New York, My Village

New York, My Village, by Uwem Akpan (reviewed by Katy Mitchell-Jones)

Ekong Otis Udousoro is in Nigeria preparing for his visa interview to America for a fellowship trip. This trip to New York City will focus on learning the ins and outs of the industry at a small publishing house while editing an anthology on the Biafran War. Along the way, he will meet hardships out of his control.

Though only spanning the first couple chapters, the visa interview process and repeated visits to the immigration office mean long lines and high anxiety for Ekong. He has meticulously prepared all the necessary documents, including backups—just in case. The interview begins with odd questions about whether he plans to commit a crime, “Unlike your compatriots, you’re not going to America to fill up the prisons are you?” He is asked which tribe he is from and whether he can prove it actually exists. The interviewer ends up denying his request on the grounds that he was unable to prove he would not return to Nigeria; although, she never directly asked him questions regarding this. He is informed to reapply. The whole interaction lasted only four minutes, and leaves the reader feeling angry and confused on his behalf.

Ekong arrives in August of 2016, but feels no “relief” after the very rocky road in getting there. He gets to his Times Square apartment, which is described as a bit worse for wear with gaps in the windows, beat up dining chairs, and a small kitchen. He checks in with Molly, his NYC publisher supervisor, over the phone and then the man from whom he will sublease. Both Americans attempt to show how angry they are with the immigration officers, but it is he who ends up consoling them. While he seems to have some supportive white people around him, Ekong is placed in positions where he often comforts and reassures others.

He is weary of working alongside so many white people though his reception was welcoming. He talks more with his new colleagues and notices they, “had carefully digested what they read about Nigeria,” and expressed that they wanted to try Nigerian food, which pleases him. He, “knew they were genuinely interested in [his] background... [his] face looked happy and fresh and relaxed.” He also gets to know Molly a bit more. She has worked for many publishers and gives him the advice that relationships are everything. Though this seems like sound advice, it is apparent that there are more barriers for some people to initiate and build these relationships, as both parties must be receptive.

There are several observations he makes about his life in Nigeria versus New York. While grocery shopping, he comments the yams are much smaller than in Nigeria, and the next day when he gets dressed for mass, his traditional Nigerian clothing induces him to trip while going down the stairs. He must don western clothes to accommodate his surroundings, dampening his mood. While at St Patrick's Cathedral, he reflects it is too grand for him, too imposing, and too traditional. The people there seem to be, “moping at the altar,” and he does not want to return.

There are strong themes of both blatant and subtle racism, inequity, and bias. Many of the interactions Ekong has with people leaves him confused and angry. There are two men, one white and one of Asian descent, living in his building. Despite his greeting, they ignore him. He comments that the city is diverse: “New Yorkers and their tourists came in all manner of colors and races and sizes and clothing and languages. It was intense.” But, the diversity does not seem to be celebrated. He thinks back to his two neighbors and worries that he perhaps greeted them incorrectly, again, giving the other party the benefit of the doubt. After entering his building, he meets another African man who greets him, making him feel better. This man, Keith, tells Ekong that those two men were talking about him earlier and they seemed angry about his presence. Ekong is warned to keep his head down, but ultimately he resolves to confront them.

Ekong collides with the systems and procedures in place at the publishing company. At his first staff meeting, everyone seems consumed with a book that he believes has huge flaws. However, everyone else insists that an acquisition bid is important. He realizes this is probably the first time they have ever held book deliberations with a black person in the room—he feels cautious and uncomfortable. As for the book he supports, the marketing team does not support a bid. Instead, they encourage Emily, a white staffer, to write a memoir about her experience on the topic at hand, which again makes the reader feel indignant on Ekong’s behalf. He offers to edit Emily’s memoir if it comes to fruition, but the marketing team shoots him down again, saying it would be difficult for him, since he is not familiar with the American southern culture. He points out that they have been editing African writing, which causes an awkward silence.

Beyond theme, symbolism is a large literary component in this novel. The author describes the physical spaces—his apartment, his office, and the buildings as a whole—which mirror Ekong’s feelings. Specifically, after his first day, he looks back up at the skyscraper and compares it to, “a stranger smiling at me behind dark glasses.” The intimidation created by the building’s appearance is only amplified with the intimidation he feels within its walls. There are also issues with insects in his apartment that keep him itchy and irritated throughout his stay. Eventually, he becomes irritated to the point of paranoia, staying up through the night in an attempt to find relief.

