Search All Winners

Name Sort descending Genre Year
Jack Turner Nonfiction 2007
Genya Turovskaya Poetry 2020
Mark Turpin Poetry 1997
Samrat Upadhyay Fiction 2001
Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi Fiction 2015
A.J. Verdelle Fiction 1996
Vanessa Angélica Villarreal Poetry 2019
William T. Vollmann Fiction 1988
Ocean Vuong Poetry 2016
D.J. Waldie Nonfiction 1998
Carvell Wallace Nonfiction 2026
David Foster Wallace Fiction 1987
Anthony Walton Nonfiction 1998
Weike Wang Fiction 2018
Esmé Weijun Wang Nonfiction 2018
Anne Washburn Drama 2015
Teddy Wayne Fiction 2011
Charles Harper Webb Poetry 1998
Kerri Webster Poetry 2011
Joshua Weiner Poetry 2002
Annie Wenstrup Poetry 2025
Timberlake Wertenbaker Drama 1989
Kate Wheeler Fiction 1994
Simone White Poetry 2017
Colson Whitehead Fiction 2000
Marianne Wiggins Fiction 1989
Amy Wilentz Nonfiction 1990
Damien Wilkins Fiction 1992
Claude Wilkinson Poetry 2000
Phillip B. Williams Poetry 2017
Greg Williamson Poetry 1998
Tracey Scott Wilson Drama 2004
August Wilson Drama 1986
Milo Wippermann Poetry 2023
Tobias Wolff Fiction 1989

Selected winners

Padgett Powell
1986
Edisto
A Novel

The important thing, I suppose, is that this weekend was the first one we spent that wasn’t entirely at the state fair or big-brother Disneyland. It was the first time Daddy sort of ignored me like the Doctor, and I must confess that I had a better time than ever before on these custody junkets. It’s heavy pressure, you know, to find your role four days out of the month, a little two-day run every two weeks with no rehearsal. I suppose it was no fun for him, either, being the director as well as actor and still not getting it right. But that weekend he seemed a lot more regular in a way it’s hard to describe. I think that woman (Mike’s mother) looked sexy, for one thing, but that is strictly my unhaired opinion. At school the word is, you don’t know what girls really are until you have hair, kind of a Samson thing, I guess.

Read More >
Saïd Sayrafiezadeh
2010
When Skateboards Will Be Free
A Memoir of a Political Childhood

My father believes that the United States is destined one day to be engulfed in a socialist revolution. All revolutions are bloody, he says, but this one will be the bloodiest of them all. The working class—which includes me—will at some point in the not-so-distant future decide to put down the tools of our trade, pour into the streets, beat the police into submission, take over the means of production, and usher in a new epoch—the final epoch—of peace and equality. This revolution is not only inevitable, it is imminent. It is not only imminent, it is quite imminent. And when the time comes, my father will lead it.

Read More >
Nathan Alan Davis
2018
Nat Turner in Jerusalem
A Play

NAT TURNER

What do you mean by your copyright?

The right to copy?

 

THOMAS R. GRAY

Yes, well, the right to publish and distribute, which involves copying necessarily.

 

NAT

And who can grant such a right?

 

THOMAS

The copyright office, naturally.

 

NAT

...

 

THOMAS

It protects the rights of the man who has done the work.

 

NAT

And is God not a sufficient witness of our works?

 

THOMAS

Uh,

No.

Read More >
Anne Washburn
2015
The Internationalist
A Play

SARA

I don't think $20 is much for a bribe.

 

LOWELL

Isn't it? American? I was hoping it was a whole hell of a lot.

 

SARA

Maybe. Guys who work in airports make a lot of funny money different ways.

 

LOWELL

Oh but, oh, well. Yeah. Fuck. Well it was my first bribe.

Read More >
Mona Mansour
2012
Humana Festival 2012
The Complete Plays

BEDER: (fuming) Independence Day fireworks. How can the Israelis call it Independence Day and not choke on the words? They celebrate forcibly removing people from their homes? Killing men, women, children? This is cause for a party?

 

ADHAM: Let’s not get political.

 

BEDER: Who’s getting political?

Read More >
Andrea Lawlor
2020
Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl
A Novel

The game consisted of a single question: If you had to fall in love with (by which Paul meant have sex with) one person in this elevator, who would it be? He played the elevator game in every class he ever took, on the bus, in straight bars, in subway cars, in waiting rooms, free clinics, the line at a movie theater, dinner out with a group of friends-of-friends. He sometimes played the elevator game with Jane, a silent communion of eyebrows and squints or—more likely—a fast-talking, low-murmured loop around the bar, marking targets. Jane was his favorite companion for this; she didn’t judge. Most of his life he had played alone.

Read More >