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.

Poetics of the Data/Body: Intimating Data Visualization After the Post-Internet Turn

When I was a kid, “internet” was still written with a capital “I,” the Internet, like a first-person pronoun, a discrete selfhood. And I was on it. Before Lev Manovich situated algorithms as organized expressions of culture, a kind of spell for transmuting reality...

Finn Petrie Portfolio

The Ghosts of Future Trees The Ghosts of Future Trees expands upon a previous project, Epiphytic Memory (2022), where Finn built 3D-printed porcelain bio-scaffolds (or “plant homes built by plants”) from detailed scans of New Zealand’s remaining ancient rainforests....

Writing The Distance

Originally an act of defiance, I began riding bikes religiously in fall 2012, when I enrolled in courses at Mission, Pierce, and Valley College so I wouldn’t have to commute by bus. I was (and still am) undocumented, and President Obama’s executive order, Deferred...

The Most Alive Dead Band of All

Eight years after their first tour in 2015, Dead & Company are calling it quits this summer. Their final shows are scheduled for July 14, 15, and 16 at San Francisco’s Oracle Park. The John Mayer–fronted reunion act, which includes all surviving permanent members,...

What Occurs to Me This Morning

like how you say every day you never wanted
a dog, and like how you swear, as you stroke her

Delusion Land

Jacob Papadopoulos runs ahead of me, past the turnstile and the shag teddy bear mascot, launching his petite 50-year-old body gracefully into the hard plastic seat of the ride. He resembles a trapeze artist more than a distinguished classics professor at Manatee...

Still

You have the same face. It’s as if she never left, says Tío Jorge as he pulls me in for an embrace in front of the El Salvador International Airport. His verbose laugh echoes my mother’s in Los Angeles. This familiarity in a stranger helps me lean into his embrace....

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...