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I admired that stride it was like he folded space in two with it.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Space
Two
Like
Folded
Stride
Admired

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The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.
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My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen. — Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)
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It was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we'd read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.
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With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
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That's the thing with handmade items. They still have the person's mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone. This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.
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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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I don't think so, I don't agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
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...a Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It's the mathematical logic of being alive. If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.
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I want to be violated by insight.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.
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I peeled the skin off a grape in slippery little triangles, and I understood then that I would be undressing every item of food I could because my clothes would be staying on.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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But I loved George in part because he believed me because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.
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Glen Hirshberg's stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content -- the stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader's brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing. It's a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg's storytelling skills in American Morons.
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