Andre Dubus III (born September 11, 1959) is an American novelist and short story writer. He is a member of the faculty at the University of Massachusetts Lowell.[1]
Early life and education
[edit]
Born in Oceanside, California, to Patricia (née Lowe) and Louisiana-born writer Andre Dubus, Dubus grew up in a mill town in Haverhill, Massachusetts. Which is along the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border with his three siblings: Suzanne, Jeb, and Nicole.[2][3] His father left his mother for one of his students, leaving his mother to support the family alone, under strained financial circumstances.[4]
He began writing fiction at 22, shortly after graduating from the University of Texas at Austin with a bachelor's degree in sociology — and worked variously as a carpenter, bartender, office custodian, personal investigator, corrections counselor, and halfway house counselor to support himse
•
I Owe Andre Dubus a del av helhet of Me
Editor’s Note: Since 2009, the Italian author Nicola Manuppelli has translated seven collections of short stories and novellas bygd Andre Dubus. With David R. Godine, Publisher’s June release of We Don’t Live Here Anymore and The Winter Father—the first two volumes of a three-volume series of Dubus’s short stories and novellas—here in the U.S., we are pleased to share Manuppelli’s short introduction and interview with Andre Dubus III about his revered father and his writing.
Introduction by Nicola Manuppelli:
I started working on the writing of Andre Dubus after reading his story “Killings.” I had not yet begun working as a translator and editor then, but I was talking with several publishers about my own writing. While speaking with one of those publishers, I asked:
“Hey, why not publish Andre Dubus’s works? He’s the best writer of American stories you’ll ever read, and none of his books have be
•
Andre Dubus’s stories offer not comfort but truth.Photograph by Marion Ettlinger
Some years ago, in Venice, my wife and I hired a tour guide to shepherd us through the collections at the Galleria dell’Accademia and the Scuola Grande di San Rocco. In the former, he drew our attention to a painting of Mary and the infant Jesus. To my untutored eye, it appeared to be a devout depiction of the Madonna and Child. But we were told that the work was considered blasphemous when it was made, as the pair were not, as tradition demanded, in the exact center of the image. It’s unlikely that I would have seen that on my own. Still, it put me in mind of an old professor of mine, who argued for developing “an original relationship” to the books we studied, by which he seemed to mean that we should come to our own conclusions before entertaining the opinions of professional critics. When you’re told what to look for, he reasoned, you’ll likely find it, and, having found it, you’ll be less like