Justice is often misread (I think) as a mostly minor, sentimental chronicler of an idealized past, but his best work, even when in recollection, captures a moment that is furiously present and not at all ideal.

I am convinced it is art that frets us out of this sort of thinking and, by newly minting the world, can bolster the foundations upon which our civilization is built.

This past July, the Sewanee Review held its fifth annual Fiction, Poetry, and Nonfiction contest. This year we received nearly one-thousand submissions. Today we are pleased to announce the winners.

The experiences I recollect seem to have been pressed or written into me; their presence is as emphatic as a scar.

It can be illuminating, I’ve found, to think of an individual sentence, divorced from its context, as an emblem for the mind of its author—how clearly or imaginatively he observes the world and what announces itself to his thoughts or his senses.

Here in middle Tennessee, fall has failed to take hold for longer than usual.

The more I write, the more I realize that my preoccupations don’t really go away.

Now that August has come and gone, we've put together a reading list for those last few dog days of summer.

Our future is unquestionably in peril. There is real work to be done, sooner than we’d like.