Edan Lepucki - Best American Nonrequired Reading 2019 (Best American Series (R))

Copyright 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

Introduction copyright 2019 by Edan Lepucki

Editors Note copyright 2019 by Beatrice Kilat

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Best American Series is a registered trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. The Best American Nonrequired Reading is a trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. With the exception of nonprofit transcription in Braille, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt is not authorized to grant permission for further uses of copyrighted selections reprinted in this book without the permission of their owners. Permission must be obtained from the individual copyright owners as identified herein. Address requests for permission to make copies of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt material to or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003

hmhbooks.com

ISSN I539-376X ( PRINT ) | ISSN 2573-3923 ( E-BOOK ) | ISBN 978-0-358-09316-9 ( PRINT ) | ISBN 978-0-358-09303-9 ( E-BOOK )

Cover illustration and design Molly Egan

Lepucki photograph Adam Karsten

v1.0919

by Latifa Ayad. First published by the Indiana Review. Copyright 2018 by Latifa Ayad. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Rene Branum. First published by Alaska Quarterly Review. Copyright 2018 by Rene Branum. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Sylvia Chan. First published by Prairie Schooner. Copyright 2018 by Sylvia Chan. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Andrea Long Chu. First published by the Chronicle of Higher Education. Copyright 2018 by Andrea Long Chu. Reprinted by permission of the author.

. Copyright 2018 by Keith Donnell Jr. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by David Drury. First published by Zyzzyva. Copyright 2018 by David Drury. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Angela Garbes. First published by Topic. Copyright 2018 by Angela Garbes. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Kate Gaskin. First published by 32 Poems. Copyright 2018 by Kate Gaskin. Reprinted by permission of the author.

. Copyright 2018 by Devin Gordon. Reprinted by permission of the author.

from Cleanness: Stories by Garth Greenwell. Forthcoming from Farrar, Straus and Giroux in January 2020. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Originally published by The New Yorker on November 19, 2018.

by Mikko Harvey. First published in Indiana Review. Copyright 2018 by Mikko Harvey. Reprinted by permission of the author.

. Copyright 2018 by Holton Arms Class of 1984. Reprinted by permission of the author.

. Copyright 2018 by Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling. Reprinted by permission of the author.

from Night Hawks: Stories by Charles Johnson. From Scribner in May 2018. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc. First published by The Kenyon Review in July/August 2018.

by Britteney Black Rose Kapri. First published by Haymarket Books. Copyright 2018 by Britteney Black Rose Kapri. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Robin Coste Lewis. First published by The Paris Review. Copyright 2018 by Robin Coste Lewis. Reprinted by permission of the Wylie Agency.

by Viet Thanh Nguyen and Matt Huynh. First published by The Massachusetts Review. Copyright 2018 by Matt Huynh. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Uche Okonkwo. First published by One Story. Copyright 2018 by Uche Okonkwo. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Maddy Raskulinecz. First published by Zyzzyva. Copyright 2018 Maddy Raskulinecz. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Emily Rinkema. First published by Sixfold Fiction. Copyright 2018 by Emily Rinkema. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Margaret Ross. First published by The Paris Review. Copyright 2018 by Margaret Ross. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Nathaniel Russell. First published by The Smudge. Copyright 2018 by Nathaniel Russell. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Patricia Sammon. First published by december. Copyright 2018 by Patricia Sammon. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Deborah Taffa. First published by A Public Space. Copyright 2018 by Deborah Taffa. Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Jane Wong. First published by The Asian American Literary Review. Copyright 2018 by Jane Wong. Reprinted by permission of the author.

A few years ago , I was visiting friends on the East Coast when I found myself with a full day alone. I made up a plan for the day that included walking and hoping to happen upon something great, which is what can happen when you take the time to do things with intention. I visited gardens, boarded trains, and eventually ended up at a modern art museum.

I went inside and proceeded to go straight to the top floorI always like to start at the top and work my way down. In fact, this is how I like to work through everything: Begin one hundred feet in the air and then move closer and closer until youve seen everything up close and far away.

On the top floor of this particular museum, there was a new exhibit featuring the rarely seen work of an integral modern artist of the twentieth century. Please excuse me if it seems Im being vague, but the point isnt the artist, exactly, its... well, the work is the point.

And, oh, the work.

At times large and graphically bold, other times small and black and white, the exhibition was a lesson in contrasts and cohesion. But I didnt immediately understand that. When I first laid eyes on these paintings and sculptures, I didnt know how to interpret them. I couldnt figure out what I was seeing.

So, I looked and I looked and I kept looking.

I noticed that the painted lines didnt just form trapezoids and squares, they were parts of something bigger, possibly the edge of something else. The lines led to a sort of horizon, acting as indicators that there was more out there, more to see, more to come.

In my mind, it seemed like somewhere past those painted horizons there could be a different version of me, standing in another museum, contemplating sightlines and endings and what lies on the other side of where you are.

By witnessing the lines and arrows pointing to the unknown, I was participating in the sort of endless, collaborative timeline that art can create. I was witnessing and becoming a part of a new history.

For the past year, a group of teenagers in the San Francisco Bay Area have been congregating in a basement classroom under Mc-Sweene/s Publishing to discuss storytelling and stories of all stripes, as well as whats happening around the world and at home. What youre holding is the product of those meetings.

A lot has happened this year, and you can see change happening in these pages, in unexpected, at times painful and startlingly beautiful ways.

I think the committee was working toward a horizon, toward some meeting point where they could pass or pick up a baton that could carry them to the other side of somewhere else.

Its a big askasking people just barely out of their adolescence to consider more and more of themselves and of others, but, believe me, these teens were more than up to the task. I think most people are. If youre reading this book, I bet you are, too.