Brigham Young University School of Family Life professor David C. Dollahite’s memoir God’s Tender Mercies primarily focuses on Dollahite’s conversion, his mission to the Boston area, and his courtship and marriage to Mary Kimball. One…
“I’m like Alma’s daughters,” rough-and-tumble ranch girl Rachel O’Brian tells her polygamist stepfather J.D. Rockwell. “Someone has to speak up to you patriarchs” (118). An Unarmed Woman is a gripping murder mystery as well as…
If Matthew Babcock’s Four Tales of Troubled Love is about something, it is about private worlds; the reconciliation of self and other; the reckoning of what two people are with each other, without each other, and with the people that made them and that they make in turn; the luke and warm compromise of to-be-with-you and as-I-am.
There is a kind of madness that comes from living in Utah. Its sources are many—tall mountains and vast deserts, the ability to see a hundred miles at a time, the imaginative force of a…
As I savored Ryan Habermeyer’s debut short-story collection The Science of Lost Futures, winner of the BOA Short Fiction Prize, I remembered a quote attributed to Dostoyevsky in which the prolific Russian author underscores the…
Hildebrando de Melo is probably not a Mormon artist you’ve heard of. And that’s just the point. Mormon Arts Centerco-founders Glen Nelson and Richard Bushman believe that bringing lesser-known artists to the attention of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints enriches the audience and can facilitate a more dynamic engagement with religious art.
From “Homing” In which our protagonist, a crabby aging mother and professor, drives from Salt Lake City to her father’s birthplace—Safford, Arizona—to visit an infant’s gravesite. Year: 2016. Grandma Anderson said one of the best…
After a painting by Emily Fox King
This blood, this longing was meant for
your particular darkness. That shadow,
the red droplet on the floor, a new wound:
These are mine to name. And in my name
you are known, no less worthy than your
brother. No less chosen for this canvas of
violence and change.
Today, I went to the new initiatory session. When I arrived, the cute workers excitedly whispered to each other, “we have a patron!” I was the first of the day. It felt so good to…
My earliest memory takes place in 1960s Wilkinsburg, where we lived while Dad finished his schooling at Carnegie Tech. Dark brick house and heavy gray sky. Warm, prickly air; a carpet of clover in the grass. A thick cement porch I loved, anchored with square pillars of the same black brick. Chipped concrete steps with graveled wounds and patches.