Sometimes she would forget about her son, for a few minutes or a few hours, and then all at once she would remember. She’d spot a newborn, or she’d meet someone else with the surname Lo. She avoided the neighborhood where they lived, but as his first birthday approached, she could resist no longer.

“Very good,” said the man. “I am the demon who lives in this manor and I will impart to you, my guest, any truth in all the world. What is your question?”

Justin Torres's We the Animals, which has been adapted into a film, is difficult to pin down — but all the more powerful for it.

She knows she should say something. It’s morbid to playact death on a daily basis, but she doesn’t have the heart to put a stop to it.

They both freeze and stare at me. Did I make a noise? I didn’t realize. For a moment everything is silent. I am held in their golden eyes.

At a moment when compassion for the immigrant is already limited, the immigrant criminal is rarely on the receiving end of it. Yet it is inhumane to punish people multiple times for the same crime.

The writer on her new memoir about abuse, insidious forms of control, and the gendered expectations of forgiveness.

“You’re an insufficient man,” Anna had said the day before the day she had asked for a divorce.

The author of "Tinderbox" on the untold story of the Up Stairs Lounge Fire, which until the Orlando shooting was the worst mass killing of gays in history.

Benjamin tried mentally to close the man’s eyes and straighten his mouth; but no sooner had he done so than the eyelids would lift once again, and the lips resume that ironic sneer.

Even though he pretends he’s moved on, secretly Henry still wants to be a writer and secretly Philip Roth is his god.