We’re interested in writing with a voice. That’s the simplest way to put it.

Beyond that, we do realize that the market has changed due to technology, people’s attention spans, and the competition from other forms of media. But rather than lament times past, we see this new reality as a possible opportunity.

We went to the roots of literature and asked some basic questions. What makes people keep reading? When do they stop reading a particular book? And why have some people—men in particular—almost completely given up on literature?

Most books today will never make it past the gatekeepers in agencies and publishing firms. It’s not because these books lack quality. It’s simply a matter of the marketplace, prevailing tastes, and politics. If something is considered potentially “offensive” or does not outwardly support the day’s trending political ideology, it will never see the light of day.

We oppose that kind of censorship.

We are not interested in the type of commercial fiction that would appeal to a big publisher. We are interested in doing what the big publishers, generally, refuse to do: giving a platform to talented writers who cause us to look at something familiar differently, or who take us somewhere we haven’t been before.

That can take many forms.

In fiction, we look to writers such as Hamsun, Kafka, Graham Greene, Kundera, Unamuno, Kerouac, Offill, Houellebecq — and to the short, compact side of writers better known for going long: Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground and Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49 being examples. We are looking for short novels, big ideas, and unmistakable voices.

We like work that plays with form and resists easy categorization, that does not bow down to the latest political ideology, and which does something truly beautiful with words. We love books that are cinematic, where the story doesn’t get lost in the prose, and ideas that transcend clichés. We admire a precisely constructed novel heavy in metaphor and motif as much as a first-person stream of consciousness that plays with language and meter. The key is that it is original, well-written, and voice forward.

In nonfiction, we look to writers such as Hannah Arendt, George Orwell, and Roger Scruton—writers who can write about the human condition with expertise and thoughtful experience, while avoiding the dryness and pretension of academic literature. But we’re not looking only for books about philosophy, politics, or big ideas. Sometimes a book is simply a pleasure to read. The Most Beautiful House in the World by Witold Rybczynski, for example, is a wonderful book about architecture, building, and the experience of making a home. It doesn’t need to answer the great questions. It’s simply a beautifully written, intelligent book that makes you interested in something you might otherwise never have thought much about.

We’re also looking for journalism—not the daily wire-service kind, but journalism written as a book: long-form, well-researched, unafraid of subjects other publishers consider too sensitive or too inconvenient to touch. We admire the tradition of writers like Joan Didion and Tom Wolfe, who understood that the best journalism reads like literature without sacrificing its rigor. If you’ve spent real time investigating something true and important, and you can write it as well as you researched it, we want to see it.

We also seek writers who have something for younger readers. Not books written down to them, but books that take them seriously. As homeschooling grows, so does the market for fiction and nonfiction that teaches as much as it entertains.

I was thirteen when I read Tom Wolfe’s From Bauhaus to Our House. Wolfe changed the way I looked at buildings and gave me a greater appreciation for modern architecture and art. We need more books like this for young people—positive influences that spark an interest in art, science, technology, history, and exploration. Not manga. Not another book whose depressed protagonist questions their sexual identity. We need books that will foster curiosity and a passion for life.

This is the kind of work that interests us.

In terms of format, we have a particular preference for short books—ideally between 150 and 250 pages. Our rationale is two-fold.

In nonfiction, the typical 350-page book offers two or three excellent first chapters with the remainder serving as regurgitated filler. It’s a business model for publishing companies. But almost any idea can be cleverly expounded in less than 200 pages. People don’t want to pay $40 for two chapters, but that’s what they get because the publishing industry’s profits are based on the amount of paper they can sell.

The other reason we prefer short format is due to the changing nature of the market. We’ve noticed that readers increasingly struggle to finish long books. Modern life has reshaped attention spans and a five-hundred-page novel can start to feel less like a pleasure and more like a stress-inducing obligation. The fact is that people are increasingly reading on their cellphones anytime they can squeeze in 20 minutes to read. Books need to appeal to that reality.

We are also looking ahead.

We’re interested in the online format and audiobooks, and in what happens when the technology itself becomes part of the reading experience.

We all love sitting down with a quality print of an original book, but the reality is that a lot of reading gets done on the metro on a tablet or cellphone. That is not going to change. And rather than fight technology, we are looking to make it work for us.

The technology may change. The format may change. The way we discover and experience books may change. But what doesn’t change is what we’re looking for: writers who have something worthwhile to say, said in a way only they could have said it.