by Jacob Kiernan


I don’t want to miss New York. I want to “brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning” about our time together, but I’m not the specter who misses no one.

St. Aubyn and the Death of the Existentialist Novel

In today’s economy, a death sentence is no longer a reason to reflect upon one’s essence but a moneymaking opportunity.

The Social Prescience of Fiction

Examining a social conscience in Truman Capote’s early stories.

Infinite Home – Kathleen Alcott

In the city, there is no dearth of lonely and broken people; Alcott’s skill lies in fitting these fragments together.