Submit your poetry, fiction, and nonfiction to the 2018 Columbia Journal Winter Contest, judged by Jericho Brown, Lauren Wilkinson, and Alexander Chee.
What killed her/ knew the scent of her center well, knew how to woo her/ and did.
Reading Amparo Dávila’s stories is like accepting an invitation for tea at a haunted house.
When the call came late one evening, Dan assumed it was news of just another death.
As Smarsh unfolds her family's story, she offers sharp commentary on the structures that both shame the poor and perpetuate the cycle of poverty.
Each month, Blurbed features a curated list of things to read, events to attend and news from Columbia Journal.
Something burning or maybe already burnt/ A cataract climbs a triage/ How many bushels in an apple?
People often say to me, “You’re a writer? How lucky.” There was little luck involved, unless working constantly is luck.
In the morning we share cigarettes, and coffee.
Nuruddin Farah has written a story about family, both the families we belong to by blood and the ones we forge for ourselves out of...
The book’s final line is a warning as much as an entreaty: “Don’t ever let them talk you out of being mad again.”
Whatever is cool. Whatever is fine. Simple is fine.
David Rosenthal is clearly a masterful translator of the original Catalan — you can see Rodoreda’s pen at work behind his translation.