James McMichael's psychologically penetrating long poem traces a man's twenty-year entanglement with a woman; the events that brought them together; the settings in which the two spent their time, together and alone; and the circumstances that led to their eventual separation.

Two years ago—at twenty-two—John McManus captivated writers and critics with his first story collection and became the youngest recipient of the Whiting Writers Award. Now McManus returns with a collection of stories equally piercing and visionary: stories about the young and old, compromised by circumstance and curiosity, and undergoing startling transformations. In “Eastbound,” a car driven by two elderly sisters breaks down on an elevated highway: Beneath them lies the lost country of the South, overrun with concrete and shopping centers but still possessing the spectres and secrets of the past. In “Brood,” a plucky young heroine moves with her mother into the home of the mother’s online boyfriend: She will use the Audubon Guide to Birds, and her own wits to survive the advances of the boyfriend’s teenaged son. In “Cowry,” two backpackers in New Zealand race to witness the first sunrise of the twenty-first century.

With a superb ear for the voices of his characters, and a spare but riveting prose, Reginald McKnight examines the plight of the outsider, the alien. He populates these funny, disturbing, and lyrical stories with an unforgettable chorus of cultural hybrids: an American anthropologist compiling proverbs and seeking a magic elixir in Senegal; a multiethnic community of military officers, recruits, and maintenance staff wrestling with their prejudices; two awkward young boys trying to navigate friendship on a Louisiana army base. White Boys is Reginald McKnight's perfect evocation of America's literary heritage and ambition—an imaginative synergy of style, thought, and storytelling genius.

Idi, a Senegalese English translator, relates a group of stories that capture the black experience in a range of African and Afro-American voices, telling of adolescence, racism, and beliefs lost and found.

"Winner of the 1988 Drue Heinz Literature Prize, these 10 short stories reflect variously on the black experience in middle America and an anthropologist's discoveries among the folk in Senegal. In 'Mali Is Very Dangerous,' the narrator of the African stories, an American, tells of a rascally street vendor selling a charm that fends off knife blows; Idi, in the story that bears his name, recounts his uncle's practice of using myth to approach Western technology. The title piece refers to a Muslim farmer fearful of death who becomes entranced after recklessly looking at a solar eclipse. The stories set in the U.S. examine the lives of young blacks living in predominantly white towns. A college student muses about her confused white boyfriend; a black Jew on a school football team discusses his troubled friendship with a latter-day hippie; an old racist just barely adjusts to the New South." —Publishers Weekly

A Finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award.

It is high summer, the early 1960s. Sheryl and Rick, two Long Island teenagers, share an intense, all-consuming love. But Sheryl’s widowed mother steps between them, and one moonlit night Rick and a gang of hoodlums descend upon her quiet neighborhood. That night, driven by Rick’s determination to reclaim Sheryl, the young men provoke a violent confrontation, and as fathers step forward to protect their turf, notions of innocence belonging to both sides of the brawl are fractured forever. Alice McDermott’s That Night is "a moving and captivating novel, both celebration and elegy . . . a rare and memorable work" (The Cleveland Plain Dealer).

An ordinary life—its sharp pains and unexpected joys, its bursts of clarity and moments of confusion—lived by an ordinary, but unforgettable woman: this is the subject of Someone, Alice McDermott’s extraordinary seventh novel. We first glimpse Marie Commeford as a child: a girl in thick glasses observing her pre-Depression world from a Brooklyn stoop. Through her first heartbreak and eventual marriage; her delicate brother’s brief stint as a Catholic priest and his emotional breakdown; her career as a funeral director’s “consoling angel”; the deaths of her parents and the births of her children—we follow Marie through the changing world of the twentieth century and her Irish-American enclave. Rendered with remarkable empathy and insight, Someone is a novel that speaks of life as it is daily lived, with passion and heartbreak, a crowning achievement of one of the finest American writers at work today.

In Alice McDermott's first work of fiction since her best-selling, National Book Award-winning Charming Billy, a woman recalls her fifteenth summer with the wry and bittersweet wisdom of hindsight.

The beautiful child of older parents, raised on the eastern end of Long Island, Theresa is her town's most sought-after babysitter—cheerful, poised, an effortless storyteller, a wonder with children and animals. Among her charges this fateful summer is Daisy, her younger cousin, who has come to spend a few quiet weeks in this bucolic place. While Theresa copes with the challenge presented by the neighborhood's waiflike children, the tumultuous households of her employers, the attentions of an aging painter, and Daisy's fragility of body and spirit, her precocious, tongue-in-check sense of order is tested as she makes the perilous crossing into adulthood. In her deeply etched rendering of all that happened that seemingly idyllic season, McDermott once again peers into the depths of everyday life with inimitable insight and grace.

Lucy Dailey leaves suburbia twice a week with her three children in tow, returning to the Brooklyn home where she grew up, and where her stepmother and unmarried sisters still live. The children quietly observe Aunt Veronica, who drowns her sorrows in drink, Aunt Agnes, a caustic career woman, and finally Aunt May, the ex-nun, blossoming with a late and unexpected love, dutifully absorbing the legacy of their less-than-perfect family. Alice McDermott beautifully evokes three generations of an Irish-American family in this "haunting and masterly work of literary art" (The Wall Street Journal).

Elizabeth Connelly, editor at a New York vanity press, sells the dream of publication (admittedly, to writers of questionable talent). Stories of true emotional depth rarely cross her desk. But when a young writer named Tupper Daniels walks in, bearing an unfinished novel, Elizabeth is drawn to both the novelist and his story—a lyrical tale about a man in love with more than one woman at once. Tupper’s manuscript unlocks memories of her own secretive father, who himself may have been a bigamist. As Elizabeth and Tupper search for the perfect dénouement, their affair, too, approaches a most unexpected and poignant coda. A brilliant debut from one of our most celebrated authors, A Bigamist’s Daughter is "a wise, sad, witty novel about men and women, God, hope, love, illusion, and fiction itself" (Newsweek).

In Shane McCrae's Nonfiction the self is repeatedly re-figured as the site of rupture between truth and fiction, present and past, first-person and third-person—the rupture in which the dichotomies we live by, the dichotomies that erase us, originate. The speakers of these poems inhabit impossible situations, and the poems themselves speak neither of overcoming, nor of being overcome by, these impossibilities, but of the moment of equilibrium between extremes, the moment of uncertainty from which the future emerges. As McCrae writes at the end of his two-part poem on Solomon Northup, "in the darkness / I after a while couldn't be sure / My eyes were open." These poems assert, and foreground, possibility; the rupture they describe is hope.