The tales in The Lonesome Bodybuilder place the reader in seemingly ordinary settings — so ordinary that when the strangeness encroaches in the form of alien customers and umbrellas that make businessmen fly, Yukiko Motoya’s narration blends the bizarre so seamlessly into its mundane backdrop that we easily accept it.

Let’s be honest, references to the body of an airplane are nothing but linguistic propaganda. Metal wings and manufactured fuselages are the antithesis of scar-powered, human flight. An obvious truth: people can’t surmount their own hard ground while strapped in and contained.

David H. Lynn discusses his new short story collection Children of God and his editorship of the Kenyon Review with Grayson Treat.

Scott’s riveting emotional book stands out for the strength of its writing and for its portraits of small town waitresses, factory workers and fast food restaurant managers not often seen in contemporary fiction.

A single fat droplet hit the singed crown of Maximilian’s scallop, spread into a glassy oval, and dissolved. Maximilian swallowed the remnants of crostini he was languidly munching and glanced up at the ceiling.

One of the most striking qualities of Aatif Rashid’s debut novel, Portrait of Sebastian Khan, is its ability to lay bare misunderstanding, in the moment it appears.

Phoebe sat up to look. Four days of driving across the country, warm air blowing in the windows, had weaved the hair on the back of her head into a ball. White and yellow lights dotted the darkness on her mom’s side of the car.

Taub’s characters, though rooted in religious and cultural specificity, convey a sense of common humanity in all its complicated glory.

The window sill in Louisa’s bedroom has fallen off again. She is about to push the sill back in place when she notices that the wall is hollow. A feeling comes over her, a voice whispers put your hand inside.