Bruce Benderson is best know for the literary memoir, The Romanian: Story of an Obsession, which won the Prix de Flore. He is also a translator from the French of numerous literary works and also works as a cultural journalist.
Books by Bruce Benderson
Forty-two paragraphs of office thought squared by street talk: An international bureaucrat bitten by an attack dog.
Benderson deftly creates then collapses multiple perspectives into a single event. This is a swift and elegantly urgent tale.
“The dog that followed her today looks so much like the one that she saw in the picture he showed her that, as she glanced at the animal at every corner, she expected to see it in black and white. And the dog was thinking…
Certainly they can think, it’s not crazy to think that dogs can, or what would it mean to tell someone that I can tell that the dog can sense my fear?
o baby I won’t hurt you, it’s like a knot inside…
Which is what she really didn’t understand, what she could have said or done to make him sense her fear, her sense of his strangeness, so that he would get mad, become an animal, feel like hurting her.”
from The United Nations of Times Square
My Body: Design and Architecture/ Convalescence—two stories
Two stories examining how theory My Body: Design and Architecture or ailment Convalescence might transport the human body to the outer limits of signification.
My Body: Design and Architecture—What happens when all the body’s protuberances are put on the executioner’s block—literally—in a campaign against phallic oppression?
“… and then lead the child deep into the recesses of the closet, where there was always that powdery scent (mixed with a hint of old perspiration, I suppose, though how could I have identified it as such since I still had no odor—which is why children certainly don’t ever wear deodorant, correct?) … to experience a thrilling intimation of suffocation, caused by the cool, superficial caress of dry satin or nylon against my mouth, and the gentle abrasion of tulle appliqué. And shrouded in these …fabbb-rrrics, I’d clasp the frail little body about the waist and press it (yes, I prefer an article here, too) against my (oh, I do want to say its here, as well!) larger body.
from My Body: Design and Architecture
Convalescence—A pre-eminent scholar of literary decadence finds that he is falling ill.
“I myself was suddenly filled with a longing to bond with the exploding blossoms and chilly cascades of water reverberating on stone, whose cathectic vitality released yearnings again for hyper-stimulation, recalling countless nights in which a glass stem streaming with plasticine smoke turned every cell of my body into pure process. How I longed for that shortcut to dilation. After all, I too was recovering.”