#gordon-lish

#gordon-lish

Catherine Lacey reads her story 'Rate Your Happiness,' from the April 13, 2026, issue of the magazine, highlighting her narrative style and thematic depth.

Under the ABS challenge system, a team begins each game with two challenges. If a player gets an umpire's call overturned, their team retains the challenge. In effect, this means a team has unlimited challenges until they get two wrong.

A vision lay before him: Fleet Street blanketed with snow, silent, empty, pure white, and, at the end of it, the huge and majestic form of Saint Paul's Cathedral. It was a spellbinding moment: the great thoroughfare temporarily devoid of carts and carriages, the cathedral looming blurrily out of the still-falling snowflakes a real-life snow globe.

Preston's reliance on A.I. and his use of unattributed work by another writer was deemed a clear violation of the Times's standards, leading to his dismissal.

This project involved the reconstruction of a dilapidated building located in Guangzhou's old town along Tongfu Xi Road, a historic street established in 1926. Once vibrant, this area has suffered from significant neglect over the years, with many buildings falling into disrepair, creating safety hazards that forced both residents and businesses to leave.

New biographies and freshly issued retrospectives reexamine the lives and legacies of fashion's biggest names, from archetypical It girl Jane Birkin to the eternally ahead of his time Issey Miyake.

"I've heard some people say, 'Oh, I've watched the show,' or 'I've read the series, and that was the first queer romance I ever read,' says Stacy Boyd, executive editor at Harlequin Books, who works directly with Reid. 'So it's opening doors that haven't been opened.'"

I think it probably started when I first made contact with Tom Clark. He was in England at graduate school and he asked me to be in a magazine he was starting. We somehow began talking about rock music and he subsequently sent me 45s by The Cream and Jimi Hendrix Experience, both groups being unknown to me.

Dilara, the protagonist of this début novel, is consumed by the absence of a stable home in her life. She and her family flee Turkey, where she is from, after a failed coup in 2016. When they end up in Italy, something inexplicable happens: Dilara's bathroom transforms into a cell in an infamous prison on the outskirts of Istanbul.

I take no pleasure in saying "I told you so." Really, I don't. But I was hardly shocked by this week's news that Tina Rivers Ryan, who was named editor-in-chief of Artforum in 2024 after the dumpster fire that was the magazine's handling of an open letter in support of Gaza, was stepping down (Daniel Wenger and Rachel Wetzler will step in as co-editors, scrapping the editor-in-chief title altogether).

A crack of thunder, a flash of light, and a sulfurous mist flooded my apartment. Marax, President of Hell, stood before me. Marax entered my summoning circle, eyes burning with unholy fire, and I gave him the stack of homework to flip through while I brushed my teeth. Marax marked up the papers and fleshed out my bullet points into thoughtful feedback before I even got to my molars. Then-three hours of my life, saved!-I banished him back to Hell.

"I have been reading your book The Lonely City: The Art of Being Alone and I wanted to write and say how very good it is," "I discovered Henry Darger's work about 15 years ago. I am so interested in how you write about him and [Edward] Hopper, [Andy] Warhol and [David] Wojnarowicz."

Years ago, I wrote a series of articles for my college newspaper about competing in contests for which I was comically unprepared: arm wrestling, archery, Scrabble. The compulsion to fail dramatically continued into my freelance writing career, when I finagled my way into the front corral at the Los Angeles Marathon. (I stuck with the élites for all of two hundred meters.) My inclination was Plimptonian.

A writer is a kind of magician. Their job is to create living, three-dimensional people out of the ordinary stuff of ink and paper. This is no easy task, because readers can't literally hear, touch, or observe a character. Everything that defines a human being in real life-the physical space they occupy, or how they smell, feel, and sound-is stripped away, replaced by description. But authors have one major, mystical advantage: They can show you what's happening inside of someone's brain.

We meet him as a Gumby-like figure, asleep on a dirt floor, with only a jug of water and a toy horse. He has no idea how he got there. When he's around seventeen years old, Kaspar meets his captor, rendered in the book as a shadowy, hatch-marked father: "The Man in Black." The man teaches him to write his name; he teaches him to take a few fumbling goose steps outside.

You are leaving work, your suit still damp from the morning's downpour, the skin on your palms peeling. You are clutching two supermarket bags, tins of cream soup and tuna knocking against one another. The rain is hard and your anorak is cheap. You are on your way to Stockbridge, to your parents' house, which only your father inhabits now that your mother is gone.

Many editors languish in the margins of history, their contributions largely invisible despite how much they shape whom and how we read. But in recent years, amid a wave of books unearthing overlooked figures, biographers have turned their sights to pioneering book and magazine editors-including Malcolm Cowley of Viking, Judith Jones of Knopf, Bennett Cerf of Random House, and Katharine S. White of The New Yorker -anointing them as the unsung architects of the American literary canon.