Fiction

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Beatriz Bracher Interviewed by Nuno Ramos
I Didnt Talk Bracher

Two of Brazil’s most renowned contemporary writers discuss the creative process, societal disparities, and politics. 


Translated by Adam Morris.

Accepting Enigmas: Sophie Mackintosh Interviewed by Leah Dworkin
The Water Cure

The novelist on writing multiple women’s voices, creating a world where men are toxic, and the wide range of female dystopian fiction.

Looking Back: BOMB Contributors on Literature in 2018
The Great Derangment

Featuring selections by Tom Comitta, Molly Crabapple, Veronica Scott Esposito, Carlos Fonseca, and more.

Yavush by Selena Anderson

Yavush dressed like a girl who didn’t really love herself—in short, strappy dresses that flashed meaty upper thigh, with a clip-on swoop bang and acrylic fingernails that curved into the future, dripping rhinestones, gold hearts, and glitter.

Trigger by Shelly Oria & Nelly Reifler

You are a color-blind social worker in a small town and your secret is you stopped giving a fuck. A man you loved more than you knew was possible has left you, but so what, right?

Marcia Douglas by Loretta Collins Klobah
Half Way Tree

In echoes and splices of “narrative sonic bites,” Douglas sets her experimental novel, The Marvellous Equations of the Dread, to the dub pulse of Rasta tradition.

Roque Larraquy’s Comemadre by J.W. McCormack
Comemadre Abedit

Let’s begin with death. “Let’s say that in the course of all human experience, death is pure conjecture: it is, as such, not an experience. And all that which is not an experience is useless to mankind.” The speaker here is Ledesma, one of a cadre of lovelorn, thoroughly chauvinistic doctors up to no good at a sanatorium just outside Buenos Aires.

Stories from The Conservation of Mass by Ronaldo V. Wilson

Under a boat are a pod of Orcas, but before they are under a boat they are breaching some distance away from The White Boys in their small rowboat. 

Shiv Kotecha’s The Switch by Corina Copp
The Switch Cmyk

It’s possible that like John the Divine—aka John of Patmos, author of the Book of Revelation—Shiv Kotecha has been plunged into boiling oil and suffered nothing from it, his audience converted into sweet lambs upon witnessing the miracle, and the prophet-poet cast forever unto the brightness of exile.

The Trees of Sawtooth Park by Ben Marcus
Marcus Sawtooth

Dr. Nelson wanted me to feel something. In the palm of his hand was a pale yellow mound of powder. 

Gunnhild Øyehaug’s Wait, Blink by Ryan Chapman
Wait Blink

What kind of novel would you write if you had never read a novel before? Would it have the mounting tension of a campfire tale? The breathless cadence of fresh gossip shared with a best friend? If you’re Norwegian writer Gunnhild Øyehaug, you unspool 50,000 words with the inventiveness of Scheherazade and the guilelessness of a Red Bull–fueled, hyperarticulate ten-year-old. This is Wait, Blink.

nobody checks their voicemails anymore not even detectives by Sasha Fletcher
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Jimmy, it’s your girl. The one at the desk whom you pay a living wage. This is what could be known as a wake-up call if we were the sort of people who relied upon others to remind us of our tasks.

The Limits of Sympathy: On Rachel Kushner’s The Mars Room by Daniel Pearce
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What literature can (and can’t) tell us about America’s criminal justice system.

Digging Beneath the Polite Veneer: Eileen Pollack Interviewed by Taylor Larsen
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The writer discusses growing up in the Borscht Belt, the prevalence of literary humor, and the power of feminist punch lines.

Remainders by Valerie Werder

When she told N she was leaving, his response was that doing so would ruin him—financially. 

Fleeced by Joanna Goldberg

It was nearly winter, according to the sun and shadows and temperature’s plummet, when the poor girl lost her job at a greenhouse for the misdemeanor of pocketing rare plants. 

Embouchure, 1970 by Dylan Landis

“Nothing you will see tonight is normal,” said Elihu’s mother. It was the first exciting thing she’d ever said. 

Genre Omnivore: on Dino Buzzati’s Catastrophe by Lincoln Michel
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Fabulism and absurdity from an under-appreciated Italian master.

Trust by Lucy Ives
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I meet the artist, who does x, for a snack one afternoon. We have the kind of conversation it was more necessary to have previous to the existence of the Internet. We exchange general info about the world. 

Phylum by Rita Bullwinkel
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I was the type of man who got his ears cleaned. I was the type of woman who didn’t like dogs. We lived together in a house on a street that was the color of asphalt. I told you what I thought of you.

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