The few years I've spent working with apprentice writers have given me reason to cherish surprises almost above all else. I don't know if conformism is a stronger force in the literature of our time than any other's, but certainly it is insidiously powerful; looking about yourself (in the academy or in the marketplace) you're…
With gratitude I recommend to readers this story written by a writer who was a young man in the sixties in America, and who survived the colliding hopes and promises, and the shattering of so many of them, the shattering even of the very sources of so many of them, during that time in our…
It was nothing more than a summer job, hopping the low fence to my neighbor's house where I paid out the long hollow pole through my hands, and dipped the skimmer's blue jaw into the pool to strain the insect wings, bird feathers and carob leaves that lay like the night's siftings on a huge…
She insisted on the room being as dark as possible, yet the street lights still managed to filter in. She lay with his weight upon her, watching his movements in the mirrored closet doors. In the dark she could barely be seen. Her hands and body moved like wisps of smoke. His white skin was…
She wrote to say this: Send me a picture of the boy we never had, the one with blue eyes, big ears, and a smile that says, Nothing, so far, has hurt too bad. She wrote: Yesterday, when I got your letter, I carried it with me like a dark bloom. I took it with…
I don't believe in ashes; some of the others do. I don't believe in better or best; some of the others do. I don't believe in a thousand flowers or the first robin of the year or statues made of dust. Some of the others do. I don't believe in seeking sheet music by Boston…
The initial encouragement of publication of David Wong Louie's work should be credited to David Hamilton at The Iowa Review, where two of his earlier stories appeared. Louie has also had work in Chicago Review, Kansas Quarterly, Agni Review, Mid-American Review, Fiction International and others, and is now readying a first collection called Displacement. Louie…
Amanda Pierson has a good eye, a fine ear, and a wanderer's heart. Born and raised in Princeton, New Jersey, Amanda traveled south following her graduation from Dartmouth College, and it is there-in the climate of Porter and Faulkner-that she began to discover her voice as a writer. Much has been made of the verbal…
Isaac looked like the tortured priest in Open City, and we lost him decades ago. I remember two fat gangster types who had gone to his funeral and were bragging in the tavern later that they had picked up two good-looking girls at the mortuary visitation and had laid them, and I thought Isaac would…
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