The Last Copy
As soon as his book was published, Antonio realized that the pure vision of him that only she harbored would be shattered— and that he would do anything to keep her from reading it.
Note: We will be posting this issue in installments through July 27, 2011.
As soon as his book was published, Antonio realized that the pure vision of him that only she harbored would be shattered— and that he would do anything to keep her from reading it.
“I knew that all the things we’d gathered there so many years would be scattered and gone. All that had held it together would come apart and be gone as if it never was.”
"I don’t want any more surgeries. I just want a little art to help, to make it look a little less deformed. You know?”
The old Bohemian hadn’t come to disturb the family on Holy Night, only to deliver an enormous, misshapen gift.
His parents were separating, but all Sam could think about was preparing for nuclear holocaust.
Marla had felt she’d never really had a sister, that she’d been visited by some strange goblin or ghost. But then she went into Daddy’s bank vault after he died.
Veblen’s first desire had been to spring the news of her engagement on her mother. Nothing with her mother was ever simple and straightforward— and that was the thrill of it.
Isa couldn’t wait to leave the Philippines. But when we pull into an American town of foggy streets and gray, concrete houses, she looks confused, then panicked.
All this—the dust, the tarantulas, the deaths—had not come naturally. “We’ve used the land wrong,” I once heard a farmer say while I spied on my father and his Communist friends.
Why fiction’s narrative and emotional integrity will always transcend the literal truth
The problem of the "already said"
Two poems