The novel has its lighthearted moments, and Ekong does sometimes manage to have positive experiences. He visits the Bronx to see a childhood friend and immediately loves it for its diversity and atmosphere. When he arrives at his friend's home, he is in awe of how beautiful their unit is. His friend’s daughter forms an attachment to him, calling him her uncle, and asks him about Nigeria. Despite the marketing team, his overall experience with most of his coworkers was also positive; he appreciates Molly when she asks about his background and Emily makes an effort to hang out with him outside of work.

Ultimately, this story is about a man’s journey into a harsh and unfamiliar country, where he learns the jarring truths about prevailing racism in a seemingly progressive city. It is a powerful tool for anyone to reflect upon their own experiences and interactions with people from different places.


New York, My Village by Uwem Akpan, published in 2021 by W.W. Norton & Company. 416 pages


Katy Mitchell-Jones is originally from a small town in Washington state and graduated from the University of Washington in Seattle with her BA and MA. She then headed to Boston to teach high school English but has since returned to her west coast roots. Her favorite authors are Margaret Atwood, David Sedaris, Tana French, and Glendy Vanderah. She has published three short stories with Chipper Press, for middle-grades. You can follow her on Goodreads here.

Our Weekly Reads (December 18-24)

Here’s what our writers and editors recommend this week!

A collection of the year’s best short stories, selected by Pulitzer Prize winner Andrew Sean Greer and series editor Heidi Pitlor.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens is a timeless holiday classic that has been enjoyed for generations. It tells the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, a miserly old man who is visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve. Through this spiritual journey, Scrooge learns to let go of his past and embrace the joys of the holiday season. This beloved story is sure to bring warmth and cheer to readers of all ages. With its timeless message of redemption and joy, A Christmas Carol is the perfect book to bring out the spirit of the holidays. (Amazon synopsis)

Just when you think you have nothing left to lose, they come for your dreams.

Humanity has nearly destroyed its world through global warming, but now an even greater evil lurks. The indigenous people of North America are being hunted and harvested for their bone marrow, which carries the key to recovering something the rest of the population has lost: the ability to dream. In this dark world, Frenchie and his companions struggle to survive as they make their way up north to the old lands. For now, survival means staying hidden - but what they don't know is that one of them holds the secret to defeating the marrow thieves. (Amazon synopsis)

In the Dream House is Carmen Maria Machado’s engrossing and wildly innovative account of a relationship gone bad, and a bold dissection of the mechanisms and cultural representations of psychological abuse. Tracing the full arc of a harrowing relationship with a charismatic but volatile woman, Machado struggles to make sense of how what happened to her shaped the person she was becoming.

And it’s that struggle that gives the book its original structure: each chapter is driven by its own narrative trope―the haunted house, erotica, the bildungsroman―through which Machado holds the events up to the light and examines them from different angles. She looks back at her religious adolescence, unpacks the stereotype of lesbian relationships as safe and utopian, and widens the view with essayistic explorations of the history and reality of abuse in queer relationships. (Amazon synopsis)

A thrilling journey into the badass women whose non-conventional lives left their DNA on history. Discover words of wisdom from the women who found their voices, inspiring you to do the same.
Amazing women with a story to tell. Join Mae West as she shakes up the entertainment industry with her wit and wisdom or create colorful art pieces with Yayoi Kusama that are larger than life itself. These women in history defied the expectations of conventional society to live the lives they chose, regardless of what others thought.
Words of Wisdom. Society may have labeled these fierce femmes as rebels, bad-ass, wild, or uppity. But, these amazing women still dared to be different. With an out-of-the-box perspective, you’ll find inspiration from an array of fabulous females who will give you a lesson in being one-of-a-kind.
-Unabashed Women offers you:
-Lessons on how to break the glass ceilingBiographies of trailblazing women from all walks of lifeEmpowerment through -famous females who dared to go against the grain (Amazon synopsis)

A Conversation with Philip Schaefer

A Conversation with Philip Schaefer, by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo:  So tell me: I know parts of this book, Bad Summon, appeared in several chapbooks prior to them coming out as Bad Summon. You know I have Radio Silence, and we talked about hideous [miraculous]. Can you talk about the process of writing this book, and how it came together?

