In the house on the hill, a bright, spacious room was waiting for a cradle.

What’s the deal with your face, Dad?

I will remain unwritten.

don’t remember how we ended up watching Rambo / but it was a disappointing experience.

. . . the world shimmers / everything unimaginably possible . . .

As the US celebrates the Thanksgiving holiday, families come together to eat, give thanks, and enjoy (or tolerate) each other’s company. The prickly father, distracted mother, sullen adolescent,…

Our “Translator Relay” series features a new interview each month. This month's translator will choose the next interviewee, adding a different, sixth question. For November's installment,…

If each city is like a game of chess, the day when I have learned the rules, I shall finally possess my empire, even if I shall never succeed in knowing all the cities it contains.     …

In the Marais that Friday, November 13, the air was light and mild as I left the indie press festival Salon L’Autre Livre, reinvigorated by reunions and conversations with poet and publisher friends.…

This month’s issue of Words without Borders brings readers a delightfully diverse selection of Cambodian literature ranging from ancient poetry to rap music. But this isn’t…

Iván Repila (Bilbao, 1978) is a writer, editor and cultural events manager. He is the co-founder of the press Masmédula Ediciones, which specializes in poetry. Iván has worked for…

We’re pleased to welcome Katrine Øgaard Jensen as the new blog editor of Words without Borders. She joined us this week and has hit the ground running with new, exciting plans for our Dispatches…

If each city is like a game of chess, the day when I have learned the rules, I shall finally possess my empire, even if I shall never succeed in knowing all the cities it contains.             …

The longlist for the 2016 International Dublin Literary Award (formerly IMPAC Dublin) has been announced, and it’s full of outstanding work by WWB contributors! We’re especially excited…

At the tail end of my nine months in Rio de Janeiro last year, after first living in centrally located Laranjeiras followed by a brief stint beachside in Copacabana, I decided I need a change of scenery…

Between 2008 and 2014, 2,471 fiction books appeared in English for the first time: 1,775 of those books were written by men, compared to 657 by women, and 39 by both men and women. Female writers make…

If each city is like a game of chess, the day when I have learned the rules, I shall finally possess my empire, even if I shall never succeed in knowing all the cities it contains.             …

The following is an excerpt from Toni Sala's short novel The Boys, translated by Mara Faye Lethem and out November 10 from Two Lines Press.The novel opens in the once-bucolic Catalonian…

American writer Paul Theroux once said that “scriptwriting is drudgery, a massive insult to the brain of a person who cares about the nuances of language; it is no more literary than elaborating…

WWB staff, board, contributors, supporters, and readers gathered on Monday night at Tribeca 360 to celebrate Words Without Borders and honor Metropolitan Books publisher Sara Bershtel with the 2015 Ottaway…

thus it is proven once again that / luck is a swallow on a telegraph wire

She wonders why she’s doing this to herself. Is it supposed to be some kind of test?

This is the second of two installments of Samuel Archibald’s “自害 (Jigai),” from the short story collection Arvida, forthcoming in the US by Biblioasis on November 24.…

The ability to read and write, knowledge of a foreign language, even the wearing of eyeglasses, could get one killed.

I completely ruined my father.

Sophany emerged from one of the most brutal regimes in modern history with her husband, her daughter, two sisters, a dress, a diary, and a homemade bathing suit.

Since we didn’t have soap, lice abounded in our shorts, so we wore them loose-fitting.

The captain guides the wheel to the debris / to slice clear through, but the steamer sticks fast.

having composed this pure paean / at the expense of all other arts, she gleamed.

Silent and still, I stand / without words, waiting for you deep into darkness.