The Days of Saveli: of cats and people, and those who play with the lives of others LRR, May 1, 2025May 1, 2025 Translated by: Catherine Keough A translation of an excerpt from The Days of Saveli: of cats and people, and those who play with the lives of others by Grigory Sluzhitel Winner of the 2025 Aetna Prize for Translation Mama gave birth to me, my brother, and my two sisters in… Continue Reading
Eleven Things You Don’t Do LRR, May 1, 2025 Written by: Jenna Ulizio Winner of The Edward R. and Frances Schreiber Collins Literary Prize When you leave, don’t make a sound. Getting out of the Painted Lady is the test. How do you want to be seen in the city tonight? Or, how do you not want to be… Continue Reading
A Requiem for the Endling LRR, May 1, 2025 Written by: Lucy Lyttle Third Place Winner of the Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Short Fiction An endling is the last known individual of a species or subspecies. Once the endling dies, the species becomes extinct. […] Booming Ben, a solitary heath hen (Tympanuchus cupido cupido), was last seen 11… Continue Reading
Letter from 1968 LRR, May 1, 2025 Written by: Karen Lau Second Place Winner of The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Short Fiction “Mom, I’m at the state police barracks in Stafford Springs. I need you to come get me. Please.” My voice wavered on the last word as I held the telephone to my ear. She… Continue Reading
Blog What if the 8 Types of Students During Finals were Book Genres . . . ? LRR, May 1, 2025May 1, 2025 Written by: Fernanda Ieffet It’s almost finals week! Which means soon, people will be either walking around campus using every bit of energy they still have in their bodies, or hanging in there by their last straw: no in-between. I find it funny that during this time of the semester… Continue Reading
Gretel LRR, May 1, 2025May 1, 2025 Written by: Grace Carver First Place Winner of The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Short Fiction The land was starved. And so, its people starved with it. The winter had been harsh, the fields suffocatingly white and uninhabitable, the hulking evergreens that surrounded the village heavy with ice. Gretel swore… Continue Reading
Opening LRR, May 1, 2025 Written by: Charlotte Ungar Co-First Place Winner of the 2025 Wallace Stevens Poetry Contest Of all I forget, I remember, the almond blossom painting in your room, naked, your limbs sprawled out— eyeing those bending branches Coiling, climbing one another to end a flower. The blue between the… Continue Reading