Fiction & Poetry

No sooner did the words leave his mouth than the man’s eyelids fluttered open. “No . . . police,” he said.

The police lieutenant appeared to be writing down exactly what Gleb was telling him, but relying upon completely different words.

At least once a day I press the Thought like a bruise, and if I don’t it eventually starts to play anyway.

It almost returned to Kit then—what this place was, and who was waiting for them inside.

I told her that I’d been reading an article about morticians. One of the morticians interviewed had said something that was a revelation.

Radha had always believed that the world was evil and people malicious. But her sense of evil had been that of an ordinary person.

It was the end of the world, and a number of us had gathered in a large, abandoned house.

In the delicious heat, a summer breeze came and they fought as the woman sucked her ice cream through the bottom of her cone.

The author discusses his story “Chuck Murphy’s Last Run.”

The author discusses her story “A Very Safe Place.”

A conversation with Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s son Ignat Solzhenitsyn.

The author discusses her story “Dark Horse.”

The author reads his story from the October 19, 2026, issue of the magazine.

The author reads her story from the October 12, 2026, issue of the magazine.

The author reads her story from the September 28, 2026, issue of the magazine.

The author reads her story from the September 21, 2026, issue of the magazine.

The author joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Awaiting Orders,” which was published in The New Yorker in 2005.

The author joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Helen on Eighty-Sixth Street,” which was published in The New Yorker in 1997.

The author joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Man-Eating Cats,” which was published in The New Yorker in 2000.

The author joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Hostel,” which was published in The New Yorker in 2024.

The man from Kabul had warned about the number of men assigned to each room. “I won’t lie to you,” he had said. “You’ll be uncomfortable. You’ll have to adjust.”

It was empty when I logged in. I’d been off it since Vic died, four years ago.

“Of course, Arlette understood, this was not a tragedy. Tragedy would be a broken neck or spine. Paralysis for life. A coma.”

“It’s time to turn up the heat a little bit more. My boys are getting bored, and that’s not good for their appetite or their temper.”

“When is enough enough?”

“Always those horses up on the hill, each / To their own pasture.”

“Good God, the devil is up to his old tricks.”

“They can’t get off the island either.”

The poet joins Kevin Young to read and discuss “The Owl's Night,” by Mahmoud Darwish, and her own poem “The Museum of Stones.”

The poet joins Kevin Young to read and discuss “My Great-Grandmother's bible,” by Spencer Reece, and his own poem “The Bats.”

The poet joins Kevin Young to read and discuss “Questions of Travel,” by Elizabeth Bishop, and his own poem “My Father in English.”

The poet joins Kevin Young to read and discuss “I Catch Sight of the Now” by Jorie Graham, and his own poem “Piano Lesson.”