Philip Schaefer: Yes, definitely. I moved to Missoula, Montana from Chicago for my MFA about ten years ago, and I did not know anything about publishing. I started writing and getting workshopped and then eventually just started putting it out there. Little poems started getting picked up here and there, and eventually they sort of snowballed into what would be like ten, twelve, fifteen pages. Then I sort of wrapped a chapbook manuscript around that. And once those got published, I started to have a bigger picture of, okay, how does this form or formulate into a whole book. And it took some time to figure that out. But I kind of let the gods of the poems being published decide that for me. That was some sort of validation for what’s good, which it shouldn’t be, but that’s what naturally happened. I felt very fortunate to get all of these poems published. It's hard to believe that anyone's ever going to engage with your work that way. But luckily I got some people to, and I'm very grateful for it. That was sort of my process in terms of publishing it. 

PS: In terms of writing that book, I started to quickly become obsessed with the juxtaposition between Chicago and Missoula. In Chicago, it's almost like people are dying every day as if on a marquee at a baseball game. And so it feels distant, even though it's right there in front of you. And in Montana, where there's a very small population of people and a very vast landscape, so when you would hear of certain deaths or crimes, or people missing, things like that, it was just very stark, and magnetic for me, and in a way that I found these stories to take on a life beyond their own. I wanted to write into, and from that energy, I didn't want to write about things, but inside of them, in a sense, so that became the obsession which became the sort of content matter for a lot of the poems in the book.

JA: That's so interesting, because now that you say that I feel like I understand the book so much better. 

JA: Can you talk a little bit about your poetic influences, like who you engage with both daily and when you were writing the book?

PS: Yeah, it's actually a funny question for me personally. Because when I was sending this manuscript out I had gotten a handful of finalist nods. But you know, still waiting, and then I got the call from the University of Utah, saying they wanted to take it, and that David Baker had selected it. And I was elated by this. And then David first emailed me and I had never met him before. He sent me the forward for the book, which is very generous, and wanted me to look over it. But he called out my most immediate influences to a T without knowing them. Mary Ruefle, Jack Gilbert and Richard Hugo, and those are my sort of holy/unholy trinity in terms of the people. I revisit them all the time. They were very present in the writing of this book. Another person who has impacted me is Ocean Vuong. He really helped me understand the shape and what I wanted to do. So I sort of mimic his system for Night Sky with Exit Wounds, where you have one opening poem and then three sections. And I really like that. I thought it worked, so I said, I’m going to do that. 

PS: Mary Szybist, and a guy named Christian Hawkey were also influential. Probably more than any of those would be Denis Johnson, though. 

JA: Oh, I love Denis Johnson. He’s my favorite author. My Instagram byline is a quote from him. 

PS: What is it?

JA: “Low-lying cynicism, occasional genius, and small polite terror.” 

PS: Love it.  

JA: It’s from The Name of the World.

PS: The Magnetic Fields also played a large role, as a band. My wife went back home to the Midwest to visit family, and I was alone for three days—a long time ago—and I started getting very melodramatic about what if she never came back. So I listened to that record over and over again, and that was really like the biggest muse for the section hideous [miraculous]. 

JA: Credit them! 

PS: Oh my God, I would be too embarrassed. 

JA: So I see themes of fire again and again in the book, and we just talked about violence a little bit, but I see grenades and gasoline, and Molotov cocktails just when I was flipping through. Can you speak to that through line? And how everyday violence shapes our lives? 

PS: Yeah, sort of twofold. It’s both the bigger picture, which you just mentioned of seeing the contrast of like snow-capped mountains and missing bodies, but also there was this story where a couple was on their honeymoon in Glacier National Park, and they got into an argument, and she pushed him off. She went to jail. This whole thing unraveled right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. I started hearing all these stories, and became obsessed with them. Because they were just blowing my mind a bit. 

PS: And then on the other side of that coin is as writers we’re obsessed with certain words, images, impacts, and I'm no exception to that. I love the dangerous elements of language. Their implications. The way that the poet can twist them into new meaning. All of that kind of stuff, I find to be just like revelatory. 

JA: Same question, basically, but death and dying are another theme that permeates this collection. Can you talk about that theme? And the way it appears and reappears for both the living and dead characters in this book.

