Author of the New York Times bestsellers “Let the Great World Spin” and “Transatlantic,” McCann has been called “a giant among us” (Peter Carey), “dazzlingly talented” (O: The Oprah Magazine), and “that rare species in contemporary fiction: a literary writer who is an exceptional storyteller” (The Independent). He’s received a National Book Award, an Oscar nomination, and a slew of international prizes. His talents are on full display in his new short story, “Gone,” a deeply affecting literary thriller about a mother and son, alone in a cottage on the west coast of Ireland, and the search that ensues when the boy—whom she adopted years before, deaf and with “already a whole history written in him”—goes missing. He slips away in early morning, down to the cold sea with his new Christmas wetsuit, and as the hours and days drag on, the coast guard, police, dogs, fishermen, farmers, and schoolchildren holding hands search the sea and walk the fields while the television crews and detectives come and go, the police at the cottage seeming to “ghost into one another: almost as if they could slip into one another’s faces.” The mother, Rebecca, now under suspicion, is racked with guilt over the decisions that led to her son’s disappearance, and tormented by the judgment of others: "You bought what? A wetsuit? Why in the world? What sort of mother? How much wine did you drink?" For Rebecca, “every outcome was unwhisperable.” “Gone” is a charged narrative that propels you forward, heart in your throat, and a moving, intimate look at life’s struggles toward grace and a kind of redemption.

    He is grieving for the loss of his wife when the tunnel collapses and traps the bus inside. In the darkness that follows, he manages to fumble out of the bus with the only other survivor, an astute and gentle woman who reminds him of his late wife. Without any light to guide them and with only each other to depend on, they try to escape the stifling darkness and along the way find themselves confronted by their pasts and given their last chance at intimacy, and ultimately, absolution.A realist story that plays with surreal elements, the tale poses a simple question: what is the meaning of hope?

    Not quite what he expected, and not for the faint of heart.Founded in 2012, The Center for Fiction's Crime Fiction Academy is the first ongoing program exclusively dedicated to crime writing in all its forms. Hone your skills with bestselling crime fiction authors Alison Gaylin and Jason Starr. Attend master classes with crime fiction greats like Mary Higgins Clark, Lee Child, Harlan Coben, Linda Fairstein, Nelson DeMille, Michael Connelly, Lisa Unger, and many more. Students receive a Writers’ Studio membership with access to our extensive circulating collection, and have the opportunity to read their work to an audience filled with editors, agents, and publishing professionals at our seasonal Crime Fiction Slam. Not in New York? Check centerforfiction.org for information about our online classes.

    A time for joy. A time for tears. A time for reflection. A time for hope.And a time for miracles.This Christmas season Dave and Karen Brenner have welcomed a stranger into their lives. A stranger who may change their lives forever.

    Laxman profiles ten hilariously idiosyncratic people, who are among the countless men and women who run the lives of the middle class in India. The tales are put together by Ganesh, a freelance journalist trying to write a feature article on servants he has known. As his chronicle progresses, what emerges is a richly embellished narrative starring unforgettable characters. There is Swami, the cook, who finds his true vocation as a godman; Kumar, who deserts his household duties to pursue his tinsel-town dreams; Anthony, the driver, who makes money on the side by giving lifts to strangers; the maid Shanti, whose lift is thrown into turmoil by the neighbour's servant who is besotted with her; and Ramaswami, a trusted retainer who reappears mysteriously, much to the consternation of his employer, long after he has been presumed drowned. Marked by Laxman's trademark wit, and including pencil sketches drawn especially for this edition, Servants of India is a delightful read.

    Men and films, and the dreams that films embody, form the background to the stories.

    Delaney is one of them."When you meet Delaney Robinson, she is a two-year-old with a serious attachment to her wonderful great-grandmother, who guides her through life with the wisdom of a nonagenarian. Margaret's reminiscences, along with the rest you will read, tell the story of how this adorable little girl came to be.There is murder, mayhem, humor, romance--and a bit of heartbreak. The stories are about her parents, grandparents, distant ancestors, and family friends, from Delaney's Irish forebears and how they settled in Alabama to a chapter written entirely from the point of view of a Confederate battle sword hanging on her grandfather's wall.

    He lands an enviable gig writing about shopping and fashion for the city’s major newspaper, but an ill-fated promotional junket gets Albo into hot water. He becomes a gossip item and finds himself caught in an acrimonious war between Old and New Media. Here's a gimlet-eyed account of the back-biting media scene, a glimpse into the inner workings of the fashion crowd, and a candid portrait of what it takes to survive as a writer in today’s chattering and watchful New York City."I was perilously close to exposing a secret underground economy of promotion: favors and junkets and banquets and gifts that keeps the city in motion, and keeps underpaid writers at work. Basically, I became the Silkwood of Swag."

    A cross between William Faulkner (Times-Picayune) and John Irving (Detroit Free Press), Dufresne once again masterfully charts the power of truth and lies and the magic hidden in the mundane.

    The stories range in style from the gritty noir of David Means' "Sault Ste. Marie" to the mesmerizing mythmaking of Louise Erdrich's "The Plague of Doves," while the settings include a village perched on top of an enormous whale (David Lawrence Morse's "Conceived") as well as a swank suite at the Plaza Hotel (Xu Xi's "Famine"). The three most powerful stories seem to have in common the ability to immerse readers in a character's sudden, searing moment of self-knowledge and the way that insight impacts the course of a life. In Edward P. Jones' elegiac, masterful "Old Boys, Old Girls," a hard-bitten con comes to see that redemption is within his reach. Deborah Eisenberg delicately deconstructs a young girl's attraction to an abusive man in the haunting "Windows." And, finally, the storied Alice Munro, in "Passion," conveys the complex inner world of a teenager who discovers she values risk over security.

    These stories hold the readers enthrall from the opening sentence itself, bringing the various characters to life in vivid detail.

    

    Intelligent and brutally direct talk to a reader about our times, Russia, the Russians, and much more.

    Abbott, "Cheever's true heir, our major American short story writer" (William Harrison).Here are stories about fathers and sons, stories about men and women, and stories about the relationships between men by one of our most gifted story writers. The narrator of "The Who, the What and the Why," begins breaking into his own house as a sort of therapy after his daughter dies. In "The Human Use of Inhuman Beings," the main character realizes that his closest relationship is to an angel, who appears to him only to announce the death of loved ones. All Things, All at Once reminds us why Lee K. Abbott is to be treasured: his perfect pitch for tales of hapless Southwesterners, his way with sympathetic irony, his eye that skillfully notes the awkward humiliations—common heartbreak, fractured families—and records it all in lyrical, affectionate language. In tales new and from previous collections Abbott examines lived life and the lies we necessarily tell about it.

    By turns subtle and intense, disturbing and elusive, the stories in this collection are ultimately connected by themes of memory and loss, reality and fabrication, and by a richless of language that rests lightly on its carefully foundation.