Diane Oliver had published a handful of fiction pieces, one of which won an O. Henry Prize, had edited her college student newspaper, and was about to graduate from the Iowa Writers Workshop–one of the few Black women to have attended the program–when she was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1966 at the age of just twenty-two. Her promising literary future suddenly cut off, she left behind a short, masterful stack of stories that are now being published in a new collection. The stories–like promises themselves–are remarkable in their humanity, their steadiness of voice, their subtlety and control, and the powerful sense one has of a writer willing to take her time, a sense made so bittersweet by the knowledge of how little time she actually had. With great pleasure, we will celebrate that upcoming book, and Oliver herself, with our Constellation Award for a Story Collection at our Stars at Night gala next month. And we are very honored to be publishing what will be the final story in Oliver’s book in our Winter 2023/24 issue. We are happy to offer the story,”Spiders Cry Without Tears,” here as well for everyone to read. Neighbors and Other Stories, by Diane Oliver, will be published by Grove Atlantic on Tuesday, February 13, 2024.
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EOD
By Serena Lin
Sam feared old people. She feared their drooping folds, their soft edges, like a block of butter left out for too long. They haunted the office in their squelching orthopedic sneakers, moving so slowly that Sam sometimes expected them to leave behind snail trails of mucus. She drifted behind them in the hallways, keeping at least ten paces of distance. She didn’t like to get too close to their odor of mothballs and lye soap; she didn’t want to see where their hair had thinned to reveal the shocking white of their scalps.
Shouting Is at Least Talking
For six years I dated Ian, but only once we broke up did everyone close to me reveal they never liked him anyway. “We didn’t want to tell you,” my mother said. “We?” “Your father never liked him either.” She went quiet. “Ian’s tone was a little off. Do you know what I mean?” “He was good at communicating his needs,” I said.
Bleed and Bleed
By Hedgie Choi
Christopher was the nicest man I had ever met and so I was engaged to him. We got engaged during his residency and I told people we would get married when he became a doctor, but he never became a doctor he became a physician-scientist at the university researching von Willebrand disease because he thought this way he could help many people at once instead of one at a time.
House
I don’t climb up the downspout to my window, don’t have to hope it holds. I’ve missed curfew, but I was with Lily; no one is holding their breath. I use the key under the crocodile planter—tangles of rosemary, sage, thyme, a whole world creeping out from inside its jaws—and I take off my shoes, skip the second stair that creaks.
Dievas X
By DS Sulaitis
There’s no escaping the bath ladies. They come out at night in our small village and limp to my tiny house on Naujoji Street. They knock and I go to open the door. It’s the custom to let everyone in. I’m in northern Lithuania, near the edge of a pine forest with roaming stallions that bite. I left New Jersey to live here.