fiction
What to do when long-lost friends from Jerusalem—an ultra-orthodox couple named Shoshana and Yerucham (formerly known as Lauren and Mark)—pay a visit twenty years after finding God in the Holy Land, only to end up insulting your family.
When we first meet Henry Skrimshander, one of the charming-but-flawed characters in Chad Harbach’s debut novel, The Art of Fielding, he is a scrawny hayseed.
Andrea Thalasinos holds a PhD in sociology and has taught at Madison Area Technical College for nearly twenty years, but along the way she has spent much of her free time rescuing and raising Siberian huskies and learning how to be a musher—traini
The day her children went over the cliff on the hiking trail at Eagle Crest, Regina Mayer was in the park gift shop, idly fingering a pair of sunglasses that she knew she wasn’t going to buy, that she didn’t even like the look of but had removed f
Nobody could figure out why the Colonel's wife tried to beat the train.
When Dad came home that night he said it was a terrible waste of a '55 Chevy Bel Air, and, even with a V-8 engine, she should have known better.
“The power of human desire is matched only by our inability to express those desires,” explains Matthew Garth, the teenage narrator of Larry Watson’s American Boy.
Readers who remember Betsy Draine and Michael Hinden’s joint memoir, A Castle in the Backyard: The Dream of a House in France (University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), and The Walnut Cookbook (Ten Speed Press, 1998), written by Jean
Foggy water. Watery fog. It enveloped the Alaskan ferry until the boat’s Chief Engineer, Miles Gopon, saw more than fog. He saw sheets of lace. Pink lace. Panties.
Lydia Fauerbach ladled chicken noodle soup into two bowls, her everyday ones with the roses faded from years of hard washing. She had made the noodles this morning, drying them in long strands on the back of a wooden chair.
Someone has stolen my glasses again. I suspect Sylvia Shapiro because she can't quit crowing about how darling she thinks they are. I think they're gaudy. My daughter Dorothy bought them for me, but now they are gone. I also suspect Bobby.
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