Short stories

McSweeney’s Issue 51

Ernie Wang’s story “Stay Brave, My Hercules”-which appears in this issue-won the 2018 PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize For Emerging Writers. Issue 51 features eighteen brand-new stories so compelling that you’ll read through the night and far into the next day, until your boss calls and warns you that you’re on thin ice, buddy, and better get to the office right away-but we swear it’s worth it.

Starstruck in Bellini’s

‘ Honourable members . . . ‘ ‘The Oxford Union, in conjunction with OU Asia Society, is privileged to have Mr Swami Saint with us today. ‘Born Sanjeev Ravindran, and raised in London, Mr Saint read Mathematics at New College . . .’ A cheer and several boos.

TORCH: My American Playground

TORCH: My American Playground I was born in England, but my earliest memory is of America. My mother had taken me to a playground at the crest of a low grassy hill. The sun was shining and I was hanging from a purple, spiral-shaped climbing frame, happy, carefree and safe.

TMR 40.1 (Spring 2017): “Turbulent”–SOLD OUT

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An Extract from Starstruck

An Extract from Starstruck By Rajeev Balasubramanyam Update Status What’s on Your Mind? Mala Iyer First of all, it is sad and painful when anyone dies of cancer in their early fifties, but I’m troubled by the reaction to Steve Jobs’s death.

The Tablet of Bliss – Rainy City Stories

By Rajeev Balasubramanyam Location: College Road, Whalley Range Our hero has fifteen tattoos: On his back: his sons’ names, a winged cross, and the words ‘Guardian Angel’. On his left arm: a picture of his wife, her name in Hindi, the words ‘Forever by Your Side’ and ‘Ut Amen Et Foveam’ − So That I Love and Cherish.

Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism/”The Story” by Rajeev Balasubramanyam

b y r a j e e v b a l a s u b r a m a n y a m S H O R T S T O R Y THE STORY l a n c a s h i r e, e n g l a n d IN THE worst village in the country, from which no good will ever come, certainly not now, a young woman was suffering from a terrible sadness.

Un uomo di coscienza | Scritture Giovani

“Avremo un bambino, Ajay.” Non dice altro. E così io la bacio, l’abbraccio e penso: ‘E adesso che cazzo faccio?’