• Nonfiction, Online Feature
    Stephanie Danler

    I was never going be controlled by anyone, I decided. I was never going to be dependent on anyone. Was that the first moment I knew I could burn a bridge and survive? And that my survival became colored by spite?

    The Conglomerate
    Spencer Hupp

    I feel uneasy when any critic announces a poet’s themes and thesis because, at a certain point, poems aren’t interested in anything other than the voices and words they inhabit. If I were so moved, I’d argue that Hạo’s collection doesn’t have a subject; and that his poems resist paraphrase.

    Craft Lecture
    A. E. Stallings

    In an era before mass-production, every object a person handled was made by an individual, and thus unique. It had a history, and, sometimes, a destiny. Chairs, weapons, embroidered cloaks, a bronze cheese grater—any of these might appear in Homer with the name of its maker, its place of origin, and the genealogy of who regifted it to whom.

    Fiction
    David James Poissant

    Shaking Teddy’s hand, he knows this week will be long and filled with lasts: Last swim in the lake. Last game of horseshoes on the lawn. Last night on the dock, watching the moon climb, star by star, into the sky.

    Poetry
    Heather Christle


    He will pay for this at Trivia Night if he makes it to the future

    (If the future still has trivia, if the future still has night)

    Poetry
    Caki Wilkinson


    and my friend is feeling better, done with chemo,
    and I don’t know what to say but can’t shut up,
    just keep reloading wrong words through the last
    packed aisles and turnstiles, back to Saturday,
    appalled, of course, but not ungratified
    by all these ways we have to stay alive.

    Nonfiction
    John Psaropoulos

    Integration in, say, Germany, with its robust manufacturing economy and a need for workers is one thing. In Greece, which is just beginning to recover from its worst ever recession and still has statistical unemployment of 16 percent, it is quite another.

    Nonfiction
    Sylvia Sellers-García

    Here, I thought, is a glimpse of what it’s like to live without evidence of the past

    Nonfiction
    Christian Lorentzen

    Retail jobs are under relentless threat from Amazon and the like; Wendy’s and its peers have been testing out touch-screen ordering, and it’s not hard to imagine any warm meals prepared by humans soon falling into the artisanal category; and computerization has been eliminating all manner of office work for decades. But people find it hard to believe that most eighteen-wheelers will soon be running on autopilot on highways, with complete automation soon to follow. The notion inspires the specter of runaway juggernauts massacring scores of innocent commuters and vacationers in their Toyotas and Priuses in flaming roadside pileups.

    Review
    Justin Taylor

    Maybe I’m missing something. Death in Her Hands is a novel about delusions and lacunae, after all, and it’s certainly possible that I’m not as careful a reader as I think I am, but I’ve read this book twice now, and I still don’t have a clear sense of why it was written, much less of what it’s trying to say.

    Fiction
    Lea Carpenter

    And she could see, at last, that the origins of this experience had been lived by and passed down through so many others whose names she would not recognize, whose wisdom she could not catch.

    Media, Podcast

    In which poets Edgar Kunz, the author of Tap Out, and Anders Carlson-Wee, the author of The Low Passions, consider influence and camaraderie—the ways in which their friendship has shaped their writing practices and their first books.

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