PS: Yeah, I think every poet or writer is obsessed with the basics—death, love, loss, nature.

I'm no exception to that as well. I think that the death and loss components, the darker ones, the harder ones, the unknowable ones are so mystifying, and I am pulled in that direction because they make the nature and the love much more bright and complex. I want to write things that kind of terrify me. I want to write things that at the end of the page and at the end of the day kind of haunt me in a way that I'm uncomfortable with. I think that's a good process for getting outside of one's own skin.

JA: I think you got to this already, but there's an element of collective memory in this collection. I don’t know if I’m just picking this up, but the world of Bad Summon is kind of much larger than the first person narrative. It kind of expands out. Can you speak on that? 

PS: Yeah, I mean, I think that the specific leads to the universal and vice versa. I think the first section and last section kind of bookend the first person narrative. And I wanted to have this sort of zoom out, zoom in, zoom out landscape to it. On a more specific level, when I moved here ten years ago, I had just gotten married a month before in a bar in Chicago, and we packed up, having never set foot in Montana, and I was one of, if not the only married person in my cohort—that means that my nightlife looked a little bit different than everyone else's. I still went out and got beers, and did all that stuff, but I didn't have all of the drama and unknowns happening around me. It was happening to them, and I'm an empath in a lot of ways. And so I took their hurt and their surprise and their disbelief and kind of harbored it. You know. It became my own in this sense. So a lot of the poems take their anchor from that sort of energy. The poem “My Friends,” was written about all my friends fucking each other and fucking each other over during grad school, and I was like, “Come on, guys like, let's get it together.” And so I just wrote this poem from a really dark headspace, but it terrified me. So I kept it. It's just one of those dark poems where I was like this feels kind of grimy and nasty to write, but I kind of felt like I had to write it, anyway.

JA: No, it's a good one.

JA: I think you're such a master of the volta. I think that's what initially attracted me to your work. Some of these moments are so devastating. Can you talk about how you find those moments of change? This is going to go back to Ocean Vuong, but can you talk about how form impacts your writing?  

PS: I'm not a huge formalist, by any means. I think form is absolutely important, but I don't overthink it. I write based off a natural rhythm and flow, and what I think should go next. That said, the first form that really compelled me was the sonnet, and not for its fourteen lines, but for the volta for the turn. When I discovered that I was like, “this is getting body checked in a sport you've never played.” And what happens in the last two lines is how you respond, you know. And so that element of surprise and, not for like shock factor, or gore or porn, or whatever of it, but for, like true surprise to the reader. I just found the right language that I thought would kind of both fit and also slap you on the face a little bit.

JA: I read a lot of New York Times articles and in a lot of the Times, they end in a volta which I don't think that they're doing on purpose. I’m always fascinated by how to get in and out of things.

PS: Right, and sometimes it’s about leaning heavily into it more and other times it's like a screeching call. Or a shift in direction. It kind of just depends on what that poem is doing without you by it.

JA: You use humor and irony especially. I think humor is something often misconstrued in poetry or misused. Can you talk about your use of irony and how it functions in your work?

PS: When I was in my grad school workshops. I remember most of the professors kind of slandering anyone using irony. They thought it was a gimmick or magic trick for my generation. And I don't think they are necessarily wrong, because everyone wanted to be the next Ray Carver Bukowski. I think irony has a place, and humor definitely has a place. You just have to have sincerity. It has to be coming from something slightly true, even if that truth is all only in feeling form. And for me, because poetry is so often dark and darkly beautiful, we need to cut it. You know. Like, I can't just watch Game of Thrones my whole life. I have to watch Curb Your Enthusiasm here and there. You know. Like, you need to have comedic writing. You need to have pleasure in the world in spite of the dark, you know.

JA: So we're gonna finish up with the hardest question of all. I know you’ve published quite a bit since Bad Summon. What’s next for you? Another full-length? What are we moving towards? Are you writing a novel like every other poet I know? 

PS: I’m not writing a novel. I actually have another manuscript that I’ve sent out quite a bit for the last three/four years. It’s been a finalist probably twelve to fifteen times, so it’s been really close. It’s a finalist right now, so fingers crossed. So I’m just not in control of that at the moment, and I put that book in the hands of the world. If it’s supposed to be, it will be. And at this moment, I’m really excited about a new project I’m working on. It sort of pulls from the same but very different energy as hideous [miraculous]. None of the poems have been published. I’ve just now started to send them out. I’ll always hope for it, but it will never take away from my need and desire to keep writing. 


