The title of this book suggests that it is based in Bengal but it really meanders deftly across time and space, more often than not in “mazy motion”.

In Deena Mohamed’s Shubeik Lubeik (originally published in 2015 and translated in 2023 by Mohamed herself), wishes have not only drastically altered the fabric of daily life in Egypt, but the world at large.

Though on its surface Sanya Rushdi’s  Hospital, translated into English by Arunava Sinha and recently longlisted for the 2024 Stella Prize, looks to be a breezy, short read—it is anything but. With her rather flattened, sparse prose, Rushdi has managed to write an enduring piece of autofiction, a compelling account of psychosis that neither sensationalises nor withers away any sentimentality from the struggles of mental health.

Set in 1979, this is a story of monsters—the ones who prey on the vulnerable, the ones that exploit our weaknesses, and the ones that we elevate to positions of power.

The craze that once prevailed in academia over postcolonialism no longer seems to hover around there anymore.

Dense textbooks with words more twisted than the shapes my lips could contort themselves into—for the longest time, my perception of non-fiction didn’t deviate from this singular image.

Reading this book was uncomfortable, like a car crash waiting to happen, it was hard to read and even harder to put down.

It’s been a while since I had been meaning to get my hands on a book by Shashi Tharoor, and when my sister asked me what she could get me from Kolkata, I immediately said I’d love to read a book by the renowned Indian author, politician, columnist, and critic.

Like many veterans, I joined a creative writing MFA program because I wanted to evolve as a writer.

As a Palestinian-Australian, you’ve stressed the importance of telling stories about everyday Palestinians. Why is it important to tell such stories?

Jhumpa Lahiri has always been the rare author whose prowess in the art of the short-story far surpassed her novelistic talents.

An interesting concern in contemporary children’s literature criticism is the discussion of power. Do the fictive children in children’s books, conceived and delivered by the adult author, have the ability to exercise their will and possess a voice?

Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain (1880–1932) was exceptional in many different ways. Born on December 9, 1880, in a sleepy village in Rangpur, undivided Bengal, she died on the same day, 52 years later,

“They should not do anything, excuse me; they are fit for nothing.”

On a chilly winter morning of November 2010, I came across a story that would stamp my childhood permanently. It was the winter vacation and the school finals were just over. While playing board games at one of my friend’s, I found quite a picturesque book filled with illustrations and art. It was titled, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876).

Addison Square is one of those hidden enclaves where well-heeled Londoners tuck themselves away to create bubbles of “civilised life” from which they can exclude the riffraff surrounding them in the mega-city they call home.

When a dear friend recommended The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, it took me one page to grow up. 

Bangladeshi literature in English has had a considerably late start compared to its South Asian counterparts in India and Pakistan. A few exceptions aside, a consistency came to be seen only by the early 2010s.

Award winning Irish writer Claire Keegan is a master of short fiction. Her previous novel, Small Things Like

Mahmudul Haque was a writer who championed the modern and independent stream of Bangla literature.