An excerpt from Val Brelinski’s debut novel, about three daughters who’ve been raised by devout evangelical Christians in Idaho.
Search results
Posted inBooks, Nonfiction
The Art of Running from the Police
A young man concerned that the police will take him into custody comes to see danger and risk in the mundane doings of everyday life. To survive outside prison, he learns to hesitate when others walk casually forward, to see what others fail to notice, to fear what others trust or take for granted.
Posted inBooks, Nonfiction, Story
The Art of Running from the Police
A young man concerned that the police will take him into custody comes to see danger and risk in the mundane doings of everyday life. To survive outside prison, he learns to hesitate when others walk casually forward, to see what others fail to notice, to fear what others trust or take for granted.
Posted inNonfiction, Story
Love, Identity, and Genderqueer Family Making
An excerpt from Maggie Nelson’s ‘The Argonauts’.
Posted inNonfiction, Quotes
The Comfortable, Comic Genius of ‘Broad City’
Broad City returns tonight, much to the glee of critics and fans alike. At Grantland, Rachel Syme spent time with the comic geniuses behind the show, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer.
Posted inNonfiction
‘We Value Experience’: Can a Secret Society Become a Business?
Jeff Hull’s Latitude Society explores the possibilities of art, intimacy, experience, and membership.
Posted inNonfiction
A San Francisco Story
Princess Anastasia was homeless, and lived and died in the Castro. Two different families piece together a life.
Posted inNonfiction, Story
A San Francisco Story
Princess Anastasia was homeless, and lived and died in the Castro. Two different families piece together a life.
Posted inNonfiction, Story
‘We Value Experience’: Can a Secret Society Become a Business?
Jeff Hull’s Latitude Society explores the possibilities of art, intimacy, experience, and membership.
Posted inNonfiction, Quotes
John McPhee on One Word You Couldn't Publish in The New Yorker
Fuck, fucker, fuckest; fuckest, fucker, fuck. In all my days, I had found that four-letter word—with its silent “c” and its quartzite “k”—more shocking than a thunderclap. My parents thought it was a rhetorical crime. Mr. Shawn actually seemed philosophical about its presence in the language, but not in his periodical. My young daughters, evidently, […]
