The author of Small Porcelain Head on how poetry can help us mourn.
The public execution of two petty thieves sends a message to Tehran’s artists and intellectuals. A dispatch from the gallows.
Ki-Suck Han’s death on a New York City subway track has the city asking what would I do? One writer examines death in public, how the MTA handles trauma, and what it feels like to be an onlooker.
This story can’t get it’s tense together or it’s person, now. Has it even got its “its” right?
Still, I started for the parlor. I’d polished my shoes, put gel in my hair: habits my mother had always wanted me to form and I had always resisted. Walking down the street, I felt conspicuous, as though people were sniggering at my gleaming head and feet.
In a candid interview, the Israeli author on Netanyahu’s impotence, how his son’s death affected his latest novel, and Israel’s need to embrace Palestinians with humanity.
The floor was made of dirt, the walls dark and smooth, the ceiling just high enough for us to stand upright. You could walk a quarter mile before it ended, cut off by a stone wall. And it was in this tunnel that Darcie heard the voice of her mother, who was dead.
Tonight, you are thinking of heroin, / Of the boy who pulled you to his lips / In a blue room and whispered heroin / So close you could feel it on your face like a cloudburst.