When Wanda bought the house, she didn’t imagine that anyone in the community would recognize that she and Lynn were queer.
The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
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When Wanda bought the house, she didn’t imagine that anyone in the community would recognize that she and Lynn were queer.
The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
Standing in the wreckage of these spaces unlocks a sensation people often crave, but can’t name.
It’s an imagined past, a pastoral imaginary, an alternate timeline in the multiverse.
I understand why people balk at labels. But I think of them—tomboy, butch, genderqueer, MOC—as functional and hopeful. That function is communication.
Remembering the New Yorker's Lillian Ross, who chronicled the second half of the twentieth century with her trademark brand of reporting, one year after her death.
The author of Beirut Hellfire Society on writing about the Lebanese Civil War, collective memory, and the selfishness of Greek deities.
I thought I could escape my jail kid past in an idyllic southern city. But trouble found me, and not everyone I knew got out alive.