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...and welcome to the website for Raven Books, Blackrock. You'll find a variety of books, book-related news, a posting celebrating writers and writing, and plenty of suggestions for what to read next. We hope you enjoy browsing! (This site is best viewed using Firefox)
Today is the birthday of Ralph
Ellison, born in Oklahoma City in 1913. His
father died when he was three, and he and his brother
were raised by their mother who supported the family
working as a domestic and a nursemaid. Growing
up, Ellison became immersed in the local jazz scene
and in 1933 he entered the Tuskegee Institute on a
scholarship to study music. While at the
university, Ellison began reading the modernist
classics, citing The Waste Land as the catalyst
for his literary awakening. In 1937 he moved to
New York City and was introduced to Richard Wright who
encouraged Ellison to pursue a career in writing.
And I Quote...
As great scientists have said and as all children know, it is above all by the imagination that we achieve perception, and compassion, and hope. ~ Ursula Le Guin
The VIDA Count for 2013 is in. Jump straight to the figures.
World Book Day will be celebrated in Ireland on March 6th with a veritable plethora of events for young readers.
Novelist and muscian Willy Vlautin talks to Tom Dunne about his work ethic, why he writes and how his latest offering The Free began life.
The Guardian selects ten authors from Urkainian territory to offer an insight into the area's national psyche.
Denis Johnson discusses his short story, The Largesse of the Sea Maiden, published in The New Yorker.
Three books look at how the perennial struggle between adolescents and their parents moved online and became commoditised.
A memoir of life and death in Mississippi, Sukhdev Sandhu reviews Men We Reaped, by Jesmyn Ward.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.