The sisters gather to remember their late father, but the jesa is intended to honor both parents, creating a complex emotional landscape. Grace's home is immaculate, yet the sisters' grief disrupts the intended smoothness of the ritual.
It might sound like a potentially familiar narrative: a queer coming-of-age story, charted across one single heat-crazed summer in the 70s. From its very first paragraphs, however, this debut novel feels different. Madeleine Dunnigan immediately takes us inside the head of her rather scary protagonist, and makes his adventures in teenage lust and self-awareness as involving as they are immediate. The writing is constantly surprising, as unafraid of sensuality as it is of the story's repeated eruptions of brutality.
Firstborn daughters in immigrant families often grow up faster than they expect to. From a young age, they are entrusted with responsibilities that extend far beyond typical childhood expectations. These daughters take on multiple duties, including supporting their parents with language barriers, caring for their younger siblings, and serving as a bridge between their home culture and the broader society. Their experiences shape their understanding of responsibility, which in turn influences their self-worth and their pursuit of success.
There are nights when we lie in your bed, fairy lights glowing above us, the city humming softly outside, and you tell me what has been sitting with you all day. Side by side under your pink quilt, you know I am all yours. It was during one of those nights when you asked me a question I couldn't answer right away.
In what seems to be the most uniting moment since Chardonnay was invented, older white Republican women flocked to movie theaters this past weekend to watch Melania, the nearly two-hour-long documentary about the First Lady financed by Jeff Bezos and directed by accused sex pest Brett Ratner. The film allegedly follows her during the 20 days leading up to Trump's second inauguration in 2025, though the trailer basically just showed her wearing sunglasses.
The short answer is yes, unless you take fiction for what it is-fiction. When you long for something you don't have, it can lead to dissatisfaction with what you DO have. Romantic fiction has witty, heartfelt dialogue, buckets of romantic gestures, and protagonists who have a preternatural ability to read each other's minds. It's easy to forget it is not real. This can set up unrealistic expectations both conscious and unconscious.
Yiyun Li reads her story 'Calm Sea and Hard Faring,' from the March 9, 2026, issue of the magazine. Li is the author of eight books of fiction, including the novels 'Must I Go' and 'The Book of Goose,' and the story collection 'Wednesday's Child,' which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in 2024.
I was thirty-eight years old the first time I stopped performing at Chinese New Year dinner. Not dramatically-I didn't stand up and deliver a monologue about authenticity or announce that I was done pretending. I just stopped smiling when I wasn't amused. I stopped nodding when I disagreed. I stopped telling my aunt that her unsolicited career advice was helpful when it wasn't. I stopped pretending that the version of me sitting at that table was the real one.
Throughout many immigrant experiences, stories collected from family members can be a starting point for migrants. The memories gleaned from parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles-who crossed dozens of borders at great risk and with immense pain-can settle into the consciousness of new host communities for decades. For the migrants, these stories and memories represent the first step into a new world and contain lifelines with the potential and promise to build new, resilient identities and a sense of belonging in often hostile environments.
Growing up, Melissa Shultz sometimes felt like she had two fathers. One version of her dad, she told me, was playful and quick to laugh. He was a compelling storyteller who helped shape her career as a writer, and he gave great bear hugs. He often bought her small gifts: a pink "princess" phone when she was a teen, toys for her sons when she became a mom.
Siblings usually grow up together in the same house, with the same parents, and sharing the same cultural background, yet they still become remarkably different people with distinct interests and divergent life paths. This is a widespread occurrence in families, but in immigrant families, the phenomenon becomes even more pronounced, as cultural expectations, adaptation pressures, and family roles provide additional layers of complexity. Children raised in such environments must navigate between the customs of their ancestors and the practices of the dominant culture,
The book that changed me as a teenager Donald Barthelme's Sixty Stories, because he was having such a good time and seemed so so smart, but was also mischievous and irreverent. It may sound corny but these stories made me grasp the existence of a world of art and literature. And Barthelme lived in Houston, where I was growing up, yet he was a major world writer.
I think there's a deep loneliness to her life that cohabiting with her brother kept at bay-and, now that he's gone, she is forced to face it. As more of Kim's letters are delivered, Helen becomes invested in the narrative they form, as if she were piecing together a puzzle, one that, in some ways, echoes her own past. Kim's family is Muslim, from Pakistan.
For those unfamiliar with the beloved heroine, Samantha is one of the first three historical characters introduced by American Girl in 1986. Samantha, Swedish immigrant Kirsten and WWII homefront heroine Molly demonstrated courage, compassion and resilience. Along with an 18-inch doll, each 9-year-old character was featured in a series of easy chapter books; kids could follow each fictional story as well as the historical context surrounding it.
