Literature

The book begins on a boat to an island: a woman running from the man who abused her as a child, a chance meeting with a stranger who promises to kill him—and then, days later, the murder. Whidbey’s opening pages offer spare information and a heightened sense of threat, evoking the everyday experience of people
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Human Dignity Is Contraband in This Camp In January, the Pond Freezes I look at the cold floor. Tap my loafer on top. It holds.I slide to the middle and laugh. A horse made of fog runs out of my face.The ice is the kind you find in Antarctica. We walk back.Satoru and I take
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In his essay entitled “Shipping Out,” David Foster Wallace writes about being subjected to 1,500 professional smiles in a single week. He confides that the greatest lie the luxury cruise industry tells is “that enough pleasure and enough pampering will quiet [the] discontented part of you . . . when in fact, all it does
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One could argue that Gregory Maguire’s novel, Wicked, and its Broadway adaptation are entirely different stories. Alongside the stage musical’s revision of key character personalities, relationships, and even fates, it also softens the novel’s highly adult themes for a more diverse audience. But what binds the two together is an understanding that Wicked is more
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For the late winter (practically spring) edition of our debut craft series, I spoke with three authors who, each in their own way, wrote about refraction and distorted reflections of self in their first novels. The novels feature complicated introspective characters and compelling relationships ranging from a late mother and her twenty-two-year-old almost-graduate daughter in
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Melissa Faliveno’s debut, Hemlock, is a queer, atmospheric novel about addiction, memory, and the ways family history embeds itself in the body. The book follows Sam, a woman in her late thirties who leaves her life in Brooklyn to spend time alone at her family’s remote cabin in the Wisconsin Northwoods. The trip is meant
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Everyone agrees we need a revolution but no one can agree on how it is to start. In her new book, Let the Poets Govern: A Declaration of Freedom, writer Camonghne Felix argues it should begin with poetry. “Poetry facilitates the imaginative work that becomes what Chris Dixon calls ‘another politics,’” she writes. Dixon’s framework offered
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My Missing Words by Sarah Jane Cody “I feel too much,” I confessed to Noel early on in our relationship. I had no other words for it, but it felt important, like maybe I should try to warn him. Shortly after we began dating, I lay down on the ground outside a coffee shop unable
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Night Night Fawn is without a doubt the Marxist, trans, comedic dystopia we need in 2026. Initially conceived as nonfiction, Jordy Rosenberg’s second novel subverts form to become an inherently transgressive, unauthorized, fictional “memoir” that reads as hysterical manifesto.  Barbara Rosenberg, a character modeled loosely on Rosenberg’s own mother, is a terminally ill Jewish “yenta.” High on
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My Sensible Work Pants Have Chosen Violence Free the Fupa Click to enlarge and scroll Take a break from the news We publish your favorite authors—even the ones you haven’t read yet. Get new fiction, essays, and poetry delivered to your inbox. YOUR INBOX IS LIT Enjoy strange, diverting work from The Commuter on Mondays,
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Kelsey L. Smoot’s debut full-length poetry collection, SOULMATE AS A VERB, is a necessary addition to a long lineage of works beckoning us toward love and liberation. It invites us to examine who or what can be a soulmate and wonders what the world would look like if we were soulmates to not only our
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“This is a strange book,” begins a January 8, 1848 review of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. “It is not without evidences of considerable power: but, as a whole, it is wild, confused, disjointed, and improbable . . . ” Another review, published a week later, drew similar conclusions: “Wuthering Heights is a strange sort of
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There aren’t many writers from my hometown of Corpus Christi, Texas—at least not when compared to larger cities and places more proximal to an elite college. So, when I came across a short story collection called Corpus Christi with a photo of a wind-whipped palm tree on its cover, I was eager to know everything
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