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In the spring, the dogs stopped barking. By then our windows were held open with tomato cans or washed-out jars of jelly
On nights when there would be a cultural house dance, the brothers would leave for the village early, hitch a ride beyond the dom kultura to the abandoned land where, long ago, for one near-orphaned year—their father drowned, their mother lost to grief—they had lived as boys, slept in the straw inside their uncle’s izba, […]
He mounts the shaking platform, lays the weight of his fingers on the delicate wings.
Tremors When The Patient’s Hands Are Held Out hhhhh March 1998 They have grown into each other like two sun-exhausted creepers; a combination of indistinct markings. An outsider might wonder if these are the original patterns, or if there has been some constant irritation to produce this blurring together of striation. Once they were young […]
I was Leon Termen before I was Dr Theremin, and before I was Leon, I was Lev Sergeyvich. The instrument that is now known as a theremin could as easily have been called a leon, a lyova, a sergeyvich. It could have been called a clara, after its greatest player.
I first met Kate Zambreno on the page. When I was the editrix of Chiasmus Press, the editors selected five manuscripts as finalists for our experimental novel contest. I read the last five. The names had been removed. I was completely torn in my decision, because two of the manuscripts literally ravaged me. The writing […]
It’s twenty degrees and my toddler Iona’s parka is so stiff she’s liable to fall, so I carry her up the steps onto the green metro bus. She squirms until I put her down, then stomps her boots and grins at her freedom while I pay the fare. She’s happy when she can get what […]
On the first day of Live Oak Daycare, all the children are given shovels and a small bag of dirt. “We encourage the children—even the babies, especially the babies—to work hard, imaginatively.” Miss Birdy, my son’s teacher, winks.
Mariela waited for the American boy in his bedroom. The bedroom had been Mariela’s once—hers and Hector’s—
In the well-to-do, Connecticut commuter town where Ted Thompson’s debut novel takes place, things tend to happen like clockwork: from the trains pulling into and out of their stations, to the holiday party invitations that appear in mailboxes each year. The place is nicknamed “The Land of Steady Habits,” after all. But what happens when […]
Everyone gets to die. Not everyone gets to find love first.
You can now read Elisa Albert’s contribution to our Winter issue online. We spoke with the author about the claustrophobic world that is “I am Happy For You That You Are So Happy.” Tin House: What was the biggest obstacle in writing “I am Happy For You That You Are So Happy”? Elisa Albert: It’s […]
Maybe you were one of the lucky folks whose local bookstore has been stocking The Dismal Science for weeks, but today–officially–the book exists in the world. Publishing this one is an honor, and feels like a real coup for us. If you haven’t already, we’d encourage you to read a sampling of it here, along […]
Justine sat down on the linoleum outside of Bass Lecture Hall and listened to the rumble of obsequious group chuckles that slipped under the door.
A Correction of the Untruths I Was Told as a Child about How the World Works: An Interview with Kyle Minor
The genius of Kyle Minor’s fiction—and there’s no other word for it—finds its clearest expression after we’ve put his story down and are left alone with our own spiraling thoughts. His new collection, Praying Drunk (Sarabande Books), raises any number of enormous questions about human nature and the possibility, however remote, of understanding the divine. […]
Early on in Happy Mutant Baby Pills, author Jerry Stahl invokes Naked Lunch—a nervy move, I thought, since what book, what writer, could weather the comparison? Jerry Stahl can.
“Rumor had it that breakfast at the World Bank’s cafeteria wasn’t as good as breakfast at the IMF’s cafeteria, even though both were made by Marriot from identical recipes and ingredients. The debate was, of course, not about breakfast at all; it was about the participants in the debate, a select group in the twin organizations, where breakfast wasn’t popular, since most people took it at home. Joining the debate indicated you were prepared to take at least two of your daily meals at the office, which suggested ambition.”
You can now read Alexander Maksik’s contribution to our Winter issue online. We spoke with the author about the strange world that is “Trim Palace.” gg Tin House: What was the biggest obstacle in writing “Trim Palace”? Alexander Maksik: In earlier drafts, I included a great deal more of Pete’s life – past and present. […]
When the whole family gathered—when the dogs of cousins vaguely remembered one another and settled in friendly heaps under the long table around which young parents affectionately bemoaned the little ones upstairs rumbling with the horsepower of imagined engines, and the very old ladies downstairs, passing peacefully away in corners, growing young again, strapping on […]
We had scores of submissions, sent in from all over the world. The competition was stiff and all the stories memorable. A huge congratulations—and lots of great prizes—go out to our winner Pazit Cahlon! We also want to extend a hearty shout-out of praise to our first runner-up, Bill Gavula and our second runner-up, Megan Taylor! So, […]
“Minor, major—those words have never done much for me. I don’t understand them. The question any novel is really trying to answer is, Is life worth living? That’s a major question, a huge question, but the best way to answer it might not be to crank the novelistic universe into a crude, lurching motion by […]
“Shortly afterwards it started raining, very innocently at first, but the sky was packed tight with cloud and gradually the drops grew bigger and heavier, until it was autumn’s dismal rain that was falling—rain that seemed to fill the entire world with its leaden beat, rain suggestive in its dreariness of everlasting waterfalls between the […]
An excerpt from Adam Braver’s novel, November 22, 1963
The day Gaëlle forgot language, I was arranging a bouquet of roses and eucalyptus at our house north of town. My husband Fred and I were supposed to have dinner when her nurse called and told me Gaëlle suffered a stroke. I walked out the door, forgot the flowers, and took off for the rest […]