Los Angeles Review of Books PubLab | We are the official annual journal of the LA Review of Books Publishing Workshop, an immersive, collaborative summer program designed for students and innovators interested in publishing.

We are the official annual publication of the LA Review of Books Publishing Workshop, an immersive, collaborative summer program designed for students and innovators interested in publishing.

Black-and-white block print of a rooster crowing. Behind the rooster there is a small building in the distance.

Learning to Drink Black Coffee in Arkansas

I grew up in a house near the Randal Tyson Recreational Complex in Springdale, Arkansas. For sixth and seventh grade, I went to Helen Tyson Middle School, just down the road from Don Tyson Parkway, which would take you to the corporate headquarters of the...

An Eye on AI

What makes AI images a strange invention is their innate inscrutability. What we see in these pictures cannot be said to have existed. Unlike photographs, AI images do not result from light falling on material surfaces; they are functions of algorithms and databases,...

Theory of Care

“yellow textile on brown wooden table” (2020), Noah Morgan. Courtesy of Unsplash. Magnolia trees that open their flowerslike doves coming to wingspan. Freshsoup dumplings, hot gelatin runningdown my face before I flick a napkinacross the downpour. Husking...

Joy Reyes Portfolio

Memories become larger than life in Joy Reyes’s mixed-media collection, embodying familial strength and love passed down through generations. In a vivid display of color and texture, the Dallas-based artist marries iconic imagery from her Mexican heritage with...

Photograph of a casement window opened to a view of green plants allowing natural light to enter the dark interior room.

Neighbors

My neighbor in Idaho was an eyeful. I watched her when I was feeling bored, hungry, or restless. I got to feeling like I knew her, even though we rarely spoke. We exchanged a hello now and then when she came or went as I was washing my truck or carrying my...

Portrait of My Mother, Circa 2001

Lost in the leaves’ swing, I am trying to shake off their green, buttermilk yellow.The refrigerator hums and drums like a whining giant.This house song draws me to her, captured, hanging from a California magnet.Obsidian hair covers her shoulders, melts into her...

Challenging the Peripheral: Reading Assam in Reema Rajbanshi’s Sugar, Smoke, Song

Growing up in the capital city of Guwahati, Assam, life was marked by recurring floods and occasional violence, shaping a unique resilience in middle-class girls like us. We were taught two critical lessons with utmost seriousness: never to venture out...

Fragment 52: I do not expect to touch the sky

i do not expect to touch the sky—SapphoIAphrodite,my once-was friend.your gift seems no blessing.you pull bodies togetherunmindful of the priceto be paid.you showed me a world called We:a universe made just for two. andtrusting, i jumped in completely.only to...