Radical Hope is a collection of letters—to ancestors, to children five generations from now, to strangers in grocery lines, to any and all who feel weary and discouraged—written by award-winning novelists, poets, political thinkers, and activists. Provocative and inspiring, Radical Hope offers readers a kaleidoscopic view of the love and courage needed to navigate this time of upheaval, uncertainty, and fear, in view of the recent US presidential election. Including letters by Junot Díaz, Alicia Garza, Roxana Robinson, Lisa See, Jewelle Gomez, Hari Kunzru, Faith Adiele, Parnaz Foroutan, Chip Livingston, Mohja Kahf, Achy Obejas, Viet Thanh Nguyen, Cherríe Moraga, Kate Schatz, Boris Fishman, Karen Joy Fowler, Elmaz Abinader, Aya de León, Jane Smiley, Luis Alberto Urrea, Mona Eltahawy, Jeff Chang, Claire Messud, Meredith Russo, Reyna Grande, Katie Kitamura, iO Tillett Wright, Francisco Goldman, Celeste Ng, Peter Orner, and Cristina García. “This anthology is like the book version of a Justice League of superheroes: a collection of writers to guide us through tumultuous political times.”—Maris Kreizman, Vulture “A glorious symphony. . . . [ Radical Hope ] expands my idea of home, of hope [and] is just what I needed at this alarming moment in our country’s history; I know others will feel the same way. All of us could use a good shot of radical hope right about now. . . . I can picture people carrying this book with them in a totemic way. And not just carry it--use it. . . . The inspiration found in these pages is evergreen.”—Gayle Brandeis, San Francisco Chronicle “This collection is a plea to defy the idea that positive change is impossible. . . . De Robertis’s contributors . . . replied to her call with diverse, eloquent, and unapologetic pieces that speak to the heart and underline the sentiment that the personal is political. . . . The overall message is one of radical connection and thoughtful activism.”— Publishers Weekly “I think I’m going to want to read this Baldwin-inspired   collection   yesterday, now, and through the conceivable future.”—R.O. Kwon, Electric Literature , “34 Books by Women of Color to Read This Year” "Timely. . . . [ Radical Hope ] provides some comfort, direction, and inspiration. . . . Many readers will doubtless find solace in the volume."— Kirkus Reviews CARO DE ROBERTIS is the author of five novels, including  Cantoras,  winner of a Stonewall Book Award and a Reading Women Award, and a finalist for the Kirkus Prize and a Lambda Literary Award; it was also selected as a  New York Times  Editors’ Choice. Their work has been translated into seventeen languages and they have received a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, Italy’s Rhegium Julii Prize, and numerous other honors. An author of Uruguayan origins, De Robertis teaches at San Francisco State University, and lives in Oakland, California, with their wife and two children. caroderobertis.com Dear Reader, Three days after the 2016 election, I sat at my writing desk overwhelmed by grief. I was not alone. Like many people (like you, perhaps), I’d had trouble sleeping and had already engaged in many conversations—­with friends and family, students and colleagues, in person and on social media—­about the spike in hate crimes, the pain and outrage, the devastation to come. In my grief, I thought about many things. I thought about all the hard-­won civil rights gains of the past fifty years, now under a new level of threat. I thought about the many communities—­including immigrants, people of color, gay and transgender people, women, Muslims, Jews, progressives from all walks of life—­now bracing themselves (or ourselves, for I belong to some of those groups) for an era of increased vulnerability. I thought about climate change. The Supreme Court. Democracy. Other nations, affected, watching. The future near and far. I thought about a friend’s daughter, age seven, Black, born in the USA, who said she was scared that Trump would make her family leave the country. And another friend’s son, age four, who has two mothers, just as my children do; he asked whether their family would be torn apart. I thought about my son, who was born days after Obama was first inaugurated, and had therefore always lived in a nation in which someone like him—­Black and multiracial, child of an immigrant—­could be president. For months, my son had been talking about using his kung fu skills to defend his Mexican friends from Trump and his wall. On November 9, he did not want to get out of bed for school, because, he said, he refused to set foot in a nation where Trump was president. It was not an act of fear; it was a boycott. I thought about my four-­year-­old daughter’s words about Trump, spoken out of the blue: “We’re not beautiful to him. Nobody told me that. It’s just a feeling I have.” I also thought about my grandmother, a poet and activist in Uruguay who died during the dictatorship. Born in Argentina, exiled under Pres