Corinna vallianatos biography channel
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Say publicly Couple Think it over Vacations By oneself Stays Apart
Shifting Occupancies by Corinna Vallianatos
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My Escapee
“"With the spare, definitive strokes of Matisse's late portraits, the stories in My Escapee hew precisely to the truth, while rendering a series of expressive and particular female lives. The characters are disoriented, vulnerable, at times dependent on others; they are also determined, defiant, passionate. One admires their self-awareness, one forgives them their imperfections, one feels keenly their isolation. The language is lucid, forceful, in turns unassuming and startling. Read together, these stories navigate an intimate landscape of fault lines, of grottoes of emotions, of stark passages and significant crossings. Vivid, whimsical, and restrained, they introduce a mature voice, an affecting and bracing debut."--Jhumpa Lahiri, Grace Paley Prize contest judge and author of Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake "These stories are wonderful--stirringly imagined, daringly structured, and wise to the ways of the human heart. Corinna Vallianatos can make an entire soul come shining out of the smallest phrase, and she does so again and again, sentence after sentence, on every page of this collection."--Kevin Brockmeier, author of The Brief History of the Dead and The Illumination "Corinna Vallianatos is a gangbuster talent. She • The following is a story from Corinna Vallianatos's Origin Stories. Vallianatos is the author of The Beforeland and My Escapee, winner of the Grace Paley Prize for Short Fiction. Her work has appeared in The Best American Short Stories , McSweeney’s, and elsewhere. She lives in Virginia. I had high hopes for being friends with an artist, but as it turned out the artist’s wife found me hopelessly uncool—a seething boredom came over her face whenever we got together—and the artist’s art was much too expensive for me and my husband to buy and there was no chance he’d gift us a painting. I’d only ever seen his paintings on his website where they lost the intensity my husband claimed they possessed and seemed simply to blare. They depicted smooth, seal-skinned figures in scrubs laboring in operating theaters and over dentists’ chairs. In one, the figure, legs planted far apart, tugged at the teeth of a bear trap. In another, the figure removed a porcelain doggie holding a little red heart on a loop in its mouth from the cavity of a child’s chest. In a third, I wasn’t sure. A grotesque surprise awaited one, I supposed. Article continues after advertisement Remove Ads The artist was always high when he worked, my husband said. He would get too b “The Artist’s Wife”