The thing about a soap opera is that it reliably presses certain buttons. Someone onscreen goes through an outrageous, exaggerated version of events so that you can release feelings of your own subtler, realer experience.
Founded in 1977 at Columbia University's School of the Arts
The thing about a soap opera is that it reliably presses certain buttons. Someone onscreen goes through an outrageous, exaggerated version of events so that you can release feelings of your own subtler, realer experience.
Axiom’s End sci-fi grapples with timely questions about our civilization while its hero grapples with aliens.
I feel like a child in an empty box. The walls are daydreams, and the world is anything.
Review: Want by Lynn Steger Strong “‘You tired, runner girl?’ They all call me runner girl,” confesses the narrator in the opening of Lynn Steger Strong’s second novel, Want. Having lived a former life as a competitive distance runner, this…
Alan Perry’s poems do not only reckon with death or dying; they reckon with what it means to lose something.
A mixture of Juno meets Miranda July’s The First Bad Man meets something new entirely, Frazier’s book explores themes of female intimacy, queerness, addiction, motherhood, and how quickly anything can escalate.
The most powerful magic often remains invisible, except to those who know how to recognize it. The act of gendering is also an incantation, an act of naming.
Trethewey’s memoir is a lyric confrontation with grief—the way it shapes and reshapes memory over time, permeating even those decades preceding loss.
Mackintosh examines the nature of rebellion, the innate strength of motherhood, and the paradox of choice.
I didn’t choose the bathroom for its grandeur. The room is narrow and yellowed with a bathtub against the wall and cobwebbed windows above the toilet and sink.
It may seem strange, when thinking of the future, to recommend books on the past, but studying history is not simply about picking apart old news.
Our plant is the closest thing I have to a little brother, disregarding some of my mother’s oldest plates and mugs. It is stocky and broad, it throws its dark leaves and branches as far horizontally as it does vertically.
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