Contributors

Can Xue

Contributor History

Two Stories, Conjunctions:18
Two Unidentifiable Persons, Conjunctions:21
Two Stories, Conjunctions:23
Homecoming, Conjunctions:28
Mosquitos and Folk Songs, Conjunctions:36
Helin, Conjunctions:40
Scenes Inside the Ruined Walls , Conjunctions:43
The Castle’s Origin, Online 07-03-2005
Two Stories , Conjunctions:45
An Affectionate Companion's Jottings, Conjunctions:47
Moonlight Dance, Conjunctions:50
Rainscape, Conjunctions:53
Sin, Conjunctions:57
Venus, Conjunctions:60
Coal, Conjunctions:62
Story of the Slums, Conjunctions:65
Euphoria, Conjunctions:68
Our Human Neighbors, Online 08-22-2017
Her Old Home, Conjunctions:71
The Inside Story, Online 04-02-2019
The Neighborhood, Conjunctions:76
Smog City, Conjunctions:79
Mother River, Conjunctions:80
Legend of the Buried Treasure, Conjunctions:82

Biography

Now living in Xishuangbanna in Yunnan Province, Can Xue has been at the forefront of experimental writing in China since 1983. Can Xue was short-listed for the prestigious Neustadt International Prize for Literature for 2016 and received the 2015 Best Translated Book Award for The Last Lover (Yale University Press); her Love in the New Millennium (Yale University Press, 2018) was longlisted for the 2019 Man Booker International Prize. Her most recent two books to appear in English translation are I Live in the Slums (Yale UP) and Purple Perilla (Common Era Books). Yale will publish her novel The Barefoot Doctor in 2022.

Connect

In Print

Conjunctions:82

Works & Days

Spring 2024
Bradford Morrow

Online

Confessions of a Thief

by Jeffery Renard Allen

April 24, 2024

The July morning was alive with a sound in the air, strange communications, the acoustics of the big yard amplifying each rustle, each wave. Odd creatures glittering on the ground. Herds spread lavishly, a wilderness of transparent wings, bug eyes, a mosaic of glassy fragments. Glinting. They covered the grass, the sidewalk, covered the branches of the trees.

One-Eyed Jack

by Rick Moody

April 17, 2024

The sound reverberated in my sense of what was right and reliable in the world like drone weaponry, and what I wanted to ask was: what business have you left undone, and did you do a thing you so regretted that you can’t let go of it, was there a person you cut off, when sympathy would have been the better gesture, was there a person you trod on to get ahead in your sales job, speaking ill of them, so that they were forever harmed, did you say something awful about a friend in school, did you call a friend the worst of names in middle school, because it was a thing they said then, the boys did that, only to find, later on, that you loved that boy in a way . . . .

Seven Poems

by Leah Flax Barber

April 10, 2024

I do not like old water.

The water in the ocean is old

The lake is old

But maybe it’s not

Subject to the logic of time, of old and new.

Water.