Outside, there was that predawn kind of clarity, where the momentum of living has not quite captured the day. The air was not filled with conversation or thought bubbles or laughter or sidelong glances. Everyone was sleeping, all of their… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
“What happened to all the historical detritus in the world? Some of it made it into drawers of museums, okay, but what about all those old postcards, the photoplates, the maps on napkins, the private journals with little latches on them? Did they burn in house fires? Were they sold at yard sales for 75¢? Or did they all just… — Reif Larsen Copy Share
I suddenly had an idea of how adults can hold on to a feeling for very long periods of time, long after the event… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
I was only twelve, but through the slow, inevitable burn of a thousand sunrises and sunsets, a thousand maps traced and retraced, I had… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
How many snapshots in the world were actually just-after shots, the moment that elicited the shooter to press the button never captured; instead, the… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
Do you ever get the feeling like you already know the entire contents of the universe somewhere inside of your head, as if you… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
I do love the sound of ripping corn husks. The violence of the noise, the sustained popping and shoring of the silky organic threads,… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
A map does not just chart, it unlocks and formulates meaning; it forms bridges between here and there, between disparate ideas that we did… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
Writing a novel is always complicated, it's not like you snap your fingers and go, 'Ah, I know what I'll write'. For me, a… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
“Dr. Clair looked at Layton. The mancala pieces were still in her hand. If Angela Ashforth ever says anything like that to you again,… — Reif Larsen Copy Share Image
