The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker Folgen

"One rainy night, in March, 2009, we crossed a muddy field to intercept a group of Taliban who’d come out of the mountains of Pakistan. They were walking west. We were patrolling north to arrive at a point ahead of them, where we’d set up an ambush."   Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices

"On a Tuesday morning, she knocked on the door of 213. A corner room. Larger than standard. With two big windows instead of one. Twenty more dollars a night. The guest had been there for three nights and was sup- posed to check out by noon. She knocked again. “Housekeeping,” she said. Then said it louder, “Housekeeping.”" Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices

"A lot of the people in our program were nakedly emotional in a way that, in childhood, I had so successfully trained myself not to be that I almost really wasn’t. Before entering grad school, I had never felt normal, but here I was competent and well adjusted to a boring degree. I always showed up for class. I met deadlines. I made eye contact. Of course I was chronically sad, and of course various phobias lay dormant inside me, but none of that was currently dictating my behavior" Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices