Francine Prose


An Interview with Francine Prose, by Elizabeth Blachman

Francine Prose’s 1981 novel Household Saints begins with a card game and ends with a beatification. Our heroine departs the novel as the dubious saint of ironed shirts and scrubbed floors, whispered about on hot nights in Little Italy and sanctified by a miracle of roses running up the trellis of the nuthouse. And many of Prose’s tales—though they’re filled with caustic, witty perspectives on modern life and peopled with Albanian thugs, campus adulterers, skinheads, and lonely teenagers—seem to close with a benediction. A lonely single mother experiences a shared moment of acid-trip transcendence with a former neo-Nazi, an Albanian immigrant drives an abandoned SUV across the George Washington Bridge into the winter sunlight, a young girl comes down with meningitis in an art museum and has an epiphany that allows her to see truth through the twisting lines of an El Greco painting. It’s like the Hebrew prayer at the end of the Sabbath that thanks God for separating the sacred and the profane, except that Prose knits the two together, creating a world that is a little sad, a little holy, and very funny.

READ MORE...

SUBMIT YOUR APPLICATION

READ MORE

Issue #23 AVAILABLE

READ MORE

FEATURED AUTHORS