Autofiction lays bare what much literary fiction tries to mask: writers cannot help but draw on their experiences, what they know. They can do all the research in the world, but in the end, still, they are limited by what their own brains can create. Juliet’s mind betrayed her; she fought against it, tried to kill it—twice. And here she is, wrestling with it still, trying to make sense of it.

The sun generates (or, poetically speaking, “references”) forms, defined here in opposition to “representation.” For Selcer, the form is not fixed but is rather in a state of “becoming,” which can produce new relations.

Savage Pageant is a profound work of care that insists on our becoming involved in the face of historic and continued harm—because, in fact, there is no way to extricate ourselves.

In this journey, Nye demands the reader pay attention to Gaza, understand life from a Palestinian perspective, and join her in witness.

Ultimately, like a magic eye puzzle, the fullness of Ntshanga’s accomplishment only comes into focus if we allow our suspicious attention to go a bit slack. The harder we look, the less we know for sure. We can only carve a space around what it is and find joy and pleasure in seeing how the image shifts into and out of focus, knowing that it will disappear as soon as the delicate balance is lost.

“I don’t know if “I begin with love” means he was conceived in love or means that it is his starting point in life or this is his treatise on the meaning of life. I don’t care. It’s all good to me. I want to be with a person who says that.”

doan’s work opens up new possibilities for living as an autonomous body unoccupied and undefined by a series of historical and violent circumstances. She provides a hidden stairwell out—guidelines for how to dwell within that conflicted space of the diaspora, and how language temporarily relieves us of its strain.

After nearly thirty years of rage, laughter, and a whole lot of narcotics, Welsh finally seems ready to lay his friends to rest.

In Though I Get Home, pluralities of identity go beyond human comprehension: does it have to do with the country where you were born? The place where you live? Where you work? Or is there something deeper?

In Hour Book, Heim highlights a necessary attention to how our daily lives are structured by innumerable, formal constraints and how, to put it simply, one stays alive in spite of or perhaps even because of these constraints.