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Fiction

Places in My Neighborhood I Take John Cheever to That Also Happen to Have Food at Them by Kyra Kondis

I DM John Cheever on Twitter when I see that his most recent tweet says, looking for a good time. In my message, I say, aren’t we all? And he says, We must look for light where we can find it. Classic John Cheever.

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Book Reviews

No Good For Digging by Dustin M. Hoffman

Through beguiling and often frustrating means, Hoffman pushes both our conception of the Midwest and of the short story, re-centering them congruously as sites of mystery and magic…

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Research Notes

Hugh Fulham-McQuillan on Notes on Jackson and His Dead

I have built many sandcastles in my life. An essential component has always been water. It is best to catch a bucketful in the breaking tide to mould first the base structure, then the trickier, more playful parts of that medieval architecture; the sandy turrets, windows, and arches.

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Fiction

Shortly Before Eris Comes Blowing Up Your Party by Elizabeth O'Brien

Before Eris plucks the apple up and bowls it down the hall of emerald and ruby, saffron and butter, where the joyful bacchanal is unfurling its green tendrils dripping nectary without her, uninvited, SNUBBED, she stands by the table, gazing at the brimstone-and-chaff woven fruit bowl. She considers: Quince? Peach?

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Book Reviews

Pain by Zeruya Shalev, tr Sondra Silverstone

A married woman, finding herself bored with married life, seeks something better. That something better is another man, who promises to be the antidote to her boredom. Drama ensues.

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Fiction

The Little Prince by Lynn Mundell

Her favorite thing is to read about the antics of the little prince who lives halfway around the globe. Yesterday — or would it be two days ago in his time zone? — he rode in a baroque open air carriage that looked like it belonged in a museum.

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Research Notes

Linda Mannheim on This Way to Departures

Anita and I were driving around the back roads near Key Largo, looking for the places where the characters in my story would end up. I wanted to describe those roads in detail, by name. I wanted to know exactly where Laura, the narrator of ‘Noir’, would drive.

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Fiction

RedDog by Nuala O’Connor

The sheep gather in the middle of the field. Their whisper rises: Furze. Whin. Gorse.

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Research Notes

Sheila O’Connor on Evidence of V

The silence surrounding V was what followed me, all that I didn’t know and could never know. I’d tried to write into that void so many times, in so many ways, and always failed.

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Fiction

The Night Beyond the Boughs by Chad Schuster

I didn’t go to the funeral. My grief was too obtuse, too childish to be experienced communally.

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Book Reviews

American Grief in Four Stages by Sadie Hoagland

“It was my birthday when I found out that all the birds were electric,” the narrator proclaims in the first story of Sadie Hoagland’s collection, American Grief in Four Stages. This is indicative of the world Hoagland presents in these stories, one easily recognizable as our own, yet slightly bizarre — these strange details producing the exact feeling of being immersed in grief.