Worth the Chuckles and Tears: Calypso by David Sedaris
David Sedaris is a funny writer, and in some circles, he is the funny writer. Now living in England, Sedaris is familiar to American audiences. We love his wry voice telling stories on the New Yorker...
View ArticleThis Week in Indie Bookstores
A mystery bookstore in Minneapolis is trying to survive with a new GoFundMe campaign. This Japanese comic features a skeleton who works at a bookstore. New Yorkers continue to protest tax credits...
View ArticleNotes of Dissent: Lessons from a Family Volvo
I’ve experienced my father’s affection for censorship in many places, but none more so than in our family car. It was an ancient, burgundy Volvo whose speakers had been so worn down that my father once...
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Let Go the Reins: Talking with H. S. Cross
H. S. Cross’s Grievous—the stunning follow-up to her debut, Wilberforce—brings us back to St. Stephen’s Academy in 1931, an all-boys school governed by antique codes and filled with secrets. Told from...
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How Patterns Break: Talking with Linda Bierds
As a poet, Linda Bierds is a rare find. She’s a devoted researcher, a caring teacher, and a transcendent image-maker. Her work draws on ekphrasis, historical personae, scientific thinking, and...
View ArticleENOUGH: Infra Dig
ENOUGH is a Rumpus series devoted to creating a dedicated space for essays, poetry, fiction, comics, and artwork by women and non-binary people that engage with rape culture, sexual assault, and...
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The Price of Acceptance
I moved to a small city in northern England in 2019. My partner had been offered a job as an academic at a local university, so we packed up our lives in New York City and prepared to put down roots...
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Rumpus Original Fiction: What Kind of Alone?
A white woman in a red leotard is applying oil to her elbows with five precise rotations. She counts in an intense whisper, her teeth pressed together, her eyes fixed on a spot far ahead of her. All of...
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A Psychogeographical Bildungsroman: Talking with Jo Hamya
Jo Hamya’s debut novel Three Rooms is, at its heart, a book about privilege and space, both of which I’ve never felt luckier to benefit from. It tripped off something in my gut: a sense of futility I’d...
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Bones of Buried Kings
I. Two months after his death, my grandfather’s grave still lacks a headstone. My mother and I stand at its oblong of disturbed earth, too exposed in the withering grass and screaming summer insects....
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