Charming Garbage (Fiction)

As my home crumbles around us, my fat French uncle tells me again about all the things he secretly fixed in France, him and his clandestine band of merry men scurrying around the tunnels underneath Paris, popping up like moles with mallets and wrenches in the city’s neglected landmarks, fixing things–months on end–fixing things no one even knew were broken. And finally it is too much. “Then why can’t you fix the damn leak in the roof?” I blow after three weeks of his charming garbage. “Why can’t you get the bathtub to drain? With a working disposal, maybe ants…

DOA: Defense of Autotune (Blog)

In my younger and more vulnerable years (namely NSOP), I offended a recently acquired acquaintance by stating that one of my favorite Kanye West albums was 808s and Heartbreaks. Though I personally believe that taking offense to such a preference is akin to disliking one for one’s favorite flavor of ice cream or favorite color, I felt like there was a deeper reason for this reaction, which could not be so easily dismissed. I had described the album as “the one where he just sings in auto-tune the whole time.” The person I had affronted was a very accomplished singer.…

“Transparent” is Anything But (Blog)

Josh Pfefferman and his younger sister Ali, both in their mid-twenties, sit on the floor of the living room in their childhood home. He holds a Jim Croce record out to her. “Look at that face. Look at that. They would never let me sign a guy like this right now. Look at that schnoz. You could not get that nose on TV today in a million years.” “I loved him so much.” Ali accepts the record, holds it to her face. “You married him.” “I did,” she agrees. “When I was four years old. We had a ceremony. I’ll…

FourthGeneration4.1.pages

FourthGeneration4.0 (Poetry)

Krishan Mistry is a writer from the suburbs of New York City who is interested in what might be inappropriately labeled as “conceptual poetry.” He is particularly fascinated by computer generated and appropriated texts and has spent the last two years exploring themes like fragmentation and commodification. He is currently studying literature and creative writing…

Hasty Thoughts on Ryan Boudinot’s MFA Piece (Blog)

If you’re in the mood to bear witness to some pointless Internet rage, look no further than the recent controversy surrounding Ryan Boudinot’s piece on MFA’s over at The Stranger. If you haven’t read it, I don’t blame you. I had never heard of him or the site before this week. Moreover, both the article and the responses to the article seem very much directed at that subset of people who are intensely interested in being “writers,” who talk incessantly about their status as “writers,” who spend more time thinking about the status of “writer” than actual writing, and, in…

Folklore (Fiction)

1 Really, the mountains were everything to me, and I could never understand why they were not to you. I think we just saw peaks differently. For I, purposefully mistranslating Sappho, thought that one could only reach the sky two arms strong. You were always shyer. Perhaps, you were not actually more shy but more open to it. You let your shyness set your cadence, a cadence of delicate steps that were only heard when listened to. I wanted everyone to listen to me softly the way they did you, but both you and they never did because I was…

Apply to the Spring 2015 Editorial Board

The Columbia Review is looking for new members to join its editorial board. Board members meet weekly to discuss submissions to the magazine, and select pieces for publication. Members are also involved in planning and promoting events, raising money, writing for our blog, and more. If you’re a Columbia student who loves discussing literature, The Review is a great way to get involved with literary life on campus. The application can be found below. Upon completing it, please email it to us at TheColumbiaReview@Gmail.com. All applications are due by Thursday, February 26th at 6:00 P.M. Unfortunately, due to volume, we will only be…

Nineveh (Poetry)

  NINEVEH   A sleepless force summoned me to the belly of the whale.   Inside, of many mansions, one was fashioned for my shape.   The whale and I were both brought forth by the hand that cast the lot.   It rose slowly in the air, a thousand days and nights unfolding.   It was a priestly hand before the flock, unmatched in its cunning.   Long before, even as we slept, the fibers and the threads   of our lives, great and small, were brought together, and entwined   with the entrails of dusk ghostly and luminous…

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Sign up today for the The Columbia Review mailing list to stay up to date on submission deadlines, events, new releases, blog pitches, and more. Joining our mailing list is a great way to stay connected to the broader Columbia Review community. To sign up, send an email to TheColumbiaReview@gmail.com with the subject line “The Columbia Review Mailing List.” In the body of your email, please provide your name, and your affiliation with Columbia University (if any). From there, you’ll receive our newsletters, release announcements, blog pitches, submission calls, and more. The Columbia Review mailing list is also a great way for Columbia Students…

The Morning in the Skin (Fiction)

Brother was up all through the night. He went over the papers one more time and woke me before dawn. He shook as he did when angry, though his look was only tired. Let’s have a last look, he said. We sat the horse together, me up front and brother holding onto my belt. The dew was frozen and her unshod hooves clattered crisply on the ground. The horse was all white, with brown freckles that increased with sunlight and with the years. Sunspots, brother called them. They traced our years, as much as her own. Our coming of age…