Steph Cha's depiction of systematic racism in Your House Will Pay is compelling, attesting to the complicated social structures at play.
With his latest, The Cockroach, the otherwise masterful British novelist Ian McEwan proves that too much cleverness can kill satire.
In The Opposite of Fate, Alison McGhee humanizes the abortion issue in a way that is unexpected and heartening.
In Laura Taylor Namey's Library of Lost Things, teens find security and significance in themselves as works in progress.
Through a familial lens, Jami Attenberg offers a thoughtful and often darkly funny exploration of Trumpian patriarchy in All This Could Be Yours.
André Aciman's long-awaited sequel to Call Me By Your Name, Find Me, isn't so much an extension of the previous book's queries about romance and sexuality as it is a work of convenient revisionism.
In Mahir Guven's debut novel, Older Brother, a young Frenchman's return to his country from war-torn Syria derails his older brother's life.
Like the title letters, the physical format of Michael DeForge's Stunt creates a kind of cage holding the main character inside rigid panels.
Metatexually dazzling yet absurdly soothing, Helen McClory's The Goldblum Variations will put a dent in your bad vibes.
Roar's strength is found in its depiction of empowered women, yet Ahern mistakenly centralizes a normative vision of feminism while reiterating the patriarchal control that silences her female characters' voices.
There's a lot to be angry about, these days, and Gabino Iglesias writes a lot about rage.
When our protagonist is calm and reflective in Justin Kuritzkes' Famous People, there's a sense of potential intelligence beneath the shiny surface.
As seen in Foggage, Patrick McGinley's fiction reveals a writer whose worth lies in his ability to balance perverse humour and human pathos on the cutting blade of his perfectly turned phrases.
Whatever the plot lines of a work of fiction, if it features siblings as important characters, various rich themes are mined. This issue of Short Stories brings forth the sibling-inspired works of Martha Bátiz, K Anis Ahmed, Jenny Zhang, Lidudumalingani, and Kseniya Melnik.
Equal parts gritty and subtly heartening, tragically jarring and emotionally resonant, Ruchika Tomar's debut A Prayer for Travelers is one of the strangest and most enjoyably wrought coming-of-age stories to appear in recent years.
Cleverly, Claire Lombardo's novel The Most Fun We Ever Had de-romanticizes motherhood even as it sanctifies it.
In her debut work of fiction, The Word for Woman Is Wilderness, Abi Andrews explores why men can reject society and turn to wilderness survival but women are dissuaded from doing so.
Disaffected prep school youth, seemingly from another era, stumble through the immediate wake of a post-9/11 America in Ann Beattie's A Wonderful Stroke of Luck.
Article 353 is Tanguy Viel's politically charged, darkly atmospheric, and cathartic indictment of neoliberal capitalism.
Party girls, cads, and hopeless dreamers from a distant but eternally familiar past -- John O'Hara was a writer who deserved his place in the bleacher section of Great American Writers.
There is a lot of enjoyable sleight of hand in de Kerangal's The Cook, but ultimately the author fails to engage with the questions it raises.
In her latest revisionist history, Washington Black, Esi Edugyan points toward colonial theory without critically addressing affirmations of white power.
The Library of America's new edition of John Updike's first four novels will engage -- and challenge -- contemporary readers.
The Irish novelist Sally Rooney centers her drama, Normal People, around the desperations of youth under late-capitalism, but the novel's psychological excavations, nuanced and piercing, owe just as much to the influence of Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf.
Why must I tote around a book the size of a '90s-era laptop computer, carried in a bag slung over aching shoulders and twisted back, while my friends in Japan can enjoy the same book slipped near weightlessly into their pants pocket?
If Pratchett and Gaiman's Good Omens is an artifact of '90s apocalypse hullabaloo notable for its wry wit, petty divine figures, and surrealistic flourishes, then The World Is a Narrow Bridge plays a similar role in our angst-ridden, oversaturated media landscape/world of 2016 and beyond.
The mythical Africa of Marlon James' bloody new surrealist fantasy epic, Black Leopard, Red Wolf, terrifies as much as it bewitches.
In rendering his most avant-garde characters as members of a kind of self-help conspiracy in The Made-Up Man, Joseph Scapellato offers not an update but a revision of absurdism, and as such, many social phenomena ripe for satire get off easy.