What is a home? That is what writer and editor Samantha Paige Rosen sought to answer in the essay anthology, Living, Together: Reimagining Community in the Age of Disconnection. In it, over twenty writers explore found family, hacking adulthood, and other lessons communal living can teach us about the future of housing in America. It is set to be published on July 14, 2026, by Beacon Press and is available for pre-order now.
Rosen, whose writing on identity, the arts, and culture has appeared in the Washington Post, Harper’s Bazaar, Slate, Them, BOMB, and Literary Hub, earned her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and currently lives outside of Philadelphia.
The anthology features essays and interviews from:
- Mary Anne Adams
- Alex Alberto
- Kristen Arnett
- Elizabeth Hart Bergstrom
- Rodney M. Bordeaux
- Suanne Carlson
- Rhaina Cohen
- Jonathan Escoffery
- Hank Gamel and Fran Biederman
- Simone Gorrindo
- Hannah Grieco
- Tiffany Harris
- Gabrielle Korn
- Amanda E. Machado
- Sarah Thankam Mathews
- Dani McClain
- Adam Meyer
- Jake Montano aka Imelda Glucose
- Kim Stanley Robinson
- Adam Vitcavage
- Kate Madden Yee
Debutiful is honored to reveal the anthology’s cover, designed by Beacon Press creative director Carol Chu and featuring artwork by Ilia Panfilov, along with a Q&A with Rosen about its creation.
While writing the book, did you have any ideas for what you wanted the cover to look like?
I had a few broad ideas and lots of vibes. I knew I wanted a cover that wasn’t just text; I wanted it to incorporate art, particularly in a way that felt handmade, as a nod to the idea of doing something by hand, scrappily, with few models or guidelines, which is what many of the essays in this anthology are about. I thought it might involve mosaic, collage, or patchwork of some kind to signal collaboration and community. For colors, I could see blues, greens, yellows, reds, and browns. A handful of essays in Living, Together involve nature and being outside in community, so that felt right. One thing I couldn’t really reconcile, though, was how to incorporate a house or houses on the cover. Stained glass house? Mosaic house made up of tiny pictures of people’s faces? Floor plan sketch?! Thankfully the design team didn’t go with those ideas, although I shared them. My general approach to this debut book process has been to share as much as possible and let the experts take what they like.
Can you explain what the design process was like once you started working with your publishing team?
Beacon had a questionnaire they asked me to fill out around developing the cover image. It was so thorough, which is my jam! They asked for visual metaphors from the book, image suggestions, descriptive words around tone—mine were inviting, hopeful, accepting, authentic, intentional, supportive—and who I’m envisioning as my readers. I also included a few images of existing covers that I felt overlapped with my book’s vibes, including Emma Copley Eisenberg’s Housemates, Zoë Bossiere’s Cactus Country, and Jessica Bruder’s Nomadland. The design team took all this information and came back a few months later with the cover. We made some adjustments around font—I wanted to be sure we were signaling that this is a literary anthology, rather than an academic one, and my agent was really helpful with that (and everything else. Shoutout to Maggie!)—but the overall cover image never changed.
What was it like seeing your finalized cover for the first time?
I was at one of my oldest friend’s houses—we’ve known each other since we were 15 and 16—sitting on the floor, reading to her kids when the two-year-old got distracted and threw a blanket over his head, so I stopped to check my phone. It was a Friday at almost 5pm and I was shocked when I opened my email. I just really wasn’t expecting to get such an important email at that time, or for the cover to be so… my book. I turned to the two-year-old and all I could say was, “Look! This is my book!” The kid did not understand. But the design team nailed it with the art. I felt like they knew what I wanted even better than I did (glad they didn’t take my stained-glass house/mosaic/floor plan suggestions). Every part of this process where someone who is not me sees something in this book that I hoped would come through feels surreal in the best way.
How does the cover work to convey what the book is all about?
I want Living, Together to both spark and further conversations around what kinds of living situations and relationships make us feel happier, healthier, and more connected, especially if they’re different from what we were taught American society expects. In this way, I hope the book pushes boundaries but also feels universal because I think we’re all feeling like something isn’t quite right these days. The patchwork quilt-style squares and the variety of colors on the cover reflect the diversity of perspectives, identities, and storytelling forms within this anthology. We have essays—some more traditional, others more experimental—and Q&As. Contributors range in age from their twenties to their nineties, represent pretty much every area of the country, and are diverse in gender, sexual orientation, race, class, and more. The way the edges of some of the squares bleed into one another is suggestive of how the distinct stories across the book’s sections of family homes, intentional communities, and beyond housing ultimately work together to create a better understanding what it’s like to live communally or with a communal mindset. One thing I really want to convey about this book, and about communal living in general, is that while some people choose to live communally because of loneliness, high cost of living, illness, etc., others are doing it for the joy and connection it brings to their lives. This cover, especially all the colors, reflects that joy.