The Latest
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Synthetic Heaven
And when the high would hit, I would think to myself—This. This for as long as I can. More than summer and bicycles and flowers littered on the pavement like confetti, more than the way Sydney looks in the spring,…
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The Dumbbell
Years passed by in a vaseline blur, sticky and tactile. His body was a glue trap that gathered all kinds of flotsam: unexplained bruises, living room stick-n-pokes, fat gained and lost. Performing made him feel sexy in a way that…
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Embroidered Art: Diana Weymar on Andrea Gibson
Twice each month, artist Diana Weymar will dig into the Rumpus archives and make a piece of art — hand embroidered — from one of our previously published pieces.
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Incantations for a Migrant’s Journey
Like the coconut, may your journey break open into sweetness. Àṣẹ And at its end— more sweetness.
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Books that Made Me Gay: “The Group” by Mary McCarthy
Provided that your girlfriend can drive on the freeway, you might spend Saturdays at the beach. Mine can and we do. After ritually sacrificing a tube of sunscreen, we unwrap soft deli sandwiches and I am bowled over by my…
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Writing the Long, Strange Aftermath: A Conversation with Emily St. John Mandel
Philosophically, I always feel like as writers we should be working at the very outer edge of our talent. Because otherwise, we are not improving and the books aren’t getting better. I feel like I really did that with this…
