Rahul Soni’s translation makes space in English for a bridge between the historic and the contemporary, offering a critique of power across time and space. 

For a while . . . I thought that no one should write about eating disorders at all because there was no way to do so without somehow glamorizing them.

The nose is not just cartilage and skin; it is inheritance, race, femininity, a mark of refusal, a repository of hatred and desire.

In painted portraits you can see the hand of the painter, the gestures, the point of view. All portraits are in a way self-portraits too. I wanted that to happen with this book as well.

Rahul Soni’s translation makes space in English for a bridge between the historic and the contemporary, offering a critique of power across time and space. 

The nose is not just cartilage and skin; it is inheritance, race, femininity, a mark of refusal, a repository of hatred and desire.

In Bianco, intellectual conviction slips into conspiracy.

At stake in such multitudes, of which Reza’s novel surely is another substantial contribution, seems to be a fundamental rejection of the premise of Adorno’s dictum “To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.”

In painted portraits you can see the hand of the painter, the gestures, the point of view. All portraits are in a way self-portraits too. I wanted that to happen with this book as well.

I wanted to focus on language alone and its sheer force, uncontained by formal, philosophical, and empirical systems and thought.

Instead of a few more excellent but redundant versions of Dead Souls or Crime and Punishment, why couldn’t the same people give us the first translations of Pisemsky’s Troubled Seas, Khvoshchinskaya’s In Hope of Something Better, or Leskov’s “Episcopal Justice”?

Writing to make sense of things feels both prophylactic (I will process an event, a thought in a safe space) and at times a little dangerous (Is it safe? what will happen as I bore further and further down?)

For a while . . . I thought that no one should write about eating disorders at all because there was no way to do so without somehow glamorizing them.

It would be tempting, if you were a theoretical physicist working on the first atomic bomb, to imagine yourself as a demiurge. To frame the process as spiritual longing for God’s wrath . . .

Our history is in the bodies they tried to straighten, the stories they would not write, the lives they refused to archive.

We were kids together. And now we are not.

The following playlist is humbly submitted for your listening pleasure from Full Stop, your full service literary journal. In

This special issue of the FULL STOP QUARTERLY will aim to hold folklore as a prism through which to view connection, the self, and the future. . . . It will explore folklore in and as literature, as process, and as performance.

In times like ours, times of fracture, depravity and upheaval—times which are really not that different than any other time on earth, except for the speed and scale at which violence is exercised—what is the value of art?

Read the introduction to our latest issue of the Full Stop Quarterly, “Literary Dis(-)appearances in (Post)colonial Cities.”