Recent posts
Rumpus Articles
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Outside(r)
I’d never thought of myself as separate from the world I lived in; the Outside I came from was sensory-rich and immersive, there my interactions unfolded organically and overlapped, building intuitively like the scales on a pinecone, rewarding curiosity with…
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October Spotlight: Letters in the Mail
Some of our Letters in the Mail authors on the books that got them reading as children, and advice for creative kids.
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To Write the Way We Live: A Conversation with Jonathan Escoffery
I see myself as a story writer, and that’s just the best thing ever.
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So You Want to Feel Better: Navigating Grad School, Disability, and the Language of Pain
The term “invisible disability” is commonly used to describe disabilities that are not readily apparent to the eye, but I want to push back on this term. When you pay close attention, most disabilities become visible. Poems are not encoded…
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Glimpses of Peace Only in Dreams: Andrey Kurkov’s Grey Bees
There’s a war on, and Sergey Sergeyich is worried about his bees.
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From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: Forty-Six
Waiting to turn forty-six is like standing in the unrelenting sunshine.
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Knowledge alters things forever: A conversation with Anuradha Roy
. . . it was clear in my head that the dog in the book would not die, that he would bring people together, and also function as a kind of barometer for good and evil because, in my experience,…
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RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT: Jealous of Children By Jill McDonough
An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club‘s October selection, American Treasure by Jill McDonough forthcoming from Alice James Books on November 8, 2022 Subscribe by September 15 to the Poetry Book Club to receive this title and an invitation…
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A Collection of Hours: Look Here by Ana Kinsella
Reading about flânerie is a “useful” thing for me to do: useful for my career, for my scholarly ambitions. Actually partaking in flânerie is rarely useful in these ways
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Mycomorphosis
“Everything looks good,” the neurologist said. The hairs on his head, she couldn’t help noticing, resembled plump white beansprouts—they stood from his scalp as if fat with water. His fingers too. “The only thing is that you have extra fungus…
