PREFACE BY CAITLIN ROPER

n March 2020, bookstores began selling out of a book from the 14th century—Giovanni Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a collection of nested tales told by and for a group of women and men sheltering in place outside of Florence as the plague ravages the city. In the United States, we were beginning to self-isolate, learning what it meant to quarantine, and many readers were looking for guidance from this ancient book. As the coronavirus began its spread across the world, the novelist Rivka Galchen approached The New York Times Magazine and told us that she’d like to write a story recommending Boccaccio’s Decameron to help readers understand the present moment. We loved the idea, but wondered, instead, what if we made our own Decameron, filled with new fiction written during quarantine?

We began reaching out to writers with a request for pitches—some sense of the stories they hoped to tell. A few were working on novels and didn’t have time. One was taking care of small children and hadn’t figured out how, and if, he could write under the circumstances. Another wrote: “I’m afraid the fiction-writing part of my brain is not finding any inspiration from the current crisis.” We understood. We weren’t sure if our idea had legs.

But then, as the virus gripped New York City, and we were scared, and grieving, we began hearing something else, something hopeful—interest, and tantalizing story ideas. Novelist John Wray said he wanted to write “about a young man in Spain who rents his dogs to people in order to help them duck curfew restrictions by pretending to be walking their pets.” Mona Awad’s idea began: “On her 40th birthday, a woman visits an exclusive spa in order to get one of their infamous facials as a special gift to herself. When she’s there, they offer her a highly experimental treatment that involves the removal of certain bad memories in order to truly brighten, plump, and smooth the skin.…” Charles Yu told us he had a few ideas, “but the one that excites me the most is a story told from two points of view: the virus and the Google search algorithm.” Margaret Atwood’s pitch for the story she would like to write was: “It is told to a group of quarantined Earthlings by an alien from a distant planet who has been sent to Earth as part of an interstellar aid package.” That’s it, that was the whole pitch. How could we say no? We wanted to read all of these stories. In fact, we assigned too many to fit in a magazine issue. We quickly realized, with pain, that we had to stop reaching out to writers.

When the stories began rolling in, even as we were plunged deeper into one of the scariest experiences of our lives, we knew these writers were creating art. We hadn’t expected the degree to which they would be able to turn the horror of our current moment into something so powerful. It was a reminder that the best fiction can both transport you far from yourself but also, somehow, help you understand exactly where you are.

The magazine issue was published on July 12, as the virus was surging again in the United States. The response from readers was swift and enthusiastic. Our inboxes filled with letters to the editor remarking on the solace provided by these tales. We can think of no greater aspiration for this project, both in its original form and now as the book you hold in your hands, than to provide delight and consolation during a dark and unsteady time. We hope you read it in good health.