Where Is My Ascot? (Rated R)

In this nail-biting equestrian period piece thriller, Chalamet plays an up-and-coming young androgynous horse jockey on the brink of his Big Preakness Debut. Yet, just moments before the big cotillion in which he will present himself as the area’s most up-and-comingest young horseman, he realizes he’s missing one critical component: his lucky red ascot, passed down from his Great Great Uncle Albus, an infamous perfumer known for serial-murdering dozens of women in old-timey London. In how many ornate boxes and tiny wooden cupboards must Chalamet frantically search before he finds his favorite hanker-tie? Will…

A List of Things to Expect on This, the Eve of My Complete Transformation into My Mother

Please don’t be alarmed if I leave you many three-hour-long butt-dial voicemails.

It both pains and pleases me to report that, upon sunrise, I will have finally completed the transformation into my mother, Susan. As many of you know, the process began somewhere around the age of twelve, when I thought I lost a pair of glasses that I was actively wearing, and has steadily progressed ever since. Finally, the time has come to fulfill my destiny, by which I mean sing incorrect song lyrics out loud at the grocery store and purchase sale candles named after emotions.

Although I…

“Every so often a work comes along that changes the way the game is played, that clogs the system entirely. This is one of those works.”

“A dry, irreverent take on what the author ate for breakfast.”

“Uneven, misshapen, meandering…a hard pass.”

“This collection of many smaller pieces comes together into something powerful, mysterious, and completely nutty.”

“Ghostly and haunting. What it lacks in structure it makes up for in tenderness.”

“A flagrant waste of paper.”

“Although less fluid than her usual work, the latest installment in Mandelbaum’s nail-biting trilogy culminates in a truly satisfying ending.”

“In this gripping debut…

Outside of my relationship with my mother, writing has been the longest, most reliable, and arguably most rewarding relationship of my life. It has been with me since I could hold a pencil, and I imagine it being with me until I die. Sometimes I wonder what the last word I write will be, the last sentence — dark thoughts, but there is also a sweetness to them, to think of having writing by my side until the very end. Sometimes I imagine my writing as another person, perhaps the sister I never had. …

Part One: The Tetons

Four years ago, I quit my good-paying, respectable job as an acquisitions editor in Kansas and started working at a gift store in Grand Teton National Park. The job was only temporary — a summer gig before I started graduate school in California — but it would, ultimately, change the direction of my life.

I wanted to go somewhere beautiful because I was sad. That spring, I’d gone through a breakup and was suddenly overwhelmed by sadness for all I was about to leave behind when I moved: my friends, my home, my memories. I decided I needed to go…

Before I wrote this article, I was just like you: clueless, broke, single, living in a pile of scrap metal behind an O’Reilly Auto Parts and subsisting on discarded pizza crusts and rainwater. But since writing this article I’ve moved into a detached garage, eaten three servings of vegetables, and finished an entire sudoku. How did I do it? Let me tell you.

First, you must write an article. About what? The answer is: literally anything — your distrust of Elon Musk, how eggs are slimy, your sister’s stupid new ankle tattoo. But what if I don’t have any opinions…

When I was 23 years old, I moved to Davis, California, to start a graduate creative writing program. Almost immediately, I was homesick, heartsick, and restless. I’d just come from working at Grand Teton National Park for the summer and spent most of my free time in Davis dreaming about going back to the mountains. When I wasn’t dreaming of the Tetons, I was dreaming of Kansas, my true home, and the place where I’d left everyone I had ever known and loved. …

Like many women of my generation, I grew up believing my goal in life was to find a man and be in his company forever. While American culture has certainly made strides since the era of happily-ever-after Disney princesses and M.R.S. degrees, there is still a lingering notion that to be alone, especially as an adult woman, is a kind of failure, one we should avoid at all costs.

According to this logic, I’ve spent most of my life as a failure. Although I’m currently in a relationship that I like very much (hold your applause, that’s not the point…