The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Saïd Sayrafiezadeh Reads Samuel Beckett

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

The End of a Life

It's written in prose. We call it a story. Is that what it is? What would you call it, a prose poem? Yeah. There's the feeling of just let the words wash over you and try to suss out meaning,. But some of this feels like it's anyone's guess. It's hard to know quite what I'm following. "Crap's last tape" was inspired by an old man reviewing his life.

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