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.

An old tree overlooks a dark valley. The tree has been blasted in half; its trunk is splintered into an upper and lower section.

My Suitcase of Fragments

I’m sitting on the bed, unpacking my suitcase. I’m not entirely sure where I am. Somewhere near the border of France and Switzerland. From the window: a bell tower, a smudge of sky, and the kind of greenery that feels alive. Spring, or something like it. The house...

A crowd of onlookers watch the flames consume the structure.

The Execution

The Execution “The Burning of the Mansion House, Queen Square” (1831-32), William James Müller. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was the twenty-fourth of December and my firm had given us the day off. I thought I would spend the day at home,...

The deconstruction bodies are sitting together in a garden.

mama sārah and me

facing my mother in her lavish living room, i blow a red balloon. my younger sister, mellow with hash, tosses a yellow one onto the carpet while my older sister fretfully adds cheese sambūsa, warag ʿanab, and sticky toffee pudding to the menu. a sign boasting the ages...

A dreamy, abstract watercolor of a river with a figure standing next to it.

Autopsy of Memory

Ode to the wrinkle forming just slightly left of the center between my eyebrows. I’ve turned 28 and my skin has started to shrink, to pull, and my expressions now stay half a second longer, locked in time. Sometimes I try to pull the line out with a gua sha, tugging...

Two hands gently hold a large weathered horse skull. The photo is in black and white.

Winter Blues

Maybe it was just the Winter, seeping through my bones into my heart, the grasp of its icy hands against my bare neck. But then I woke up in June, sunlight bathing me in...

A heeled black leather shoe on a white pedestal.

The Women Historical Fiction Forgets

SOME WOMEN’S STORIES demand patience. I have learned this over the years through my research on food history and pouring over women’s letters, draft manuscripts, and clipped recipes. And not all of their stories are equally accessible. The papers of the most prominent...

Yeon Jin Kim Mixed media drawing. This is a world where things seem to assemble themselves and interact within a logic yet to be discovered.

Maybe is the Most Beautiful Word in the World

Aleatoric: Solely dependent on the throw of a dice or on chance; random. There’s something barreling towards me. Hulking. I can feel it closing in. It’s starting to envelop my future body, which will be my now-body, which will be the body I might want to live in one...

An elderly couple stands side by side in front of a wooden house. The man wears a dark suit and hat, while the woman wears a long black dress and white head covering.

Iconography—Holy Mothers

Consider the work of God;who can make straight what he has made crooked?—Eccles. 7:13 (NRSV)Her name was Elizabeth Kauffman.This is the only picture I have of her, my great-great-grandmother, and she is old. Diminutive. Covered neck to dull boots in plain black...