The Art of the Mistake
There are things I got wrong. I thought the reason my dad, a potter, so rarely repaired broken pots with real gold was because of money.
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My Own Trap
Two years ago, when I was living in Mexico City in a rented room that faced a noisy gas station and made me an insomniac for the first time in my life, I got the news that my book, More or Less Dead: Feminicide, Haunting, and the Ethics of Representation in Mexico, would be published.
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