Emma Glass’s stunning second novel is a cautionary tale, revealing the great personal cost that comes with caring for the sick and vulnerable.
Excerpt: For those who are willing to submerge in an intricate and linguistically sumptuous story, Ge Fei’s new novel offers a rewarding world to explore.
Herbert’s new collection is an ambitious, generous boon . . . his parody of Tarantino’s style and MacSweeney’s lively translation chart unmarked territory.
What makes Modiano’s new novel such an enchanting read is its insistence on the importance of “those spaces where memory blurs into forgetting,” and its glyptic insights into the mechanisms by which forgetting offers up alternative chronologies . . .
Xiaolu Guo’s new novel is a restless and mesmerizing portrait of the immigrant experience.
Robinson’s novels are like glaciers. They move slowly, but they leave behind a transformed landscape. In the vast and complex landscape of American novel-writing, Marilynne Robinson’s is a unique and indispensable terrain.
Doon Arbus’s debut is an enigmatic and necessary book, especially for those conflicted about the physical detritus accumulated over the course of a life.
Emma Cline’s new collection investigates the shadier corners of the human experience, exploring the fault lines of power between men and women, parents and children, and the past and present. Cline deftly interrogates masculinity and the fates of broken relationships, examining violence on both a societal and personal level.
Daisy Johnson’s new novel dissolves the borders between dreams and reality, presenting a radical portrait of identity. Rather than a constructed and fixed self, one that is as distinct as it is static, identity is fluid, multivalent, and porous: a person never stays themselves for long.
Lina Wolff’s new story collection, translated by Saskia Vogel, addresses death with morbid humor and oddity—flings, murders, and a DIY porn channel—and leaves us to stave off death with morbid hopefulness.