Marie is seventeen and a giant of a woman, taller and broader and stronger than those around her.
It’s 2203, and Olive Llewellyn has traveled from her home on the moon to earth, where she is on a book tour.
Late one night, at a luxury hotel reachable only by boat, someone scrawls Why don’t you swallow broken glass on a huge picture window.
An unnamed girl lives in a cave with her mother, in a wild wood warded against danger and those who would seek them out.
In a series of interviews that took place in the years 1985 and 1986, journalist Bill Moyers spoke with the famous scholar and teacher of mythology, Joseph Campbell.
In this collection of essays, a group of scholars consider Le Guin’s The Dispossessed in light of it’s utopian, anarchist, temporal, and revolutionary politics.
In this collection are infidelities and funerals, umbrellas hurtled by the wind, landmines hidden in sand, and tightly wound rhymes that hint of a spirit coiled, waiting in the dark.
Rydra Wong is a poet, a captain, an erstwhile cryptographer, and a burgeoning telepath.
In this well-argued polemic, Devon Price outlines three tenets of what they term the “laziness lie”: that your worth is your productivity, that you cannot trust your own feelings and limits, and that there is always more you should be doing.
In Drift(er), Jake Skeets addresses the Richard Avedon photo that adorns the book’s cover: “to drift is to be carried by a current of air or water / but men are not the teeth / of their verbs.”
“This is a history of the United States.”
In the opening poem in this collection, Tishani Doshi addresses her reader: “I agree to turn my skin inside out, / to reinvent every lost word, to burnish, / to steal, to do what I must / in order to singe your lungs.”
On the solstice, in the city of Tova, there will be a convergence—a total eclipse of the sun.
Tookie works in a bookstore, and Flora—her most annoying, and most loyal, customer—has just died. This does not mean she has left the bookstore.
Some books seek to simplify or clarify the past; this one seeks to complicate it.
Each essay in this collection is a a full-throated declaration of a democracy of species—with humans as the minority voice.
Daniel Brüks is a baseline: a human with few enhancements, no cortical inlays, no way to blink and see subtitles in his vision.
Turning to these poems at the end of many a dark day has felt like holding the gift of a small, fierce light.
Siri Keeton, missing half his mind, is sent out on a mission to discover the source of thousands of probes that surrounded Earth and screamed an unintelligible alien signal before burning up in the atmosphere.
The Athsheans live among a forest, on a planet that “yumens” are attempting to colonize.