My parents wake me up, both of them together in the doorway of my room, their faces wrinkled by concern and slightly shiny because of the sunlight streaming through the windows.
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‘It just seemed like the right thing to want, the right thing to do.’
My parents wake me up, both of them together in the doorway of my room, their faces wrinkled by concern and slightly shiny because of the sunlight streaming through the windows.
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‘We meet at various points in the great swathes of the past that neither of us were alive to witness.’
Allen Bratton on a daytrip to a castle with his older boyfriend.
‘Listening to three white poets, whom I suspect are academics, talk about the state of poetry.’
Oluwaseun Olayiwola eavesdrops on an older generation.
‘I’d been dubious about his company at first.’
Sarah Moss on watching Shakespeare with her twelve-year-old son.
‘She didn’t trust us because, to her, tenants were like children.’
Kate Zambreno on negotiating with her older landlady.
‘A moment now swallowed in embarrassment, I asked a question only a young person might ask an older one.’
Lynne Tillman on trying to understand what makes a generation.
Uzodinma Iweala was born to Nigerian parents in 1982 in Washington, DC, the second child of four. After attending St Albans School, he graduated from Harvard University in 2004 with a degree in English. His first novel, Beasts of No Nation, has been translated into eleven languages. It won the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize, among others.
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‘Fifty years I’ve played here, except for stretches in Arizona and Mississippi, after my divorce.’
Fiction by Kate Lister Campbell.
‘One did not have high hopes for Gettysburg. Nor for Pennsylvania in general. Having grown up in Indiana, Diana felt she’d earned her condescension.’
Fiction by Jessi Jezewska Stevens.
‘The burden in law on the pregnant person is to show that they are at risk, in need; they must ask, and hope, rather than demand.’
Memoir by Andrea Brady.
‘On Good Friday, the priest in the livestream video stood inside the darkened sanctuary.’
Fiction by Nicolette Polek.
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