This is The Writer's Voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Depp Ritreisman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear George Saunders read his story,

Gould, from the November 9th 2020 issue of the magazine.

Saunders won the Man Booker Prize in 2017 for his novel, Lincoln in the Bardot.

He's the author of four story collections, including Civil Warland and Bad Decline and 10th of December.

Now here's George Saunders.

Goal. Now here's George Saunders. Gould.

At noon, Layla wheels over that of lunch.

For a sec, I can be not scary, leaning against our plasterform wall meant to resemble human entrails.

Why aren't the old served first?

Crabs Leonard, squatting ghoul two, senior to all.

Last week, Leonard's knee went out.

We, his fellow squatting ghouls,

have since been allowing him to sit upon a plasterform remorseful demon,

which, at this moment, amidst one of its periodic remorse groans.

Grieve on, foul beast, I say, per script. Foul indeed, says Tim, feuding ghoul four.

Great guy, always blurting out such quips as, Brian, you are really on it in terms of the way

you keep casting your eyes fitfully back and forth while squatting.

To which I might reply,

Thanks, Tim.

You feuding ghouls are also ripping it up.

...