Colum McCann
Colum McCann
Colum McCannis an Irish writer of literary fiction. He was born in Dublin, Ireland and now lives in New York. He is a Distinguished Professor of Creative Writing in the Master of Fine Arts program at Hunter College, New York with fellow novelists Peter Carey and Tea Obreht, and has visited many universities and colleges all over the world...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth28 February 1965
CountryIreland
thinking world trade
You cannot read any image of the World Trade Center without thinking of 9/11.
literature stories life-is
Literature can remind us that not all life is already written down: there are still so many stories to be told.
body fiction alive
Part of the beauty of fiction is that we come alive in a body that we don't own.
lying
The repeated lies become history, but they don't necessarily become the truth.
wind rivers tangled
I know already that I will return to this day whenever I want to. I can bid it alive. Preserve it. There is a still point where the present, the now, winds around itself, and nothing is tangled. The river is not where it begins or ends, but right in the middle point, anchored by what has happened and what is to arrive.
past thinking skins
Sometimes we just walk into something that is not for us at all. We pretend it is. We think we can shrug it off like a coat, but it's not a coat at all, it's more like another skin. [...] All I wanted was to make my life thrilling for a while: to take the oridinary objects of my days and make a different argument out of them, no obligations to my past.
heart essence needs
The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even the heart's deep need for instruction.
dream time-spent
So much of her time spent like this: dreaming up things to say and never quite saying them.
said ifs asks
I'm only telling you on the truth," he said. "If you can't stand the truth, don't ask for it.
stars fall sky
The stars looked like nail heads in the sky--pull a few of them out and the darkness would fall.
book reader finished
A book is completed only when it is finished by a reader.
darkness cobwebs
This is not my life. These are not my cobwebs. This is not the darkness I was designed for.
memories air knowing
He's at ease, his body sculpted to the music, his shoulder searching the other shoulder, his right toe knowing the left knee, the height, the depth, the form, the control, the twist of his wrist, the bend of his elbow, the tilt of his neck, notes digging into arteries, and he is in the air now, forcing the legs up beyond muscular memory, one last press of the thighs, an elongation of form, a loosening of human contour, he goes higher and is skyheld.
song wall silly
Let it be. Silly song, really. You let it be, it returns. There's the truth. You let it be, it drags you to the ground. You let it be, it crawls up your walls.