Dr. Seuss’s biographer on unpublishing six of his books
Six Dr. Seuss books scrapped due to racism
Hugh Howey’s publishing values
Beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti has died
Bookstore sales fell 28.3% in 2020
Ebook price fixing suit expands to big five
Columbus Road

Columbus Road

by David Buchanan
It got to the point that I just didn’t want the other guys to even see her. Sharing—a tent, a cockpit, a shower—gets old during a deployment, and I wished she would stay away.
Counting

Counting

by Jodi Barnes
Often she dreams she doesn’t get into her dead boyfriend’s car. She dances solo in her stupor and calls her mother who’d promised, “I’ll pick you up; no questions asked.”
Ana’s Dance

Ana’s Dance

by Donna Miscolta
The windows are open to the blue-black sky, but there is no breeze to move the heavy air inside the apartment. Across the street, the diner blinks its electric blue sign.
Mrs. Shelton

Mrs. Shelton

by Michael C. Ahn
Even on weekends Mrs. Shelton wouldn’t leave my head. I thought of her on the bus, at my desk, and in my bed. I suspected my mother noticed me at times, gazing at or playing with my food.
History

History

by Cezarija Abartis
The Medici coat of arms, with its shield and crown, hung on a pole on the sidewalk here and everywhere throughout the city, still asserting ownership.
My Patent Leather Shoes

My Patent Leather Shoes

by Konstantina Sozou-Kyrkou
I feel my stomach bubble all day today. It’s my birthday and godfather will be here in a minute or so. He’s promised to bring me a pair of new leather shoes.
Three Bedrooms in New Jersey

Three Bedrooms in New Jersey

by Tina Barry
One autumn, a neighbor removed the hanging seats from his daughter’s swing set and trussed a deer he had shot to the top bar. I could smell it as I lay in bed.
Roadtrip

Roadtrip

by Jane Flett
I lean forward to your ear, touch my lips to the point where the hair curls over your lobe, and I wonder about falling inside. I purse them like a kiss and I whisper road trip.
A True-Begotten Father

A True-Begotten Father

By Steve Edwards
I see him on a cold blue February night: He steps onto the back porch to drop a garbage sack by the bin and my mother pushes the door shut behind him, turns the lock.
Animals

Animals

by Robley Wilson
How old was I then? I was in sixth grade, which meant I was twelve. That was another part of my uncle’s argument: I was “old enough” for the fights.

Book du jour
by Sarah Freligh

Open Contests

by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review

The Lascaux Prize Volume Six