But one is a writer, and one is a hero, because it is the only thing they could possibly be.
Latent in Translation
She knew how to read a newspaper article when she was five; now she cannot tell Chinese from hieroglyphics.
The God of Love
As I walked home, I felt it—little wings against my lungs.
Montauk’s Design
Two houses, virtually identical in structure and appearance. Odd, right?
A Ghost In The Hallway
At night he could hear her rustling the curtain. He would whisper his questions to her.
Tumbling Down the Rabbit Hole: Review of Red Pill by Hari Kunzru
Its characters and events, while sinister, are plausible: an uncomfortable mirror to our own world.
Anything that Shines
There’s an our kind and a their kind.
The Mean Streets
I was Indiana Jones, hanging from a rope above a pit of snakes, my moves skilled and sure. My recorder was below, begging to be rescued like whatever unrealistic female heroine Jones would fall in love with and then totally forget about by the sequel.
To Death and Back: Review of Milk Blood Heat by Dantiel W. Moniz
Dantiel W. Moniz’s debut story collection, Milk Blood Heat, pulsates with the everyday horrors of being alive.
Nurture
Out here, she knew, was his sanctuary, away from his daughter’s problems. Here, only these more easily governed fruits of his labor existed.
