Joseph Allen Boone
Joseph Allen Boone is a professor of literature and gender studies at the University of Southern California. His first novel, FURNACE CREEK, won the National Indie Excellence Award for LBGTQ+ fiction in 2023 and the Next Generation Indie Award for First Novel. His short story collection, CONDITIONS OF PRECARITY, was recently named Winner of the Best Story Collection of 2024 by the Independent Authors Network. In all, he is the author of six books, and a libretto. Boone has received fellowships from the Guggenheim, ACLS, NHC, and Huntington Library, as well as residencies at Bogliasco, Bellagio, and Valparaiso.
Final Acts, A Novel
Part One: 1970Curtains Up!
David Abbott was the last person the citizenry of Centerville expected to commit suicide, much less in broad daylight and by such unsightly means, his broken and bloody corpse splayed on impact from its five-story fall onto the sidewalk in front of the Playhouse Cinema.
Novel Excerpts
Issue 93, March 2025
Me Too?
Madison / fall 2016
Out from under the cover of city-noise, Marjorie heard a strange voice call her name, then whistle slowly. Three mocking syllables: a long dactyl of whistled sound, a seductive musical slide.
Third time tonight: it brought her to an abrupt halt, and standing astride her Trek racer, she scanned the Saturday night crowd that set the sidewalk in waves of motion. For the moment she ignored the stream of traffic to her left, the stroke of oncoming headlights fixing her in the lightly falling chill mist. Her eyes roved over the sea of faces, laughing, celebratory despite the weather—and she, shivering unaccountably, why this foolishness?
Out from under the cover of city-noise, Marjorie heard a strange voice call her name, then whistle slowly. Three mocking syllables: a long dactyl of whistled sound, a seductive musical slide.
Third time tonight: it brought her to an abrupt halt, and standing astride her Trek racer, she scanned the Saturday night crowd that set the sidewalk in waves of motion. For the moment she ignored the stream of traffic to her left, the stroke of oncoming headlights fixing her in the lightly falling chill mist. Her eyes roved over the sea of faces, laughing, celebratory despite the weather—and she, shivering unaccountably, why this foolishness?
Long Short Story
Issue 24, April 2019
Issues Archive
Joseph Allen Boone
Joseph Allen Boone is a professor of literature and gender studies at the University of Southern California. His first novel, FURNACE CREEK, won the National Indie Excellence Award for LBGTQ+ fiction in 2023 and the Next Generation Indie Award for First Novel. His short story collection, CONDITIONS OF PRECARITY, was recently named Winner of the Best Story Collection of 2024 by the Independent Authors Network. In all, he is the author of six books, and a libretto. Boone has received fellowships from the Guggenheim, ACLS, NHC, and Huntington Library, as well as residencies at Bogliasco, Bellagio, and Valparaiso.
Final Acts, A Novel
Part One: 1970Curtains Up!
David Abbott was the last person the citizenry of Centerville expected to commit suicide, much less in broad daylight and by such unsightly means, his broken and bloody corpse splayed on impact from its five-story fall onto the sidewalk in front of the Playhouse Cinema.
Novel Excerpts
Issue 93, March 2025
Me Too?
Madison / fall 2016
Out from under the cover of city-noise, Marjorie heard a strange voice call her name, then whistle slowly. Three mocking syllables: a long dactyl of whistled sound, a seductive musical slide.
Third time tonight: it brought her to an abrupt halt, and standing astride her Trek racer, she scanned the Saturday night crowd that set the sidewalk in waves of motion. For the moment she ignored the stream of traffic to her left, the stroke of oncoming headlights fixing her in the lightly falling chill mist. Her eyes roved over the sea of faces, laughing, celebratory despite the weather—and she, shivering unaccountably, why this foolishness?
Out from under the cover of city-noise, Marjorie heard a strange voice call her name, then whistle slowly. Three mocking syllables: a long dactyl of whistled sound, a seductive musical slide.
Third time tonight: it brought her to an abrupt halt, and standing astride her Trek racer, she scanned the Saturday night crowd that set the sidewalk in waves of motion. For the moment she ignored the stream of traffic to her left, the stroke of oncoming headlights fixing her in the lightly falling chill mist. Her eyes roved over the sea of faces, laughing, celebratory despite the weather—and she, shivering unaccountably, why this foolishness?
Long Short Story
Issue 24, April 2019
Issues Archive