Any nonfiction writer who undertakes to describe the past always face a preliminary methodological question: How to slice the pie.

Two new books revolve around one place.

Caren Beilin’s Revenge of the Scapegoat is a book about desire, community, and family—but mostly it is story about pain and what we do with it.

Scary Monsters by Australian author Michelle de Kretser begins with a choice. Not a character’s choice, but the reader’s: from which of the two front covers will you begin?

Part poetry, part (screen)play, Rochelle Hurt’s The J Girls: A Reality Show, winner of the 2021 Blue Light Book Prize, interrogates the collective trauma of women coming of age.

“But these Americans, with their abundance of knowledge, how can they be powerless too?”

When Chilean novelist and scholar Alia Trabucco Zerán describes her latest research project, “men and women alike furrow their brows, wince, and then nod their heads in approval of my decision to tackle such a pressing, awful, and all-too-common problem in Latin America.”

You might want to avoid reading Andrea Abreu’s gloriously visceral Dogs of Summer around meal times.

In recent years, non-fiction publishing trends have graced the earth’s commuters with a steady diet of proto-political memoirs from authors who rose from economic instability to occupy more-or-less esteemed positions in professional society.

Imagine this. You’re six, and you’re playing in the sand pit arranging piles of grainy earth into neat, abstract pyramids.

Garrett Stack’s debut collection of poetry, Yeoman’s Work, paints the world of the working-class using all the hues of a blue-collar pallet.

If I write that Vivian Maier was a photographer, you'll misunderstand.

We’re in someone’s kitchen; a kid is sitting on the floor.

The cover of David Shields’ The Very Last Interview features a blurred man in a suit and tie, his skin an inhuman green.

Chasing Homer by László Krasznahorkai is a novella that defies and transcends summarization.

Explicit vulnerability in the face of great evil renders the vulnerable both a target and a champion of resilience against oppression.

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.