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

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.
Online Feature The Conglomerate
Liz Van Hoose
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.
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.
Edgar Kunz
Alone now in Oakland. Thin cloud rusting / over Temescal, garlic simmering // in the pan, lavender potted and long dead in the breezeway.
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 first thing this evening.
Archival Content Poetry
Mary Oliver
The deed took all my heart. / I did not think of you, / Not till the thing was done.
Craft Lecture
Mary Jo Salter
“Paints and scrapes, paints and scrapes”—the artist at work is not merely putting paint on a canvas, but scraping it off.
Annie Adams
In the past year, whenever I return home to San Antonio, I’ve been having lunch with my grandmother and her friend, an elderly woman named Marian. Both suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. Because I didn’t know Marian before she lost her memory, you could say my relationship to her is like that...
The Sewanee Review has received word that longtime contributor Earl H. Rovit passed away on April 16 at the age of ninety. Rovit was a contributor of essays and criticism to the Review for over forty years. A leading literary scholar of the writing of Ernest Hemingway, Ralph Ellison, Saul Bellow ...
Spencer Hupp
Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead opens with “summer, somewhere,” a long and remarkable protest elegy, where the twin preoccupations of lyric poetry, eros and tragedy, buckle under the fact of racial violence in the United States. Smith evokes a series of stolen summers, a chronicle of black youth...
Web Design and Development by Riverworks Marketing