Fiction

Collage of a Chevrolet Impala in red superimposed on a grayscale photo of an empty country road.

December 2021 / Fiction

The Mission

November 30, 2021December 1, 2021 - by Troy Sebastian / Nupqu ʔa·kǂ am̓

Saint Mary’s River coldly wrought the edge of the Mission to the north, blocking the Mission’s expansion toward the reserve’s hoodoos

An illustration of a house with a white picket fence in front of it but a strom cloud overhead and a rainbow coming out of it.

Fiction / November 2021

Binge on Three Quick Stories by Douglas Coupland

October 13, 2021November 16, 2021 - by Douglas Coupland

New fiction on pandemic isolation, bored border guards, and getting grandkids

Illustration of a wave crashing against people on a subway platform.

Fiction / September/October 2021

Seahorse

August 26, 2021October 18, 2021 - by Alix Ohlin

Mr. Simbatye’s body had not yet begun to wither, but she opened the window in case his soul required an avenue of escape. Also because of the smell

The legs of two people, both reading and reclining on beach chairs, are in the foreground. They are facing a lake and trees with a bright sun overhead.

Fiction / Poetry

Summer Reading 2021

July 2, 2021August 10, 2021 - by The Walrus Staff

New fiction and poetry for the times we live in

The face of a woman is in the foreground. She is lying down and looking up. In the background is a forest landscape at night with mountains and stars visible. The silhouette of a creature peeks out above the treetops.

Fiction / July/August 2021

Giganto

July 1, 2021June 30, 2021 - by Charlotte Gill

Giganto is known by various names: almasty, migyhur, meh-teh, dzu-teh. Around here, the common term is a bastardization of a word from a Coast Salish language, Sásq’ets, or “wild man.”

A family with two parents and five children hold hands around a table. A bowl is in front of each person and the parents’ clasped hands are large in the foreground.

Fiction / July/August 2021

Little Sanctuary

June 25, 2021October 19, 2021 - by Randy Boyagoda

The bus sped past abandoned houses, burned-out cars, skinny cows, masked and bandaged people running to the road at the sight of a vehicle, any vehicle, and others running away

A man, in the background and mostly out of frame, holds a large guitar. A smaller man in the foreground stands at the start of a curvy golden path, drawn in place of the strings of the guitar, which leads to a dandelion in the distance.

Fiction / July/August 2021

Private Hands

June 16, 2021October 18, 2021 - by Michael LaPointe

My job title was personal assistant, but all my duties pertained to Harvey’s collection. Provenance was everything. A purchase had to be like a royal marriage, the lineage assured.