Recent posts
Rumpus Articles
-
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…
-
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.
-
Incantations for a Migrant’s Journey
Like the coconut, may your journey break open into sweetness. Àṣẹ And at its end— more sweetness.
-
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…
-
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…
-
you won’t hear this
When mom would tell me the story of my birth, I always imagined the hospital room was dark, like the only light was coming in from the hallway or maybe a small nightlight plugged into a far corner of the…
-
A Pair of Death Trips
There, she meets a man who tells her of the ascendant rise and fall of his wealth, how inheriting a few Norman Rockwell paintings led to a cross-country motorcycle journey and, eventually, drug-fueled, late-night lawn mowing. Every character is full…
-
Novel as Relay Race: A Conversation with María Elena Morán
I often thought of the novel as a relay race. A character tells their version of events, and the reader may begin to sympathize with them or judge them. Then another voice takes over and complicates everything—confirming, challenging, or completely…
-
Off the Books
I am held in place by twenty-two thin steel rods and the silence of the disappeared tone, and the only certainty I have left in the world is that this man, for reasons no one can explain, can do this…
-
Ceiling and Visibility Unlimited
The idea that anyone had deliberately flown a plane into the World Trade Center was so inconceivable that morning that three designers from our office took the elevator up to the observatory to try and see what was happening downtown.…
-
A Seafarer’s Trifle
The sticky traps had remained empty except for the one in the alcove of the spare room. There I’d found the stricken body of my former invertebrate friend, prostrate in a layer of residual gloop. I’d squinted up close, considered…
