The New Yorker

“Colorín Colorado,” by Camille Bordas

“I should have said earlier that Addie died last summer, while filming the last part of the trilogy that made her famous.”

The New Yorker

“The Kitchen God,” by Hiromi Kawakami

“Stucco tastes great, but it doesn’t fill me up.”

The New Yorker

“P’s Parties,” by Jhumpa Lahiri

“Who was that woman? Why had she been so open with me, so unguarded, instantly bridging the solitary distance between two strangers?”

The New Yorker

“False Star,” by Sterling HolyWhiteMountain

“As far back as I could remember, I had heard discussion of claim checks.”

The New Yorker

“How I Became a Vet,” by Rivka Galchen

“The suicide dogs, like most of us, were not what they seemed.”

The New Yorker

“The Last Grownup,” by Allegra Goodman

“The paperwork was done, and it was weird and painful, like picking off a scab, because the marriage itself had ended two years before.”

The New Yorker

“My Sad Dead,” by Mariana Enriquez

“I stay because my mother lives here. Can I say that about a dead woman?”

The New Yorker

“The Middle Voice,” by Han Kang

“It first happened the winter after she turned sixteen. The language that had pricked and confined her like clothing made from a thousand needles abruptly disappeared.”

The New Yorker

“Different People,” by Clare Sestanovich

“When Gilly was young, she lied to her diary.”

The New Yorker

“Wednesday’s Child,” by Yiyun Li

“ ‘Never argue’ was Rosalie’s motto; especially, never argue with the dead.”