Copperfield Review's Blog

Bess chewed a strand of grass, watching the white clouds as they drifted on a blue summer sky. Through her half-closed eyes, the sky seemed shimmering with heat. Pressed down by the weight of her long body, the grass beneath … Continue reading →

December, 1619: the view from a distance of his home village Patuxet on Cape Cod Bay startled Squanto, a Wampanoag Indian: his people’s dome-shaped wetus roofed with bark were gone. White men dressed in clothes made of fabrics rather than … Continue reading →

The story of an English family who moves to Italy to open a guesthouse, Hotel Portofino is set in the titular coastal town in 1926. People ask me: did I go there to research it? Sadly not. (Blame COVID – I … Continue reading →

Gabriel was a blacksmith who read of Haitian revolt, how Toussaint Louverture defeated white Europeans and threw off the shackles and yoke On the Isle of Saint-Domingue, gone were pin and loop In his mind he must have been baffled … Continue reading →

“Don’t look back,” Nels said. The gravity in his voice, her only comfort. The train ride had been long and unrelenting. Crowding in against countless others, Millie hushed Thelma, their new baby girl, so often her voice turned to gravel … Continue reading →

Propped against the inside sideboard, William’s wheat-colored body moved with the wagon as it rambled up the dirt drive. Fortunately, it was too early for dust; spring was just barely in the air. Winter had been long and still hadn’t … Continue reading →

It was a quiet Florida morning.  We had been putting up bunting the day before and talking about the Dunedin Fourth of July Parade that was this morning and suddenly the letter came and there I was thinking about Dr. … Continue reading →

Kathleen Parrish retired from a career in nuclear engineering to revise and publish a manuscript written by her uncle, Herman Willis Logan, and pursue a second career as a writer of science fiction and fantasy. Instead, she’s now working on … Continue reading →

He was born in Texas, rode a horse at four, went on a drive at 10, was married at 17, became a father at 18 and a widower at 19. Anger and cause never left Yardley Doyle McKee, not for … Continue reading →

The pile of boots grew higher. Dusty. Worn. Crusted with blood. A boot-hungry group of men rooted through the pile, desperately looking for something that fit their swollen, sorry feet. An adjacent pile grew apace. Amputated limbs, some legs severed … Continue reading →