I am incredibly proud to feature the winner of our 2nd annual Story Foundation Prize, Karl Taro Greenfield, who’s remarkable story “Womanly Words” opens our summer issue. Set in imperial Japan, the young protagonist is the fifth and youngest son, and in a time of growing nationalism, he struggles with issues of masculinity, strength, and …
In 1995 something horrible happened. My favorite band released Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Months before it dropped, Spin and Rolling Stone buzzed with news about Smashing Pumpkins’ next project, a long-awaited two-disc album. My boyfriend Scott could hardly contain himself because he was certain it would be their greatest work yet. Given what …
When the Los Angeles Dodgers won the 2020 World Series last year, I was sitting on the couch with my youngest daughter Rosette, 25, here in Riverside, California, 55 miles from Dodger Stadium in LA, and on the phone with my mother, Gabrielle Gertrude Leu Straight Watson, 85, who was sitting alone in her mauve …
I’m not a violent person, but I do have a fantasy of punching him in the face. Last I heard, he still lives in New York, where I have recently returned after a decade away. In my fantasy, I run into him on the sidewalk or the subway and land a good right hand to …
The morning of the test, I arrived at the dive shop before the first minibus from Inhambane reached the market bearing the day’s supply of rolls. On the concrete deck, in the half dark, I stood shivering and scanning the profiles of my charges. Late September marked the tail end of winter, dry and cool, …
“He has also set eternity in the human heart.” ~Ecclesiastes 3:11 THE HOARD It became clear that time was against me. That mortality was always slinking around. That our three children, now almost grown, shouldn’t have to dispose of their dad’s, my husband’s, vast piles of stuff after we died. And that a 3,800-square-foot house …
The Atlantic is unpredictable in September. A hurricane might gather in the Caribbean and disperse off the coast of the Carolinas, older and weaker. But its winds and currents stretch far like evil, invisible fingers and arrive at the little beach where Betty and Bill go before anybody expects them. This is the beach where …
When my mother first came to America, she wore a pink coat with a rounded collar and four beveled black buttons. A farewell present from her parents and by far the most expensive garment she’d ever owned, the coat was wool, custom-made, and heavy enough to withstand the winters of Boston. It was March 1959; …
To read this excerpt, please purchase a copy of Issue #1, 2014
To read this essay, please purchase a copy of Issue #1, 2014