Shah of Iran. He taught anglophone literature to Chinese graduate students in the years leading up to the Tiananmen Square massacre. But his writing somehow sustains him.
His newest novel, with secret name and hidden nature, illustrated by David Aronson, is coming soon from the occult publisher Mandrake of Oxford. Reviews and blurbs: Tom Bradley is one of the most exasperating, offensive, pleasurable, and brilliant writers I know.
I recommend his work to anyone with spiritual fortitude and a taste for something so strange that it might well be genius. I read it in a state of fascination, admiration, awe, anxiety, and outrage. Cassill, editor of The Norton Anthology of Fiction. About Publish Join Sign In. Readers Benefits of registering Where are my ebooks? Ask it above. Felicia's Nose By Tom Bradley.
Felicia's Nose is a work of fiction initially written by the late Carol Novack, annotated in a collaborative process by Tom Bradley, and illustrated by Nick Patterson. That giant book fascinated Carol as the rarity of rarities: a new genre, something like a superficially nonfictional Pale Fire, taking place in real time as the primary text alternately rides roughshod over, and is sapped and subverted by, the critical apparatus.
Faucher in Epigonesia: to dig under her characters and situations, to dissect her names, numbers, references, to turn her allusions, both deliberate and unconscious, inside out. Carol wanted a running commentary that furtively pursued—she cringed at the word—psychoanalytical strategies.