More on: Fiction

In the garden, love is dirt and rain: through every wet blossoming Joanna hears children singing—

Eileen felt that she should deliver the news of her brother’s death in person. She knew she would provide no solace when the time came, that her presence would only heighten the reality of Brandon’s absence; yet her mother was nearing seventy.

Later, looking at his partially closed eyes, she suddenly remembered a creole word from the country where she had spent her childhood. Sodade. A mixture of nostalgia, tenderness, and yearning, a sense of the fragility of happiness.

Jonah was on the lookout for enemies everywhere, just like his late father, whose vigilance ultimately proved prophetic if futile.

She was pretty sure she was too crazy to be a mother, and when the yearnings showed up, every few years, they now passed quickly.

When fiction leaves questions unanswered

A story gets away from its author.

What does an artist give up for art?

Can a four-year-old understand stealing?

This one was here with all his roses. He was from a big family in Jamaica. They didn’t have much in common, except for their difference.