When we are at the verge of the third decade of the twenty-first century, and watching about more than ten thousand books getting published every year in Canada, it seems somewhat unbelievable that during the fifties of the last century the picture of Canadian book publishing world was very poor.

Professor Imtiaz H. Habib was easily recognizable in a crowd even if his back was turned towards you. He was a tall, well dressed man

John Drew, mourning the untimely death of poet Riad Nourallah (1949-2018), comments: Riad's writing and teaching draw on the

Whenever I think of Arundhati Roy, I am reminded of afternoons on the rooftop with soothing breeze and neighbourhood pigeons circling the sky.

On a second thought, the door didn't start the whole mess. Rather it can be labeled as a witness, a milestone perhaps. At least that's what Aru thought as she dipped the paint brush in a bucket full of thick, dark paint.

My introduction to war lore was an intimate one, removed from any political agenda—they were stories of fear, simplicity, and sheer resilience in the face of ultimate crisis.

The grainy black-and-white photo, printed in a new book on the Rohingya crisis authored by Myanmar's army, shows a man standing over two bodies, wielding a farming tool. "Bengalis killed local ethnics brutally", reads the caption.

Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2001, Sir Vidiadhar Surajprasad Naipaul (knighted in 1990) died on August 11, 2018 at the

The silky skinned beauty went galloping through the prairie

Sharif and his wife Ankhi were at the chamber of a reputed Sydney oncologist to discuss the MRI results of Sharif's suspected colon. On the wall hung a board which displayed a large number of his colon's images taken at different angles and perspectives. Sharif tried to get the underlying message emanating from the images. Each image had a few grey or dark spots which looked ominous to him.

I was staring intently at the girl sitting in half profile in front and to the right of me. The girl was beautiful all right, but that is not

What makes travelogues intriguing still? Why do people still make an effort to read when complementing images alone can take one through a journey into the unknown— the chaos of a city; the sublimity of wilderness?

Aahana took short agitated steps around the back courtyard of her house. She paused for a few seconds, to clear her head which was spinning, either because of the circles she was taking around the yard or because of the information her husband had given her the that morning.

It seemed as though my little sister had climbed the five and a half stories from out of the dark recesses of the road where they were digging in the light of lanterns.

The dark rain clouds gradually spread across the blue expanse of the sky. The earth was engulfed in darkness. The rain started pouring. It was not a storm, though the wind blew in violent gusts.

Don't watch Okja if you are one of those with big plans of making the best out of all the surplus meat that will dip into your deep fridge.

Over the past one year, I have greatly enjoyed my role as part of the team at Star Literature, first as deputy editor, and now as editor.

We Bengalis think that no one can match us for our addas. If you were growing up in Dhaka in the 1950s or the 1960s and happened

Where at the end of the earth lie scattered A cluster of patios—silent—in ruin—

Kaiser Haq (non-fiction)