How funny to hear Grandpa Zhang say something other than, “I’ve got candies!” He seemed very excited to have some duties at last. When I stuck my head out of my window to greet him, he put on a serious look and shouted, “The typhoon’s coming. Close your windows, little Qin! Stay safe.”

A novel borne out of an earthquake, a departed friend, and a translation from which lost voices rise.

The investigative journalist discusses her outspoken father, a notorious encounter with Donald Trump, and the legacy of an impassioned late colleague

The novelist, poet, and translator on the responsibilities we hold, the consequences of silence, and writing cross-genre.

For that one night, the moon takes away our animal memory and illuminates our past, our present, and our hopes for the future. It makes you feel sick and deranged and filled with unbearable and exquisite longing. It drives us nuts.

Old lovers know that love does not conquer all, that our intimacy cannot establish a safe haven somewhere, someplace, for us.

A teenage boy, a violent incident, and twenty years of reckoning.

I stood still and said: What is this? / Why do you lie here so quietly?

The author on her new book of essays about activism, the failure to reckon, and extracting power from pain.

That’s why he doesn’t have friends. Among other reasons, of course. He is the kid who reads pamphlets and remembers facts other people find boring.