Philip Schaefer’s collection Bad Summon (University of Utah Press, 2017) won the Agha Shahid Ali Poetry Prize, while individual poems have won contests published by The Puritan, Meridian, & Passages North. His work has been featured on Poem-A-Day, Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and in The Poetry Society of America. He runs a modern Mexican restaurant called The Camino in Missoula, MT.


Joanna Acevedo is a writer, educator, and editor from New York City. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2021 for her poem “self portrait if the girl is on fire” and is the author of three books and chapbooks, including Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021) and List of Demands (Bottlecap Press, 2022). Her work can be found across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Litro, Hobart, and the Rumpus. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry and The Masters Review, Associate Poetry Editor at West Trade Review, and a member of the Review Team at Gasher Journal, in addition to running interviews at Fauxmoir and The Great Lakes Review. As well as being a Goldwater Fellow at NYU, she was a Hospitalfield 2020 Interdisciplinary Resident. She received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021, teaches writing and interviewing skills through the nonprofit system, and is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income For Artists. 




Our Weekly Reads (December 11-17)

Here are what our writers and editors recommend this week!

Colombo, 1990. Maali Almeida—war photographer, gambler, and closet queen—has woken up dead in what seems like a celestial visa office. His dismembered body is sinking in the serene Beira Lake and he has no idea who killed him. In a country where scores are settled by death squads, suicide bombers, and hired goons, the list of suspects is depressingly long, as the ghouls and ghosts with grudges who cluster round can attest. But even in the afterlife, time is running out for Maali. He has seven moons to contact the man and woman he loves most and lead them to the photos that will rock Sri Lanka. (Amazon synopsis)

Holed up with other mothers-to-be in a secret maternity home in Los Angeles, Scarlett Chen is far from her native China, where she worked in a factory and fell in love with the married owner, Boss Yeung. Now she’s carrying his baby. To ensure that his child - his first son - has every advantage, Boss Yeung has shipped Scarlett off to give birth on American soil. As Scarlett awaits the baby’s arrival, she spars with her imperious housemates. The only one who fits in even less is Daisy, a spirited pregnant teenager who is being kept apart from her American boyfriend.

Then a new sonogram of Scarlett’s baby reveals the unexpected. Panicked, she goes on the run by hijacking a van - only to discover that she has a stowaway: Daisy, who intends to track down the father of her child. The two flee to San Francisco’s bustling Chinatown, where Scarlett will join countless immigrants desperately trying to seize their piece of the American dream. What Scarlett doesn’t know is that her baby’s father is not far behind her. (Amazon synopsis)

Eilis Lacey has come of age in small-town Ireland in the hard years following World War Two. When an Irish priest from Brooklyn offers to sponsor Eilis in America, she decides she must go, leaving her fragile mother and her charismatic sister behind.

Eilis finds work in a department store on Fulton Street, and when she least expects it, finds love. Tony, who loves the Dodgers and his big Italian family, slowly wins her over with patient charm. But just as Eilis begins to fall in love, devastating news from Ireland threatens the promise of her future. (Amazon synopsis)

An exploration of the role that artists play in resisting authoritarianism with a sci-fi twist.
In poetry, dialogue and visual art the book follows two wandering poets as they make their way from village to village, across a prison colony moon full of exiled rebels, robots, and storytellers.
Part post-apocalyptic road journal, part alternate universe history of Hip Hop, and part “Letters to a Young Poet”-style toolkit for emerging poets and aspiring movement-builders, it's also a one-of-a-kind practitioners' take on poetry, power, and possibility.
NOT A LOT OF REASONS TO SING is a:
-post-apocalyptic road journal
-alternate universe history of Hip Hop
-“Letters to a Young Poet”
-toolkit for emerging poets and aspiring movement-builders
it's also a one-of-a-kind practitioners' take on poetry, power, and possibility. (Amazon synopsis)

