Tin House has established itself as one of the most eclectic, exciting, popular literary magazine in America today. Writing from its pages is consistently honored in Best American Stories, Best American Essays, Best American Poetry, the O.Henry: Prize Stories, and the Pushcart Prizeanthologies. Authors include James Salter, Deborah Eisenberg, Denis Johnson, Aimee Bender, Steven Millhauser, Steve Almond, Amy Bloom, Pinckney Benedict, Robert Olen Butler, Elizabeth Tallent, Mark Jude Poirier, Marshall N. Klimasewiski, Ryan Harty, Anthony Swofford, Amanda Eyre Ward, and others.
“Tin House may very well represent the future of literary magazines.”
“Tin House stands at the top of the list of quarterlies publishing today.”
“Tin House has quickly become one of the country’s most noticed literary magazines . . . Colorful, lively, loud, and often sexy."
Dorothy Allison, Steve Almond, Aimee Bender, Pinckney Benedict, David Benioff, Amy Bloom, Robert Olen Butler, Deborah Eisenberg, Ryan Harty, Howard Hunt, Frances Hwang, Denis Johnson, Marshall N. Klimasewiski, Ellen Litman, Howard Luxenberg, Martha McPhee, Steven Millhauser, Lucia Nevai, Mark Jude Poirier, Natasha Radojcic, Stacey Richter, James Salter, Jim Shepard, Anthony Swofford, Julia Slavin, Elizabeth Tallent, Amanda Eyre Ward, Jung H. Yun
“Tin House shows with this stunning collection that it has many rooms, all of them astonishing, full of the best writers in the country. To see what is going on right inside the front door of American letters, open this book.”
—Ron Carlson, author of A Kind of Flying
“You find in Tin House what you hope to find in life. People who give the best of themselves in poems and stories and essays, who offer great conversation in the form of interviews, and who even set the table with recipes for food and drink. Around that table, you hear voices new and old, fresh and forgotten, lionized and overlooked. At dinner once, Frank Conroy raised his glass and offered this toast: If we feel the pain so acutely, why not the pleasure? A Tin House anthology is the glass raised, the guests honored, and a celebration for writer and reader alike.”
—Charles D’Ambrosio, author of The Dead Fish Museum
“Like many people, and most writers I know, I read every issue of Tin House, from cover to cover, for three reasons. One: Because it makes me believe that we still live in a world in which people care about writing, language, literature, and art. Two: Because there is nothing else like it. And three: Because it’s so consistently smart, surprising, and so amazingly good.”
—Francine Prose, author of A Changed Man
Foreword by Dorothy Allison
The Break Up Vows
End of the Line
I Love to See You Coming, I Hate to See You Go
Robert Olen Butler
Revenge of the Dinosaurs
Why the Sky Turns Red When the Sun Goes Down
The Old Gentleman
Xmas in Las Vegas
Marshall N. Klimasewiski
The Third House
The Anthropology of Sex
End of Messages
Mark Jude Poirier
Shades of Mango
Christ, Their Lord
John Ashcroft: More Important Things Than Me
Will They Kill You in Iraq?
Amanda Eyre Ward
The Way the Sky Changed
Jung H. Yun
Excerpt from Dorothy Allison's Foreword:
If one believes in a world of story, a terrain in which short stories, novels, and memoirs intersect to create a reality as powerful and as full as human history itself, then being part of that creation offers a sense of validation and purpose that subsumes awards bestowed or money paid. You want your story to meet all other stories, to become part of the great human narrative, to shape how people think about themselves and their history. I truly believe that human change takes place through story, that we can only become what we can imagine, and that imagination is constantly in the process of being augmented, enlarged, or diminished. Small narratives, reductively cruel stories, and mean-spirited tales diminish us. Large-souled narratives—attempts to fully understand individuals and communities, to portray us fully and with compassion—enlarge us, making us more than we have been seen to be before. It is how we imagine ourselves that can be changed, and no political slogan, no matter how catchy or rhythmic, is as powerful as a narrative that takes us inside someone we have never imagined before or pulls us inside someone we have always dismissed or held in contempt and makes us see that person in new and deeper ways.
A short story opens the door to a brightly lit room. It calls us out of darkness, makes sense of what cannot be explained, and validates the most commonplace choices of our daily lives. Of course every now and then a story does another thing entirely. It stops us cold and leaves us sitting stunned. But there are lifetime truths to which sitting stunned is the only response—certainly preferable to burying ourselves in distraction or loud noisy babble.