Fiction

A wearied resilience resounds throughout Rainbow Road (Bone Machine, 2026), the latest poetry collection from Scott Laudati. A gathering of poems written loosely about Laudati’s travels across various American states, the book seems something of a watershed, both a culmination of years as an active poet, whatever that means, and the marker of a new phase, at this point in time the character of which is unknowable. Scott has been around the block and then gone back for more, before heading off in yet another direction, loaded with nothing but the impulse to keep moving. Whatever is at his heels,

I was standing in front of the Palms wearing sunglasses. My pupils were dilated. Each one was like the black spot in the palm of the hand of the blind man from Treasure Island. I was trying to be cool and keep my mouth shut. I’d already received suspicious looks from Denise and Brent at the front desk when I commented on the beautiful poem on the Palms sign, which read: “Welcome Hart-Graves wedding. Congrats Roarin’ Lions field hockey. Enjoy the sun and fun at the Palms.” I looked at my reflection in the gleaming cars in the parking lot

An arts collective sets out to launch a second moon, dubbed “Moon2”, into the Earth’s atmosphere, an act in which even the group itself is unsure of the full consequences. What follows is The Moon Papers (Arcade Publishing, 2026), a masterclass in genre hybridity, balancing sci-fi sensibility with a literary lyricism. Following its cast of characters – from a bat expert, to the daughter of an art dynasty carrying on an Internet affair with a member of the collective, to the daughter’s gallery owner conspiracy theorist husband – The Moon Papers examines the art world, escapism, and the intersection of