Ellie Eberlee

Nov 7, 2023 | chireviewofbooks.com | Ellie Eberlee

“One thing all truths have in common,” observes Angela, the protagonist of award-winning author Jennifer duBois’s fourth novel, The Last Language, is that “they are only visible from certain distances.” Angela is a twenty-seven-year-old PhD candidate in linguistics at Harvard. She is also recently widowed. After a harrowing miscarriage, she and her four-year-old daughter, Josephine, move to Boston to live with Angela’s mother. For Angela, distance often proves difficult to come by.

Oct 2, 2023 | chireviewofbooks.com | Ellie Eberlee

“Go back to Beatrice, the real Beatrice,” urges Beatriz, a graceful yet unassuming forty-something patron of the Sala Mampou concert hall who lives with her husband and son in Barcelona. “What was it that made Dante choose her over all other women? Or go back to Mary.

Sep 18, 2023 | memoirland.substack.com | Ellie Eberlee |Ross Gay |Amy J. Benson |Adam Mars-Jones

Welcome to Memoir Land—a newsletter edited by , now featuring three verticals:Memoir Monday, a weekly curation of the best personal essays from around the web brought to you by Narratively, The Rumpus,  Granta, Guernica, Oldster Magazine, Literary Hub, Orion Magazine, The Walrus, and Electric Literature. Below is this week’s curation. First Person Singular, featuring original personal essays. Recently I published “Burning Man is Better with Kids — and With Care” by . A new essay is coming soon.

Sep 11, 2023 | chicagoreview.org | Ellie Eberlee

Pigs. Mucky, horny, affectionate, inquisitive; suckling, grunting, nursing, and waddling their way through Vermont writer Ellyn Gaydos’s first book and memoir, Pig Years. Gaydos, who passes the book’s five-year span jobbing on a series of farms in her home state and rural New York, adores the curly-tailed creatures, buying two or three piglets from a local vendor each year and raising them for pork. Yet pigs represent only one spoke in the book’s sturdy wheel of growth, decay, and regeneration.

Sep 5, 2023 | guernicamag.com | Ellie Eberlee

It is evening, the last weekend in August, and I am trying to remember what it is like to wear shorts. Sundresses and bathing suits too. I sit on the granite-studded shores of Lake Wahwashkesh in northern Ontario, stretched atop the gray wooden dock of my boyfriend’s family cottage. I study clusters of lanky conifers across the bay, tracing the ebb and flow of their cragged boughs and admiring their resemblance to the trees in Emily Carr paintings. Summer does not end before September anymore.