In the Current Issue
To You
By Alejandra Pizarnik
Prime Numbers
By Anthony MadridI suppose there are mathematicians out there “working on prime numbers.” I don’t know if there are. There probably are. They’re putting on coffee at 11 o’clock at night. They’re getting upset at each other on email, cussing. Or adopti…
The Daily
Arts & Culture
Edie Sedgwick: A Reminiscence
By Bobby AndersonI met Margouleff just after I got out of the hospital where J was seriously ill with hepatitis and told every day that I wasn’t going to make it, and was all prepared to die. I came out all traumatized. Very strange. Margouleff came along. I was so weak already from exhaustion I was ready to fall down in the street. I had lost my apartment and everything in it. He walked up to me and he said, “Hello, you big tomato.” I said, “Get the hell out of here. Leave me alone, you creep.” He could see t…
From the Archive, Issue 78
Letters & Essays
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Redux: Excessive Doom Scenarios
By The Paris ReviewEvery week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for…
The Daily
Redux
Lelah
By Angela FlournoyShe stuffed fistfuls of her underwear into trash bags while the Detroit city bailiff leaned against the wall and fiddled with his phone. The other bailiff waited outside. Lelah saw him through the front window. He did calf raises on the curb near the dumpster, his pudgy hands on his hips.
From the Archive, Issue 212
Fiction
Around the Dear Ruin
By Gina BerriaultMy sister married Leo Brady because he was a merchant most of the time. She and her five-year-old boy had been living on the sales of her cable-car etchings that tourists to San Francisco picked over in the little art galleries and book stores, and on the sporadic sales of her oil paintings. They were married a few days after he came from sea, and a week later his ship sailed again for the Orient. In the six weeks he was away, the steamship company sent her, at his request, all his wages. But th…
From the Archive, Issue 12
Fiction
Song to the Moon
By Frederick SeidelYou’re born that way—or else you’re not. / It’s snowing—or else it’s hot. / It’s like the strangeness, that’s also natural, / When it’s raining on one side of the street. / I’m back to childhood when I see it weirdly / Raining on only one side of the street. I stare
