The Imprint of a Mind: Jazmina Barrera’s Linea Nigra
This sparse book, “an essay on pregnancy and earthquakes,” deals with the author’s dueling fears of recent and future earthquakes and her impending childbirth.
Features & Reviews
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A void that migrates to the surface: An Interview with Juliet Patterson
That was my singular personal motivation for doing any of this work: to prevent the threat that this might happen to me. I naïvely believed that my parents would not die by their own hand because they had suffered as children of parents who had already died that way.
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.
Glimpses of Peace Only in Dreams: Andrey Kurkov’s Grey Bees
There’s a war on, and Sergey Sergeyich is worried about his bees.
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, that is how dogs are.
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
The Dream Does What It Wants: Talking with David Santos Donaldson
. . . I advise any fiction writer who can afford it, to an get a Jungian analyst . . .
What to Read When You Wish You Were Heading Back-to-School
The Rumpus editors put together a list of books for Virgo season
“I Was Born to This Poetry”: The Book of Mirrors by Yun Wang
I hear the gossip of flowers / insatiable in their lust / Consider the cages that are our bodies
We Should Be Embarrassed by Most Things: An Interview with Leyna Krow
I think that is the dream—to have such a strong voice that people know your work as your work.
Under My Kilt
It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and stiffer. The cotton drill fabric has the feel of an army jacket. The snaps and clasps and buckles have a certain…
I Am No One’s Graveyard: An Interview With No‘u Revilla
Sometimes a poem is a rock, and sometimes rocks turn into flowers. And no matter how many poems I write about aloha and decolonial futures, they may still try to kill me