Which will you choose?
The Seattle author appears in a rare public outing—this time—interviewing new author Tracy Barone.
In ‘Like a Boss,’ a charismatic labor organizer tries to quell an interplanetary strike.
By placing R. Crumb and the local comics community next to Goya, Dürer, Rembrandt, and Picasso, the Seattle Art Museum is jumping headfirst into new territory.
The new lit series begins with Tara Hardy and Anastacia Tolbert.
“Mayor Russell Wilson spends dozens of hours in virtual reality trying to envision how his budget cuts might affect some of Seattle’s poorest residents.”
The author of Shrill could live wherever she wants. Why choose here?
With its vaulted ceiling, copious natural light, and burnished-wood glow, Third Place Books new Seward Park branch is a serious contender for the title of Seattle’s Most Beautiful Bookstore.
Zeisler has a new book out, and it’s predictably Bitch-y.
Created by Seattle author G. Willow Wilson and artist Adrian Alphona in 2013, Ms. Marvel is the continuing story of Kamala Khan, a teenage daughter of Pakistani-American Muslim immigrants from Jersey City.
It should be a breathtakingly sloppy evening; partiers will be encouraged to write messages on the walls of the House.
There are a bounty of options for those looking to indulge their lit-lust on this special day.
Is dabbing the same as hot knives? And, uh, while we’re at it, what the hell is hot knives?
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled metaphors yearning to breathe free.”
Lesley Hazleton’s latest picks apart the binaries of faith, arguing that atheists and holy rollers should both just relax a little bit.
After years of writing about religion and the Middle East and abortion, what’s left for Hazleton to tackle? Well, she’s staking a spot directly in some of the most contentious territory imaginable, smack in the middle between religion and atheism.
Using her own myths, the author fills in the gaps in the history of her hometown of Kolkata.
The rich and the poor, the aware and the unaware, the passionate and the hypocritical—they’re all given voice in Zaher’s poems.
The fifth annual APRIL festival will demonstrate a few signs of maturity. For one thing, the early-evening happy-hour readings that used to be an integral part of the festival experience have disappeared.
Constructed from poems, chunks of prose, sheet music, photographs, collage, and even the script for an opera, Hardly War is unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
