The Art of Dying
Published in The New Quarterly Issue 150 (Spring 2019)
"The richness of Nadja's fiction lies in its attention to minute details. She wove images from images, building the kind of tapestry you wish would never end."
Curator of Balderdash Reading Series
I had a surge of jealousy for the crow, the finder of hidden things, an intense envy for the breathless catch in her voice when she talked about his rasping black laughter. It wasn’t a new feeling. I was jealous all the time: jealous of the dog, the way he licked the inside of her pale knees with his long wet tongue, the way she rubbed her bony knuckles tenderly across his massive forehead; jealous of her ex-girlfriend Therese, who sent postcards, one of the hot springs in Poços de Caldas, another of the sand dunes and lagoons at Lencois Maranhenses National Park, signed ‘all my love’; jealous of the flimsy white Bohemian smock with embroidered peacock eyes that she wore, the way it spent the day sliding against her small jutting breasts, so, so intimately.
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