Staff Rumble

Dear readers,

The fire alarm in my building went off early on a Tuesday evening. I should have already been running along the seawall before returning to walk the dog, but I’d stayed at my desk to make headway on a Geist task.

As a modern person, I am well-practiced in sidelining my instincts. What the hell is that? is easier to think than A fire in this ancient structure will demolish everything in its path. I poked my head into the hallway where the alarm blared about a hundred decibels louder. I covered my ears and scanned the hallway. Not a soul. I closed the door.

Out the window, people strolled along the sidewalk wearing earphones. A neighbour sauntered out of the building, dog leashed, for their usual evening walk. Maybe I’m imagining it. My dog was curled up in her bed, seemingly unaware of the radio-tower warning bell.

When the firetruck pulled up, I started to grab things. My backpack. Laptop. Daily planner, journals, pens, manuscript print-out. I measured out a single meal of dog food. Car keys, apartment keys (silly, since I’ll just be able to enter through the archway of ash). I dug out my passport from under the bed. Eyeglasses, meds, phone, charger. Finally, I leashed the dog—who now looked at me as though I was about to lead her through hell—left the door unlocked and exited through the lobby. A crowd parted and made faces at the creature in my arms like she had just been rescued from a burning building. They had no idea it took me twenty minutes to be a hero.

Back in the apartment the same amount of time later, I unpacked my “emergency bag” of notebooks, electronic devices, and dog food. What does this say about me? Had I stuck to my plan and gone for a run, I would have returned ignorant of this benign incident. The dog would never tell. Knowing how it turned out, I was still thankful to have been home with her. Had it not been for Geist, I'd have been out running: naive, sweaty, alone.

—Dayna Mahannah (Events & Outreach Manager)

ON NEWSSTANDS NOW: Geist 132

Our Spring issue is on newsstands and available on our website!

We are pleased to announce Christine Lai as our 2026 columnist. In a new series, Lai brings readers three linked essays on photography, shaped by her perambulations around Tokyo with a camera as she researched and drafted the manuscript for a novel. The first installment, “Street Haunting,” explores Japanese street photography.

Plus, new fiction by Alex Leslie; feature essays by Kate Reider Collins and Nikki Celis; poetry from Jade Riordan and Erin Vosters; dispatches by Emily Moore, Sage Tyrtle, Ian Roy and Jess Housty. And much more.

Dazzling cover art by Jan Conn, Sometimes the Moon Is Missing, 2025.

Author Spotlight: Alex Leslie and Jess Housty

FICTION

He refused again to sell me the crater, even when I offered him fifty dollars, then eighty dollars, then one hundred dollars. I bought three jars of dried morels to make up for the time he’d spent talking to me and, in a way, to pay for the story.

—Excerpt from the short story, “This is All I Do Now,” by Alex Leslie, published in Geist 132.

Alex Leslie's first novel is forthcoming next spring from Freehand and they have previously published four books: People Who Disappear (Freehand), We All Need to Eat (Book*hug), Vancouver for Beginners (Book*hug), and The things I heard about you (Nightwood). Alex's short stories are included in Best Canadian Stories 2026 and Best Canadian Stories 2027 (Biblioasis). This story is from a new collection nearing completion.

Photo credit: Joy Gyamfi

DISPATCH

Approach a typical meadow island. Imagine rock so slick and dark it’s hardly distinguishable from the ocean in winter. It slopes into the water, the heights of tidal influence marked by the lines of dense barnacles and the orange and purple whorls of Northern Pacific sea stars. The ocean is the first boundary: anyone who wants to visit the garden must paddle or swim toward riches.

—Excerpt from the dispatch, “Anatomy of a Meadow Island,” by Jess Housty, published in Geist 132.

Jess Housty is a queer and neurodivergent Haíɫzaqv poet, herbalist and educator from Bella Bella, BC. They are the author of Crushed Wild Mint (Nightwood Editions, 2023) and How to Nourish a Cannibal (Nightwood Editions, 2026).

Photo credit: Michelle Munkittrick

Art Submissions Open!

Calling all artists, photographers, and collage-makers! Send us your best, weirdest, most beloved artworks and photography. We would love to see COLLAGE submissions!

Submit via submittable by June 12 at 11:59 p.m. PT ☀️.

Please take a look at our website for examples, and read our Submission Guidelines to find out more about what we're looking for and our payment rates: geist.com/submit

The Cure for Drowning wins Canada Reads 2026

Congratulations to Loghan Paylor, whose debut novel, The Cure for Drowning (Random House), won Canada Reads 2026! This year’s theme was “one book to build bridges.” Championed by Tegan Quin, The Cure for Drowning is a queer love story set in WWII. Loghan Paylor is a member of the Geist Reading Collective.

Watch the final debate here.*

*Contains spoilers!

Geistly: From Placeholder to (almost) Poll-topper

Results are in!

The trickiest part of launching a newsletter is choosing a title that upholds the spirit of Geist (yes, pun intended) while holding its own. Last month, we asked readers to cast their ballots to help us decide. Our placeholder title, “Geistly,” did well in the polls, and it’s grown on us. For transparency, here are the numbers:

1. Slice of Geist - 20.7%

2. Geistly - 17.2%

3. Geist Notes - 13.8%

4. Infinite Geist - 10.3%

5. Geist Glance - 6.9%

6. Good for You - 6.9%

7. Geist Gatherer - 0%

8. The Rumbler - 0%

In the “Other” category, a few notable suggestions:

a. Geistetner — a play on the Gestetner duplicating machine, invented by David Gestetner in the 1880s, who revolutionized the office-copying process.

b. Geistadelic — admittedly, too groovy for us.

c. Geist in the Machine — a play on the term “ghost in the machine,” coined by Gilbert Ryle, a philosopher, who used the phrase to critique the concept of mind and body existing as separate from one another. (Of note: This name already hit Geist’s cutting room floor, unfortunately.)

Thanks to everyone who voted!

To the concerned reader who seemed to construe the stakes of the poll as an overall rebranding, we hope this is clarifying—we only aim to endow our monthly send-out with an appropriate name. Newsletters be newsletters. Geist is Geist is Geist.

Micro-horoscopes for the Lit-Lorn

Divinations composed by Geist's in-house bootleg astrologers

Image credit: Geist Horoscopes drawn by Dayna Mahannah