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“Barthelme died in 1989, at the age of fifty-eight. I was at college and heard the news from a friend who worked at a Kinko’s to which one of the Barthelme brothers had brought Don...
“Dad would load them into an old Ford Econoline van and the boys would tell their stories, what they called their ‘past histories,’ and I would wedge in beside them and listen.”
If you’re deprived of a home, deprived of access to your family, you learn that, actually, being bound to others is the significant thing.
I met Nora Lange in the dream space of the Brown Creative Writing MFA Program where I was teaching and she was a graduate student. As a student, she seemed all possibility, all won...
When the two lead actresses in Shawn’s play called in sick, their understudies scrambled to prep in the dressing room. The stand-ins? Deborah Eisenberg and Shawn himself.
“Oh, not another story about me,” she cried. “Another book about how I was the world’s worst mother. I wish you could find something else to write about.”
On a rainy Sunday in New York City in October 1935, Munro Leaf, an editor at the book publisher Frederick A. Stokes Company, picked up a legal pad and dashed off a story for his fr...
The night the tip jar went missing, we assumed that it had been stolen by a student, or maybe a professor—an adjunct—who had taken it when we weren’t looking.
The author reads his story from the April 20, 2026, issue of the magazine.
While she slept, the prince measured her hair, which in sunlight was the color of butterscotch. He admired her view of the forest and fields. He observed peasants passing below. He...
The author discusses his story “Process of Elimination.”
The ironies that affix themselves to the life and literature of Larry McMurtry are best exemplified by the title of his autobiographical meditation on storytelling, Walter Benjamin...
Saturday, he packed up all his books in boxes and loaded them in his car, and that’s when she knew he was serious. Previously, he’d grab his notebook, cigarettes, a satchel of sock...
Each morning, he “awoke”—not the term he would have used—exhausted, having not slept and having driven all night.
“The afternoon went by. Five dollars a game is a great deal on forgetting.”
She broke Carl’s heart, he thought, but she’s not breaking mine.
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