Ten years since the 2011 Syrian uprising, there has been a veritable literary boom of fiction writing from Syria. What does it reveal?
Why excavate these Reformation characters—the preacher and the werewolf—now? What do they have to teach us?
Why would Dante need help? Because if the poet’s only readers are Dante scholars, then we’ll all lose out. Dante deserves better, and so do we.
For more than five centuries, equilibrium between profit and passion has remained elusive to book buyers and sellers.
What happens when a regime founded upon exclusion, racism, nationalism, and an authoritarian leader ends? In Spain, such a regime never really ended.
In their writings, Kafka, Roth, and Kraus rejected the ideology of rootedness that was rapidly encroaching upon early 20th-century European consciousness.
A recent flourishing of Palestinian literature reckons with complications in historical memory caused by settler colonialism.
In Latin America, high levels of violence threaten journalists today, and dissent has been effectively marginalized in the past.
Scandinavian crime novels once showed how society failed its citizens. Today, the genre innovates differently—by depicting more violence.
Recently translated essay collections underscore how sanitized ethical language has become in the last 60 to 70 years.
Franco-Moroccan writer Leïla Slimani reveals the dirty underside of bourgeois domesticity. Is her taboo breaking worthy of praise?
Fernanda Melchor’s Hurricane Season makes other authors’ moral delicacy look like condescension.
For two Black womxn translators, bringing Afro-Italian stories into English is an act of radical self-love and resistance.
Assemblage in search of insight is the guiding ethos at the heart of two dynamic recently published books by Mexican authors.
Forget traditional “heroes.” The protagonists of some centuries-old stories are social climbers and tricksters, even cheats and cowards.
A defaced family photograph—with an ancestor cut out—reveals to Ferrante’s new protagonist how women are erased by the words and deeds of men.
“There’s a passage early on in Book 2 that’s so smug, so macho (in a literary way), that’s so—ugh! I can’t explain it.”
How can experimental fiction help to democratize storytelling?
In a recent French novel, an ordinary woman inadvertently becomes a drug kingpin—and does so by learning to see anew Paris’s urban landscape.
John Cage's concerts taught us to hear silence. Can novels do the same?