Founded in 1892, the Sewanee Review is the longest-running literary quarterly in America.
About the Review

Nonfiction
John Jeremiah Sullivan
In discussing twentieth century American popular music and its most essential genre, the blues, there have been two main channels for getting into the history, or, as we like to say, the roots, of that tradition. The first and more familiar involves the so-called “pre-war blues”—confusingly called so, if you stop to think, since the music referred to by that name was recorded between 1921 and about 1937; the term ought to be, “between-wars,” or entre deux guerres.
Online Feature
Liz Van Hoose
In her role as vice president and editorial director at Grove Atlantic, Elisabeth Schmitz has commanded the admiration and trust of hundreds of writers, publishing colleagues, and aspiring literary editors. We recently met at our NYC neighborhood restaurant, Community Food and Juice, to talk about editing, publishing, and the literary passion fostered by Grove Atlantic under the intrepid leadership of its publisher, Morgan Entrekin. In truth, our conversation began more than a decade ago . . .
Nonfiction
Stephanie Danler
Like the tectonic plates that keep California unsteady, trauma’s movement is never interrupted; it is always shifting—yet we only pay attention when it’s a disaster...
Archival Content Fiction
Flannery O'Connor
The doctor’s waiting room, which was very small, was almost full when the Turpins entered and Mrs. Turpin, who was very large, made it look even smaller by her presence...
Poetry
Edgar Kunz
Alone now in Oakland. Thin cloud rusting / over Temescal, garlic simmering // in the pan, lavender potted and long dead / in the breezeway. I start the water, // carry the milk crates in from the garage
Fiction
Sidik Fofana
My nigga Boons came home on the fourth. I ain’t seent the nigga in four years, so when I heard he was out I’m like, Imma scoop the nigga up first thing this evenin and welcome him back to the free world...
Archival Content Poetry
Mary Oliver
The deed took all my heart. / I did not think of you, / Not till the thing was done. / I put my sword away, / And then no more the cold / And perfect fury ran / Along my narrow bones…
Craft Lecture
Mary Jo Salter
Those of us who got to spend time with the poet Mark Strand, summer after summer, at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, will recognize the tongue-in-cheek tone of the following remark...
Alec Hill
Last August, my friend James competed in and won the Trans-North Georgia (TNGA), a three-hundred-twenty-mile mountain bike race. As its name suggests, the TNGA begins on the South Carolina side of a bridge over the Chattooga River, crosses the Chattahoochee National Forest and the Cohutta Wildern...
Lily Davenport
“What is art, Clev?” “Art is patterns intelligent creatures enjoy.” “Are you an intelligent creature?” “Do you like to eat cake?” I sighed, exasperated, and suppressed the impulse to fire back a non sequitur of my own. I was talking to Cleverbot, an AI that (as procrastinators everywhere kn...
Ansley McDurmon
In the summers, vines encroach upon a historical marker several miles from the Sewanee Review offices, threatening to hide a tribute to the Highlander Folk School. The folk school’s history resides in an equally-obscured part of the American memory, and I knew very little about its importan...
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