Taïa’s novel intertwines various tales of the wretched of the Earth leaving their country in order to die in another.
Honoring fact as well as fiction, Kenny mounts an ambitious mixture of cinephilic essay and true-crime exposé.
Katharina Volckmer’s debut is a warning shot fired across the bow of the modern novel.
King can still write a horror story that scares and delights in equal measure.
The separate yet sometimes inextricably linked spheres of politics and desire make for doomed bedfellows in Jedrowski’s debut novel.
For Allen, his new memoir is a form of retreat-as-attack, or perhaps vice versa.
On the page, the main character’s musical aspirations never feel as alive as her interpersonal relationships.
It settles into a distinct rhythm as time passes and Lisicky’s relationship with his chosen town deepens.
The acclaimed crime novelist discusses his new collection of novellas, his influences, and more.
Though there’s a consistent amount of sex here, the book still feels like an act of extended foreplay.
How do we deal with a crisis when it isn’t presented as such?
Stamm accomplishes something remarkable by giving the reader a story that’s simultaneously disorienting and comforting.
What animates Sayles’s fiction is curiosity about different kinds of people and their experiences.
André Aciman’s novel is a series of ghost stories interrupted by fleeting flashes of light.
The book is Carmen Machado’s deeply intelligent and fiercely innovative account of her experience of domestic abuse.
It’s in the moral murk of a politically loaded situation that King finds the richest seam of his story.
It’s a moving, witty, at times almost trance-like work traversing age, aging, sickness and death, as well as joy, gratitude and wonder.
One of Zink’s missions is to navigate how the absence of one life continues to play on those left alive.