Search All Winners

Name Sort descending Genre Year
John McManus Fiction 2000
James McMichael Poetry 1995
Scott McPherson Drama 1991
Jane Mead Poetry 1992
Suketu Mehta Fiction 1997
Suketu Mehta Nonfiction 1997
Morgan Meis Nonfiction 2013
Ellen Meloy Nonfiction 1997
Michael Meyer Nonfiction 2009
Meg Miroshnik Drama 2012
Albert Mobilio Fiction 2000
Albert Mobilio Poetry 2000
Gothataone Moeng Fiction 2024
C.E. Morgan Fiction 2013
Wright Morris Fiction 1985
Wright Morris Nonfiction 1985
Sylvia Moss Poetry 1988
Thylias Moss Poetry 1991
Brighde Mullins Drama 2001
Nami Mun Fiction 2009
Manuel Muñoz Fiction 2008
Yannick Murphy Fiction 1990
Yxta Maya Murray Fiction 1999
Lawrence Naumoff Fiction 1990
Nana Nkweti Fiction 2022
Howard Norman Fiction 1985
Bruce Norris Drama 2006
Josip Novakovich Fiction 1997
Josip Novakovich Nonfiction 1997
Sigrid Nunez Fiction 1993
Dennis Nurkse Poetry 1990
Antoinette Nwandu Drama 2018
Geoffrey O'Brien Nonfiction 1988
Patrick O'Keeffe Fiction 2006
Chris Offutt Fiction 1996

Selected winners

Alexander Chee
2003
Edinburgh
A Novel

When I was a boy and I sang, my voice felt to me like a leak sprung from a small and secret star hidden somewhere in my chest and whatever there was about me that was fragile disappeared when my mouth opened and I let the voice out. We learned, we were prisons for our voices. You could want to try and make sure the door was always open. Be like a bell, Big Eric would say. But he didn’t know. We weren’t something struck to make a tone. We were strike and instrument both. If you can hold the air and shake it to make something, you learn, maybe you can make anything. Maybe you can walk out of here on this thin, thin air.

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Nadia Owusu
2019
Aftershocks

            Once, when I was a very little girl in a bubble bath, I asked my father why I had a belly button. He was sitting on the toilet lid reading while I splashed. He peered at me over the top of his book.

             “So you know where your center is,” he said.

           “Why do I need to know where my center is?” I asked.

            “So you don’t lose your balance,” he said. “Your center is where all the different parts of who you are come together. It used to connect you to your mother and to the beginning of human history in Africa.” I cannot be certain this is true, but when I remember him saying this, I hear his voice catch on the word mother.

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Lauren Yee
2019
The Great Leap

WEN CHANG

he was leading students in an obscene chant.

                                                                          

SAUL

what'd he say?

                                                                          

WEN CHANG

"u.s.a. u.s.a."

                                                                          

SAUL

oh come ON, that's every titty bar in america.

                                                                          

WEN CHANG

surrounded by student protestors in white headbands. it was a clear political protest. a declaration of war.

                                                                          

SAUL

war?! are you crazy?

                                                                          

WEN CHANG

less than twenty-four hours on chinese soil and this is what he does. how could you do this to me?

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Sylvia Khoury
2021
Against the Hillside

ANTHONY
I’m sorry, sir.
I don’t think I understand.


MATT
She took her kid and left in the middle of the night.
To go where?
She’s in the middle of the desert.


ANTHONY
Sir, if I may.


MATT
You may.


ANTHONY
Her leaving
What does any of that have to do with us?


MATT
What does that have to do with us?
We did that, Anthony.
We broke that family up.


A moment.


MATT
Do you not understand that?


ANTHONY
It doesn’t matter what I understand, sir.

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Denis Johnson
1986
Angels
A Novel

In the Oakland Greyhound all the people were dwarfs, and they pushed and shoved to get on the bus, even cutting in ahead of the two nuns, who were there first. The two nuns smiled sweetly at Miranda and Baby Ellen and played I-see-you behind their fingers when they’d taken their seats. But Jamie could sense that they found her make-up too thick, her pants too tight. They knew she was leaving her husband, and figured she’d turn for a living to whoring. She wanted to tell them what was what, but you can’t talk to a Catholic. The shorter nun carried a bright cut rose wrapped in her two hands.

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Douglas Crase
1985
The Revisionist
Poems

Unlike the other countries, this one

Begins in houses, specific houses and the upstairs room

Where constitutions vibrate in the blockfront drawers,

A Queen Anne highboy, or maybe the widow’s walk

On a farmhouse hundreds of miles inland and believed

By the family to be a lookout for Indians though clearly

It was a pioneer’s conceit, fresh as the latest politics

From home: so much for that innocent thesis The Frontier.

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