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Ralph Ellison
“[African-American folklore] is like jazz; there's no inherent problem which prohibits understanding but the assumptions brought to it.”
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NEWS & EVENTS
Click here to read Elizabeth Gilbert's “The Famous Torn and Restored Lit Cigarette Trick,” which John Hodgman called “the best short story I have ever read.”


Spring books from The Paris Review.


A Paris Review historical mystery.


The Spring 2008 Revel honored Peter Matthiessen and Jesse Ball. Click here to see photos from the event.


Site redesign: see examples of the old site here and here.


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NEW SPRING ISSUE AVAILABLE NOW


Kazuo Ishiguro on the art of fiction.

A recently discovered interview with Leonard Michaels.

New fiction from J. David Stevens and a debut story from Ryan McIlvain.

Spring poetry by Dan Chiasson, Katie Ford, and Tomaž Šalamun.

The trumpeter's collages: artwork from Louis Armstrong.

Mark Dow on Jerusalem, the Brooklyn Public Library, and beets.

Plus Tim Winton on surfing (“I couldn't take my eyes from those plumes of spray, the churning shards of light”) and a photo sketch-book of an airship in flight over the rainforest by Lena Herzog and Graham Dorrington.





Read the three stories from
The Paris Review that were nominated for a 2008 National Magazine Award in fiction.


“Monsieur Kalashnikov” by André Aciman
“Speak No Evil” by Uzodinma Iweala
“Icebergs” by Alistair Morgan



  FROM THE NEW ISSUE

Dome Light
Mark Dow

Two young black girls wearing parkas with synthetic-fur-lined hoods pulled over their heads started barking, loudly, over and over again, not “Roof!” but “Woof!” After a few minutes two librarians escorted them down the main aisle and toward the door. The girls kept barking on the way out. When they were gone, a black man at the table with me told the black woman with him that the girls were “ghetto.” On the subway once, I saw a black woman open and eat part of a cellophane-wrapped cake or doughnut with powdered sugar on it, then wrap the bite or two that remained back in the cellophane and put it back into her winter coat pocket, and the woman with her told her that that was ghetto. Twice now I’ve heard black American girls refer to each other as “son,” as in, “Listen, son.”



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