Susan Hubbard
Susan Hubbard, born in upstate New York, is the author of two collections of short fiction, both winners of national prizes, and four novels. The Society of S was published in May 2007 by Simon & Schuster, and The Year of Disappearances, a sequel, was released in May 2008. The U.S. paperback edition of The Year of Disappearances was published in 2009.
The third volume in the Ethical Vampire series, The Season of Risks, was published in July 2010.
Hubbard's books have been translated and published in more than 15 countries. Her short stories have appeared in TriQuarterly, The Mississippi Review, The North American Review, America West, Kalliope, Ploughshares, and other journals. She is coeditor of 100% Pure Florida Fiction, an anthology.
She has received teaching awards from Syracuse University, Cornell University, the University of Central Florida, and the South Atlantic Adminstrators of Departments of English. She has been awarded residencies at Yaddo, the Djerassi Resident Artists Project, the Virginia Center for Creative Arts, and Cill Rialaig.
Hubbard has led writing workshops at universities and arts programs across the United States and the United Kingdom. A former president of Associated Writing Programs, she has served as an assessor and curriculum consultant to several colleges and universities.
Hubbard currently is a Professor of English at the University of Central Florida. She is an advocate for animal rights, social justice, academic etiquette, and literacy. Her hobbies include running, salvaging, and collecting items of questionable taste.
“What about stakes in the heart?" I asked now. He frowned, the center of his mouth pursed while its corners curled downward. "Anyone will die from a stake in the heart," he said. "And anyone will die if they're severely burned, including vampires.”
“Would you agree," he said, "that man's sole duty is to produce as much pleasure as possible?""Only if the pleasure produced is equivalent to the diminution of pain." My father crossed his arms. "And only if one man's pleasure is as important as any other's.”
“After we became a couple, she composed our time together. She planned days as if they were artistic events. One afternoon we went to Tybee Island for a picnic; we ate blueberries and drank champagne tinted with curacao and listened to Miles Davis, and when I asked the name of her perfume, she said it was L'Heure Bleue.She talked about 'perfect moments.' One such moment happened that afternoon; she'd been napping; I lay next to her, reading. She said, 'I'll always remember the sounds of the sea and of pages turning, and the smell of L'Heure Bleue. For me they signify love.”
“Who chose burial monuments? Were the wishes of the deceased taken into consideration? It was a subject I'd never considered before.”
“She especially liked my bedside lamp, which had a five-sided porcelain shade. Unlit, the shade seemed like bumpy ivory. Lit, each panel came to life with the image of a bird: a blue jay, a cardinal, wrens, an oriole, and a dove. Kathleen turned it off and on again, several times. "How does it do that?""The panels are called lithophanes." I knew because I'd asked my father about the lamp, years ago. "The porcelain is carved and painted. You can see it if you look inside the shade.""No," she said. "It's magic. I don't want to know how it's done.”
“She looked at me for a second and said, "Oh, never mind. I guess it's true what Mom said? That you've led a sheltered life?"I said I thought the description fairly apt.”
“Even a dull life could make worthwhile reading, he said, provided the writer paid sufficient attention to detail.”
“In practicing the art of confusion, there is no better weapon than poetry.”
“He said that academia reminded him of a badly run circus. The faculty members were like underfed animals -- weary of their cages, which were never large enough to begin with -- and they responded sluggishly to the whip. The trapeze artists fell with monotonous regularity into poorly strung nets. The clowns looked hungry. The tent leaked. The crowd was inattentive, shouting incoherently at inappropriate moments. And when the show was over, no one cheered.”
“I felt as if the world I lived in was only a facade - that beneath its skin, a darker world raged and rampaged. I'd glimpsed that world before, but I'd never known how vast and malignant it might be.”
“My father was right: people are always leaving. They fall in and out of your life like shadows.”
“What's life without risk," my father said. "Nothing but mauvais foi [bad faith]”