Can dating advice ever be universal?

There is perhaps no archetype of sisterly devotion as enduringly popular as Little Women’s March girls.

“A man can dwell inside a city,” writes Conor Bracken in “Shock & Awe,” “and leave untouched / but what man is there can dwell // within the chambers of another man / and stay himself?”

It should come as little surprise to fans of Kathryn Davis that at the beginning of her latest book, Aurelia, Aurélia, she expresses her fondness for both the television series Lost and the middle section of Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse.

Cody-Rose Clevidence’s Aux Arc Trypt Ich is a book of three books, a standout achievement in the poet’s relatively brief career of un-relatively prolific output—in addition to two chapbooks, the triptych is the author’s fourth full-length collection, and their third since 2018.

For climate archaeologists, collecting core samples from arctic ice offers a look back in time and a glimpse into an uncertain future.

Cookie Mueller was a writer and artist of many persuasions.

Diane Wilson’s The Seed Keeper is prefaced with the poem “The Seeds Speak,” told from the perspective of stored seeds.

Christine Hume’s experimental autobiography Saturation Project is about the dissolving of its subject—or maybe, even, The Subject.

In Leviathan, Thomas Hobbes states that human life is “nasty, brutal, and short” because people, left to their own devices, are naturally vicious.

“There’s a long version and a short version of how I lost all my money,” says Michael Mixner, the male protagonist in Adam Wilson’s Sensation Machines, 44 pages into the author’s latest novel.

It’s 2 a.m. in a small enclave of American refugees living abroad.

I’m writing this in a plane flying south over California, from San Francisco, where I grew up, to Santa Barbara, where I attend grad school.

Paradais, Fernanda Melchor’s second book translated into English, opens with two teenage boys drinking rum outside a luxury housing development.

Brooke Sahni’s debut poetry collection, Before I Had the Word, chosen by Maggie Smith as the Winner of the 2020 X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, explores generational ties to grief, sex, family, and religion.

The first time I saw an image of William Sommer’s “Winter Landscape” painting, I was doing something unmemorable online; but I remembered the moment I saw it perhaps even more than I remembered the painting itself because it so strongly evoked the view from my childhood bedroom window.

When readers need to know a century’s worth of history to comprehend a novel’s dynamics, a fiction writer confronts a task that may appear simple but is actually excruciatingly difficult.

Irene Solà’s novel When I Sing, Mountains Dance starts with a storm personified and a person disembodied.

Where are the great climate novels?

Matvei Yankelevich’s new collection Dead Winter draws its poems from a longer sequence, still in progress, whose overall title is “From A Winter Notebook.”