• The cover of the book Multiple Choice

    Multiple Choice

    Alejandro Zambra’s fiction often plays with structure, whether it’s heading into metafictional territory or otherwise pushing at the boundaries between author and character. His novel Multiple Choice is exactly what the title suggests: a book structured as a kind of examination, with multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions, as well as a section dedicated to reading comprehension. The story that emerges is a haunting one set against the backdrop of the last few decades of Chilean history.

  • The cover of the book Hopscotch


    Nearly every book by the Argentinean writer Julio Cortázar has the power to disorient the reader in some way. With Hopscotch, that disorientation is literal: the structure of the novel allows readers to choose multiple narrative paths. Depending on how you read it, you might come away with a completely different understanding of the novel’s plot or of one of its characters. It’s the kind of novel that reminds us of the potential of the form, even as it tells a compelling story—or multiple compelling stories.

  • The cover of the book Only Revolutions

    Only Revolutions

    Mark Z. Danielewski’s fiction often plays with narrative, text layout, and the physicality of the book in question: his cult classic House of Leaves serves as one significant example of this. It’s a novel with two narrators, and it’s designed to be rotated to read the works of each one in turn. One review
    referred to it as “a Möbius strip,” and invoked Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire—another work that takes bold stylistic and structural risks.

  • The cover of the book Novels in Three Lines

    Novels in Three Lines

    The title of this collection, translated into English by Luc Sante, tells you exactly what you’re going to get: incredibly condensed narratives that nonetheless convey nuanced characters, unexpected plots, and reversals of fortune. And these works predate the notion of flash fiction by a century: Fénéon was born in 1861.