“The process of writing a novel can sound cohesive and tidy. At the time it feels much more like walking around in a very dark and very cluttered room, moving slowly, hoping you’ll run into something like an intention instead of a sharp object, or more often, a wall.”

By Jen Lue
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Essays

“Giving women voice” does not necessarily mean they will be heard or believed. From feminist refusal in Chang-Rae Lee’s A Gesture Life to the quiet resistance of comfort women statues.

These four writers will spend the year crafting reversible poems of migration; bridging immigration, love and violence in fiction; chronicling a survivor’s journey through fragmentation; and telling a family history of sovereignty and colonialism.

Essays

To fix myself, it seems, is to become a ghost of myself.

Poetry

脱脂牛奶 …..………………. $1.00 / mama am i skeleton enough mama am i skeleton enough .………. 0.25 mile

Essays

Sometimes, I only want to eat the skin.

Essays

What a royal feeling to look into that bag and imagine something new on my tongue on a day like that.

Essays

The kumquat’s sweetness was a disguise, and once it was disrobed in your mouth, the meat inside was sour enough to make your mouth buck, to wring your tongue of its language.

Essays

Who would keep the tree living, years after my grandparents have passed?

Poetry

I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.

Essays

As a historian and musician, Julian Saporiti has toured past and present sites of migrant detention. He calls his project No-No Boy.

Poetry

After the rain, the June wind / wheedles the airy curtains / and creeps into the ward

Poetry

i say “i don’t need a man” and it’s true/ but flowers. the flowers how i love the flowers / before they drown inside out / from their own perfume.

Marginalia

The first time I had a mangosteen, at a night market in Shanghai, my aunt taught me to open it by pressing my thumbs in and pulling it apart. It was absolutely eerie–it split down the middle and opened like an eye.

Essays

Fearing the fruit cutting expectations of Korean mother-in-laws

Essays

When they called me spoiled, they meant that I was a rotten fruit, left out to waste in the humidity, sullied by forces beyond their control.

Poetry

What is the legacy of the People’s Republic of China?

Essays

I wondered how many cherries babies could eat, and what they might think of the taste, or if they just know that the sugar tasted good.

Essays

Pauline Park, Myles Markham, and Xoài Pham on the queer historical figures across Asia that have inspired in them a sense of belonging

Poetry

In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”

Essays

Earlier this year, Penguin released a competing edition of John Okada’s 1957 novel No-No Boy, claiming that it was in the public domain. They didn’t grasp how the history of the novel’s publication is as important as the novel.

Essays

“Giving women voice” does not necessarily mean they will be heard or believed. From feminist refusal in Chang-Rae Lee’s A Gesture Life to the quiet resistance of comfort women statues.

Poetry

After the rain, the June wind / wheedles the airy curtains / and creeps into the ward

These four writers will spend the year crafting reversible poems of migration; bridging immigration, love and violence in fiction; chronicling a survivor’s journey through fragmentation; and telling a family history of sovereignty and colonialism.

Poetry

i say “i don’t need a man” and it’s true/ but flowers. the flowers how i love the flowers / before they drown inside out / from their own perfume.

Essays

To fix myself, it seems, is to become a ghost of myself.

Marginalia

The first time I had a mangosteen, at a night market in Shanghai, my aunt taught me to open it by pressing my thumbs in and pulling it apart. It was absolutely eerie–it split down the middle and opened like an eye.

Poetry

脱脂牛奶 …..………………. $1.00 / mama am i skeleton enough mama am i skeleton enough .………. 0.25 mile

Essays

Fearing the fruit cutting expectations of Korean mother-in-laws

Essays

Sometimes, I only want to eat the skin.

Essays

When they called me spoiled, they meant that I was a rotten fruit, left out to waste in the humidity, sullied by forces beyond their control.

Essays

What a royal feeling to look into that bag and imagine something new on my tongue on a day like that.

Poetry

What is the legacy of the People’s Republic of China?

Essays

The kumquat’s sweetness was a disguise, and once it was disrobed in your mouth, the meat inside was sour enough to make your mouth buck, to wring your tongue of its language.

Essays

I wondered how many cherries babies could eat, and what they might think of the taste, or if they just know that the sugar tasted good.

Essays

Who would keep the tree living, years after my grandparents have passed?

Essays

Pauline Park, Myles Markham, and Xoài Pham on the queer historical figures across Asia that have inspired in them a sense of belonging

Poetry

I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.

Poetry

In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”

Essays

As a historian and musician, Julian Saporiti has toured past and present sites of migrant detention. He calls his project No-No Boy.

Essays

Earlier this year, Penguin released a competing edition of John Okada’s 1957 novel No-No Boy, claiming that it was in the public domain. They didn’t grasp how the history of the novel’s publication is as important as the novel.