On writing for the sound of it, scandalous joy, and the seriousness of scatterbrained expression.
On writing about cancer and healing under the looming specter of Berlin’s history.
The writer on creating a legend about her mother, breaking the fourth wall, and Elena Ferrante’s honesty.
On the occasion of a new co-edition of Je Nathanaël, the author speaks about re-issues, the lie of the truth, and the limits of language.
Poetry with an epic sweep.
The author on her latest novel about family secrets, New Orleans, and characters waiting for their stories to be told.
On her new collection of nonfiction, Me & Other Writings.
The boy who is coming home with part of himself missing is the man’s nephew. The man, Silas, receives the news and hangs up the phone, numb. He wants a drink. He doesn’t want a drink. He wants time to move backward.
The poet, translator, and Action Books publisher on his collection of essays about US literary culture, foreign influence, and the illusion of mastery.
we consummated our marriage / on a bed littered with sour faces / of dead presidents, liberated livestock / sweating through the dollars.
The writer on the tradition of notebook writers, archiving his own work, and enjoying a ragged, damaged, nervous narration.
She was coming out of the library when she saw him. Their paths had crossed a couple of times before. Three, to be exact. More or less under the same circumstances. He was riding an orange bicycle, and a little girl was standing behind him on the pannier rack.
The writer on releasing her debut story collection, writing as a woman of color, and balancing a medical career with the writer’s life.
A medium for conversations about deep time, how war affects our consciousness, literature and, of course, nothing.
The writer and activist filmmaker on completing the trilogy comprised of Nervous Conditions, The Book of Not, and This Mournable Body—narratives of women’s strength in the face of injustice.
A playful take on Latin American expeditions that reveals the contradictory problems therein.
The condition of most of our lives is that of continuous flight, in some manner or form—flight from faulty logic, from place of birth to the place we alight, from situations that no longer serve us, from political precarity—flight, as in rupture.
This is a story of? / a woman lying on her? / a back?—aback—with her? / a face hidden and a?
I disrupt the concupiscence of tube worms / where your snowy owl eye consults among white crusts / the venom of my gymnodactyl eye / which bribes the slag of trilobites
During his twelve years in New York City, Bosun, who went by Bo, got into some bad business with an import-export company in Queens. It turned out the company was dealing in stolen goods, and Bo, who drove a truck for them, was eventually caught one winter on the bridge between Manhattan and New Jersey.