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.

Nothing Ever Happens and I’m Not Allowed to Tell

All the men in my life have problems that seem easy to fix, but none of them ever seem to fix them. I find it hard to empathize —at times. “I wish we only had to see each other once a week,” Paul says. He’s complaining about his girlfriend. “Three times a week is...
Graphite on paper drawing of a person from head to collarbone.

lonely and great god

my spine is curved & looking down on the earth.the other day, a stranger raised my chin up with her  finger, asked the name of my loneliness, & walked meto the end of the road, my hand in hers. before i was  born, i must have wished, with all of mygoodness,...

Concave Seats

Days that walk in slippers andbrush baby hairdid not hear fatherstell other tall men I madea mistake withcigarette interruptions her lilac dress suit and purse clickwelcome asphalt and kindergartenwith puppets inherited over hands ofchildren who hadn’t heard I am here...

My Body Can’t Be Trusted

I was six years old when I got an insulin pump. My body was so small that we used a pink dog collar to secure the pump to my waist. I remember how heavy the piece of machinery felt hanging from the collar. I did a show-and-tell in my kindergarten class, even though I...
Mixed media drawing combining graphite, pen, brownish-red ink, and brush in pink on dark tan wove paper of a young woman sitting in a chair looking away from a window.

Of Lights

Hours before the New Year, a blackout fell upon the neighborhood. Electricity outages, of course, are expected in Karachi. With the ongoing gas shortage, electricity was even more coveted. If “the light” went, so would the electric stovetop, the fan, the air...

Us

Us,romping in the uncut grasseswe gathered across decades.Us, our hands, squeezingthe desperate pigments from four soured walls.Us, singing with daytime vigorand doubts all heaven-bound. Us,and these word-taught lung whispers propping up the big ladder,watching the...

The Summer I Bit Myself to the Bone

On my knees in front of him, I try to picture him as an altar. I don’t pray, and I also don’t particularly believe in god, so the image shifts—more than I would like it to. Eventually, everything settles into one thought, one feeling, one penetrating pinprick...

Renting a Room at Home

    My house is furnished with jars of tar and spit they don’t belong to me but take up the empty spaces Leave the TV on after dinner to drown the stillness with canned laughter or politicians on the evening news if the volume is loud enough, then you can...