Erin Vachon

When Thornton’s characters’ lives on and off screen drastically diverge, A/S/L not only satisfies nostalgia, but catapults the narrative to a whole new level.

If the LittlePuss books are advanced exercises in cognitive dissonance, Blaxell and Solomonik insist on returning to matters of the heart.

To read Tetra Nova is to lean into nonlinear disorientation, flipping pages back and forth across time, scribbling in the margins of Vietnamese history.

Hood wonders how to write rape and its aftermath when its very nature is fragmentation, a form that disqualifies it as a story.

Olivas’s novel is a gross-as-hell ghost story and a razor-sharp vision of the present moment, a multi-narrator rollercoaster you’ll binge like your favorite television show.

Power is the end in itself, not a means to justice.

But this is love: crying into your lover’s face until it becomes so ridiculous, that the event becomes absolutely precious.

By insisting that Ezra’s ordinary life is epic, Sax shows that every life must be epic, holding everyone accountable. No one can sit out.