Zoetrope: All-Story
Historic Zoetrope Building
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    Zoetrope: All-Story is Francis Ford Coppola’s internationally acclaimed fiction and art magazine.  
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    Zoetrope: All-Story is Francis Ford Coppola’s internationally acclaimed fiction and art magazine.  
  • Subscribe to all-story
    Zoetrope: All-Story is Francis Ford Coppola’s internationally acclaimed fiction and art magazine.  

CURRENT EDITION

Guest Designer

Juman Malouf

Contributors

Jamil Jan Kochai
Stuart Dybek
Wes Anderson
Hanan Al-Shaykh

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NEWS & EVENTS

News and Events

Short Fiction Competition

Many thanks to all who entered the 2021 Short Fiction Competition. We appreciate the opportunity to read such bright and brilliant new work.

From nearly 2,000 submissions, guest judge and 2021 Pulitzer Prize finalist Daniel Mason honored the following stories . . .

Spring 2022 Edition

The editors are thrilled to announce the release of the Spring 2022 edition, designed by the acclaimed illustrator and costume and set designer Juman Malouf, with contributions from Oscar-nominated filmmaker Wes Anderson, MacArthur fellow Stuart Dybek, and PEN/Hemingway Award finalist Jamil Jan Kochai, among others.

Five Questions with Juman Malouf

Why did you accept the invitation to design the Spring 2022 edition of All-Story?
Zoetrope: All-Story is the only magazine I still receive in the mail! I always enjoy the stories—but, also, I love seeing how the designers completely reinvent each issue, which is always unexpected and wildly different from the last. I wanted a shot at it.

FROM THE ARCHIVE

Story artwork by guest designer Olafur  Eliasson

Seeing Diane Arbus
Lindsay Zibach

As a special online supplement to the Winter 2016/2017 issue, the editors present the prizewinning story from the 2016 Zoetrope: All–Story Short Fiction Competition, as judged by Anthony Marra.

Back then, as I began to suffer more and more from bouts of inexplicable insomnia, I often found myself sitting at three or four in the morning in the corner booth of a Hell’s Kitchen dive bar just above the subway line on Eighth, hoping that I couldn’t be seen. It wasn’t that the staff let me stay past closing, it was that they weren’t used to looking for a woman who was hardly tall enough to see over the table.
     This wasn’t the kind of bar for meeting friends—you went there so you wouldn’t have to meet anyone at all. The way the patrons bowed their heads when a new person walked in, you’d think it was a church. The glasses were stained with layers of old lipstick . . .

PAST EDITIONS

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