Harold Simpson, the English department chair, told me I had a low IQ. To Mr. Simpson, I was somewhere between mentally defective and virtuoso—more likely to work in an ad agency than write poetry or a Harvard thesis about the existential angst of Jean-Paul Sartre and his friends. I would never, in his mind, be… more
Writer: Eleanor Levine
Lavina
FICTION by Eleanor Levine“Maybe you should try hosiery?”
“Sure.”
“They give you pensions in the hosiery business. You don’t get that with condoms. Besides, what’s a nice Jewish girl working with rubbers?”
It’s true. My friends were lobbyists for gun companies or copy editors for clients who made butter. It was a small world, and they all knew each other, and gave each other jobs, though not me.… more
