TO REMAIN NAMELESS is out from Rescue Press

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order here: www.rescuepress.co

Tess keeps vigil at the bedside of her friend Laura through a long night of labor as Laura’s first child arrives. The two have known each other for what seems like forever. Their humanitarian aid work has taken them from the Balkans, to Egypt, to Istanbul amid the ongoing refugee crisis—an era that includes the US’s war in Iraq, the Arab Spring, and many forms of global consequence and aftermath. Brad Fox’s first novel is a luminous inquiry into the incarnations and limits of hope. This writer helps us endure our questions about what forms care may take, what we may offer to anyone, near and far.

PRAISE FOR TO REMAIN NAMELESS:

Brad Fox’s virtuoso novelistic voice, alternately terse and florid, in the mode of José Saramago, Roberto Bolaño, or Alberto Moravia, is sonorous, lapidary, and melancholy—a seamless dreamy fabulist omniscience, bearing world-weary witness to perilous events, both inner and outer. Fox gives the impression of having lived underground or in other centuries and of only now emerging from his hiding place to narrate these limpid yet dense fantasias. A phenomenally gifted novelist and a probing intellectual, he transforms critical thinking into dramatic scenario. “Thought” isn’t appended to the story, but emerges in the complicated telling of the tale. In a bravura feat of formal construction, To Remain Nameless flashes between a birth scene and international adventures: from the cramped, germinating vantage of a hospital room, the novelist unfurls a teeming network of international exaltations and disappointments. The room compresses; the world expands. Djuna Barnes and Virginia Woolf pioneered this trick of simultaneous engorgement and diminution, of funhouse-mirror space-time reversal; and now Brad Fox, wonder-worker, takes up the dizzying mantle.
WAYNE KOESTENBAUM

Daring, vivid and utterly original, Brad Fox’s debut is a tour de force.
CLAIRE MESSUD

To Remain Nameless is a gorgeous meditation on a shifting self in a shifting world, a querying-onward in which there’s both melancholy and delight.
SHELLEY JACKSON

Very intense like a bright light.
FANNY HOWE

Brad Fox (Safety Book #42)

 

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“But now I have to contradict myself again, because since I wrote that, protests erupted against racial injustice and police brutality in the US, and I find myself gazing at footage of New York streets that I’ve marched down myself in past protests. So many protests these past few years. But now bigger than ever, and only growing this past week. I’ve read horrified posts of police violence, but also posts saying I’ve never seen New York so beautiful. I’m reminded of the days after Tahrir, or during Gezi when so many stood together, of Damascus and Aleppo before all that was crushed, before the aftermath made it all so much worse. And I hope, despite everything, that this time it will break through.”

I wrote about reading during the pandemic and protests for Rescue Press. The full article is here.

Trapped with the Guardians of the Mountain

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“Those long nights were rampant with visions. I felt the cycling nature of vigilant consciousness, its relentlessness, until I could only utter crazed laughter at the edge of a sob. There were times I maintained a crystal focus through all the turbulence, when the ceremony felt like a delicate refining of attention. Or I took a break, walked outside to piss and stare at the endless march of leaf-carrying ants, watch electrical storms over the valley, or smoke rough local tobacco on a bench beneath the ojé tree. At one point I sat speaking Serbian with our molecular biologist—a Hungarian from Vojvodina—and that was as mind-bending as anything.

On the seventh night, after many hours, Miguel ended the ceremony and propped himself against the wall of the maloka. He’d been disturbed by the night’s visions.

Chucha, he said. This corona virus is like the plague from the Bible.”

 

A dispatch from the Amazonian Andes during the pandemic. The full story is here.