“You could sort of hear the sigh of relief to just touch books again, and some of them would just stand and gaze and they would just put their hands on the books,” one of the owners said.

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“Daddy’s Home” puts Clark in conversation with past artists, predominantly from the 1970s, to create a wholly redefined sound and persona.

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Cynthia Arrieu-King’s “The Betweens,” released in March of this year from Noemi Press, is a short experimental prose memoir about this “indeterminate” in-betweenness of being biracial.

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The 14 stories in Rohan’s collection are wide-ranging, but what they all share is an eye trained toward the complications of the interpersonal. Her characters — unified by their Irish identities but spread out all over the world — navigate the pains and joys, the difficulties and beauties, that come with the universal desire to love and be loved.

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Meg Remy’s experimental memoir “Begin by Telling” begins, literally, with a bang. A television has fallen on a young Remy. “Sesame Street is on top of me,” she writes. “The impact is profound. Though I suffer no physical injury, I can never forget what I saw.”

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Throughout last Thursday's event, hosted by the Creative Writing Program, Chang emphasized the malleability and possibility of language, and the way that plays into her poetic process.

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Firmament No. 1 - Winter 2021, published in January of this year, is the first issue of the Sublunary Editions’ new quarterly magazine, and offers high-quality intellectual engagement with literature and language. Its mission is one of constant questioning and exploration.

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In the spirit of Women’s History Month, Reads beat writers suggest some of their favorite female-authored texts, each of which offers unique and complex insights into themes of gender and being a woman in the world.

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Stanford's dancers, thespians and musicians persisted and innovated to continue pursuing their passions online.

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But without classes, close reading itself became absent, and I soon realized that it wasn’t necessarily literature itself that sustains me — it must also include the subsequent act of analysis. For when we make sense of what we read, we are making sense of our own lives — and in a time like this, when the world around us often doesn’t make sense, the act of sense-making becomes even more crucial.

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Rather than as an interrogation of free will, we may interpret this question literally these days as a question of freedom versus confinement. “Can it be we are not free?” feels like an eloquent rephrasing of the “What do you mean I can’t go outside?” that accompanied the first waves of COVID-19.

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“Love in the Time of Cholera” tells the mesmerizing story of the beautiful Fermina Daza and the two loves of her life: Dr. Juvenal Urbino — her husband and the most renowned doctor and philanthropist in the city — and Florentino Ariza — poet, employee of the Riverboat Company of the Caribbean and her first sweetheart.

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For Black History Month, Reads beat writers offer their recommendations for their favorite books by Black authors that thoughtfully and masterfully engage with race and racial justice in America.

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But if this year has taught me anything, it is that time is fickle, more fickle than perhaps I ever thought before. What do seconds, minutes, hours mean when whole months are spent inside? We cannot rely on those effortless numbers anymore.

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Logic, founded in 2017 by the four panelists and Art Director Xiaowei Wang, is a unique San Francisco-based publication that focuses on conversations of technology and power and seeks to bring together the often separate communities of tech workers, social organizers and scholars.

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Regardless of what we learn of these people, they become somewhat endearing to us, for through Hemingway’s retrospective eyes, the great qualities of his past friends are brightened and the less-great qualities forgiven. This is what time does: polishes good memories into lustrous pearls and blunts sharp blades with nostalgia.

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James Joyce has been the perfect companion for quarantine, for his novel is both immeasurably expansive and immeasurably contained.

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“A Nail the Evening Hangs On” is a luminous first poetry collection from Monica Sok that deftly and lovingly weaves together fragments of Cambodian history and family memory to make some sense of a fraught past.

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As we read “Snow,” we slowly begin to wonder if Detective Inspector St. John Strafford will really solve his case. If murder will out. Or if Strafford instead will also become submerged in the snow, so prominently proclaimed as the subject of this story and yet so bewildering, so cold and so empty.

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In October, the year is waning. Time plays tricks on us in October: the daylight lessening, the nights “endless.” It is the month of hauntings too — of extended twilights and sudden changes in the wind. It marks the beginning of the period in which we recount the year that has passed us by. It is the time to remember.

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Barrera announces the raison d’être of her little text: to investigate the overwhelming loneliness of the lighthouse, and, by extension, ourselves. And when else would we most relate to this proclamation, if not now?

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“Look,” Layli Long Soldier commands us in the title of one of her poems in her book “Whereas.” When we follow her instructions, we see “the light/grass/body/whole/wholly moves,” and so on. This poem — with lines mostly consisting of one or two words and immense amounts of space between each line, while spanning over three pages — is jagged when I read it. I find myself stumbling over each line, unable to put together the image without extreme focus. I end up staring at these otherwise familiar words until they make sense. “Look,” Long Soldier commands. “I’m trying,” I gasp. “Really, really hard.”

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Reads writers gathered to discuss their favorite Halloween reads and recommendations.

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To celebrate the close of National Poetry Month, Reads writers gathered to rhapsodize on some of their favorite poems. Katherine Silk, Staff Writer “Daffodils” by William Wordsworth When I visited Williamsburg, Virginia, over spring break with a friend, one of the highlights for me included exclaiming in delight as I spotted patches of bright yellow…

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