Literature

I Believe the Man in the Attic Has a Gun Budi Darma Share article “The Old Man With No Name” by Budi Darma Fess Avenue wasn’t a long street. There were only three houses on it, all with attics and fairly large yards. Drawn there by an ad in the classifieds, I moved into the attic room

In the past few years, as I’ve been working on my own book about technology, I’ve been reading books about technology—critiques of Silicon Valley, of internet culture—and wondering: where are all the people of color? Sure, Silicon Valley is known as the home of the tech bro—a white man, probably wearing a Patagonia jacket and

Readers will naturally and, perhaps, unfortunately, wish to make connections between Sayaka Murata’s (b. 1979) newest novel, Earthlings, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori (Grove Press, 2021), and her wonderfully quirky Convenience Store Woman (which I previously reviewed for WLT). To be sure, the two novels share a focus on people who live at the margins of

Like the scrap collector in one of his stories, Omer Friedlander’s prose sifts through the junk of this world to find those whimsical elements that are otherwise overlooked. Rich in imagery and sprinkled with humor and spice, The Man Who Sold Air in the Holy Land conjures intimate and inventive portraits of Israeli life. Even

Returning to England after two weeks in Nigeria back in 2019, I found myself marveling at how green the grass on the side of the motorway was. The thing I love about coming home from anywhere, is the moment where you can look at everything with a fresh, often rose-tinted, perspective. Maybe it’s partly “absence

Royal Alcazar, Seville, Spain / Photo by Gary Campbell-Hall / Flickr December in the City December in the city. In the tower,the frail angel, radiant in sunlightfrailer still, looks down through the same blue airas in springtime, contemplatingthe open labyrinth of quiet, old streets.The harmonies and contrasts of whitewashand red ocher along their curving lines.In

The Writing on the Uterus Wall In the Womb I Leave Graffiti for My Younger Brother You, lithe swimmer with feet you will use like hands, meet me here—read what I write on the wall of mum’s uterus the way later we will cobalt blue spray the field to mark where to hit, throw, catch

A few years ago, during the initial craze of 23andMe, I received a gleeful call from my Turkish mother who had just taken the test. We have Serbian, Bulgarian, and Italian blood! Considering her deep familial ties to the Ottoman Empire, I didn’t find this particularly surprising. Rather it was her enthusiasm at the now

Before starting a job as a radio copywriter, where I frequently wrote ads for strip clubs and sex shops, I worked the counter at a small bakery near a college campus. Many customers were professors who made small talk while I sliced their olive loaves. On occasion – not daily, but enough to see a

The theatre is a perennially popular setting for novelists and no wonder. The tawdry glamour and sense of spectacle make it a rich gift for any author, but it’s what happens behind the scenes that I find the most interesting. This is particularly true for those novels set on the 19th-century London stage or in

“Inte hora,” a general tells his wife early on in Dalia Azim’s Country of Origin. You are free, in Arabic. The saying appears at first during a quarrel over politics in the intimacy of a Cairo home while, outside, revolts against Egypt’s then leader, King Farouk, combust the city. A saying echoed three decades later

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It seems like every day there’s a new slate of bad news for the queer community in the United States. From anti-trans legislation in Texas to the Florida governor signing the “Don’t Say Gay” bill to books being pulled off shelves—nationwide—for no reason other than who their writers are: queer authors, authors of color, and

Exit Strategies for Alaskan Wine Bars Leigh Newman Share article “Valley of the Moon” by Leigh Newman My sister is in town and wants to meet. I pick Suite 100 for its wide selection of French varietals and its convenient location on the B55 People Mover. The People Mover pulls up late as usual. The

Melissa Chadburn’s novel A Tiny Upward Shove pulls us headlong into the short and tragic life of Marina, a ward of the state who falls victim to a serial killer targeting vulnerable women on Canada’s Highway Of Tears. Marina could be just another poor woman of color selling her body whose murder earns a brief

proofs of the living Engraved in the nation of the bodyThat fetters or sets free Unto implacable absenceOur livesWill pave Life’sWay.  proofs of beauty In these daybreaks of still-fermenting nightWith what impetusto climb? With what eye to contemplateCities, faces, centuries, sufferings, hope? With what hands to digan eternally fecund soilRaise up an edifice of open

I was in the first grade, age five, when I was awarded a hamper for being the “Best English Language” student. During the subsequent parents’ meeting my class teacher complimented my parents for their hard work on my language skills. Ever so proud my parents beamed, “We talk in English at home.” Born in a

Today, the world is divided between those who can easily travel and those who cannot, separated by the simple luck of where they happened to be born. Yet many of the unlucky dare to try, setting out on epic journeys out of desperation or necessity, even when the odds are stacked against them. My non-fiction