Like any young family, some conversations had to be foregone. Some battles, forfeited.
Content
No Dog Could Hunt You Like I Could
Kiss by kiss/I build you
Are We There Yet?
Jenny Offill’s casually devastating new novel “Weather” is a lovely, quietly ticking timebomb.
Good Talk: A Conversation with Mira Jacob
Mira Jacob is the author and illustrator of Good Talk: A Memoir in Conversations. Her critically acclaimed novel, The Sleepwalker’s Guide to Dancing, was a Barnes & Noble Discover New Writers pick, shortlisted for India’s Tata First Literature Award, and long-listed for the Brooklyn Literary Eagles Prize.
Look, Don’t Touch
If you find that you are the type of person who is constantly at war with these two alternating states of self—where obligations can be ditched at a moment’s notice, or begrudgingly followed through—then you will feel right at home in the world of “Imaginary Museums” by Nicolette Polek.
Poetry by Aubri McCarter
My mother wanted things.
Impotence
The aging bad boy of French letters’ latest outing exhausts nearly half its word count rehashing tired material. Then, when an antidepressant finally renders his narrator impotent, it picks up.
Poetry by Sébastien Bachand
The wind pulls a crystal from my eye
Contents of Dead People’s Pockets
The section for cash held a Trojan condom, but when his wife came to claim the contents of her dead husband’s pants, she said he’d had a vasectomy.
Two Poems by Daniela Ochoa
radical tenderness.
How to Talk Nice
Before you go to school for the first time, you learn how to talk nice.
“To see something last, it’s like death escaped”
Grafton Tanner conjures the ghosts in our devices and invites us to join their chatroom. You’ll leave haunted.
Poetry by Amyiah Hillian
The strongest brown body that I know shrinks in public
The Man-Children
What is striking about Lerner’s third novel is the way it implicates itself, its forms—literature, prose, poetry—in the collapse of public discourse, and the proliferation of “man-children.”
Date Night with Vomitina
Dave was a pathological flake, and after three years of dating, I still wasn’t used to his absolute surprise, confusion, and disappointment.
Help! I’m Afraid of the Dark
Burke lurks in the far corner of my bedroom when the lights are out and I’m in bed, wedged between my IKEA pillows.
“Writing is also an opportunity to learn new things”
I can’t pinpoint the moment I met Lidudumalingani. Throughout my time in Cape Town I encountered him at film festivals, talks on creativity, live music events, book gatherings and around the dinner tables of mutual friends.
Poetry by Aly Tadros
I guzzled down my twenties
Poetry by Mica Le John
black hands/pure gold/interstellar bodies
Poetry by Basil Soper
would expose intoxicants under mama’s pulsing scales