When Hazel Wong's beloved grandfather passes away, Daisy Wells is all too happy to accompany her friend (and Detective Society Vice President) to Hazel's family estate in beautiful, bustling Hong Kong.But when they arrive they discover something they didn't expect: there's a new member of the Wong family.Daisy and Hazel think baby Teddy is enough to deal with, but as always the girls are never far from a mystery.Tragedy strikes very close to home, and this time Hazel isn't just the detective. She's been framed for murder!The girls must work together like never before, confronting dangerous gangs, mysterious suspects and sinister private detectives to solve the murder and clear Hazel's name - before it's too late . . . (Amazon synopsis)

Joan

Joan by Katherine J. Chen (reviewed my Mica Corson)

The name Joan of Arc is widely known, yet most could not tell you the years she lived, the battles she fought, or almost anything about the historical context of her existence. She is admired and referenced but only through a foggy lens. In Katherine J. Chen’s novel Joan, this shining figure emerges from our vague collective memory as a flesh and blood woman.

Chen fully admits that her fictionalized version of Joan is incredibly personal. She is a vibrant character with a complicated relationship with God, while a soldier first and foremost. Many retellings of Joan of Arc depict her with visions and hallucinations of the archangel Michael. In them, she becomes another example of extreme Christian devotion, often compared to the girls who starved themselves, citing the Holy Spirit as their only sustenance, or like the monk who walked on their hands to praise Mary. However, Chen writes Joan with a distinctly modern view. This Joan is practical. Her motivations go beyond her faith. She is not just a servant of God waving a banner for France but an imposing figure of a woman - tall, strong, and empathetic to the people’s struggles.

Essayist Hilary Mantel writes that Chen made Joan of Arc a “woman for our time.” (Mantel, Cover Copy) While Joan is a work of fiction, Chen researched dozens of biographies of Joan in order to write from what inspired her, thereby creating a relatable and likable character. It explores a young woman’s fascination with war, with heart-pounding battles, shining weapons, and the overwhelming desire to survive.

Written in four parts with brief historical interludes of the events that encompass the novel, this realistic retelling begins in the small French village of Domrémy. In 1422 Joan was a ten-year-old girl known by the villagers as the one who would always lend a helping hand and would never be found in her father’s house. Jacques d’Arc, Joan’s father, is a great speaker and a great swindler who is constantly at odds with his youngest daughter. His abuse toward her was emotional and physical. This tense relationship spurs Joan’s first sincere motivation, which was the goal of leaving her stifling village and of making her own way in life.

Joan’s story begins in earnest during an incident between adolescent boys that results in a young boy’s death. This image of death, of innocence being brutally lost, resonates in her mind throughout her entire life. That childhood trauma solidified not a fear of death, but an all-encompassing resolve to survive, “She makes a promise, whispers it into the dark, imprinting it in the night sky as the boy’s face is imprinted in her memory. The promise is this: If she, Joan, has a choice, then she will choose to be a thrower of rocks. She will live.” (Chen, 25)

After the people of her village are dragged into the war between France and Britain, Joan makes her way to the city of Vaucouleurs with a specific goal. In her mind, she determined that all the pain and suffering that her loved ones have faced is caused by those keeping the countries in perpetual states of war. There were the Kings and Dukes of England and the Dauphin, who was the future king of France. Joan, at sixteen years old, is an impressive figure standing over most men. After several feats of strength, the local powers allow her to train to fight, then arrange for her to be shown to the Dauphin as a potential aid in the current war.

In the Dauphin’s court, Joan’s skills as a warrior and military leader improve rapidly. Rumors about her being a gift from God begin to swirl. They say that she was sent to help the French remove the invading English from their cities. Joan herself is skeptical of God’s role. She is a woman of some faith, but over the course of her life she questions God’s intervention. Her allies full-heartedly support the claims, and they go so far as to cite biblical prophecies, including references from legends of Merlin about a young virgin girl who will free them from war. In fact, her allies use these claims to their advantage, “A poor, unlearned woman who has run away from home with no family to protect her. What is she? Nothing? But everyone will listen to an interment of God.” (Chen, 179) Her gains in battle solidified those claims in the eyes of nobility and common people. However, Joan does not let these ideas of her define or distract her. She fights because she is good at it and sees the good in what she does. For the first time, she truly finds herself when she is a soldier, “My sword was no longer just a sword. I did not sense either the weight or the heft of it, for it was as though I were holding my own soul.” (Chen, 206)

Chen’s writing is beautiful, descriptive, and moving. Although the story describes battles, the narrative is not packed with action; rather, it is often meditative. It encapsulates the events’ intensity and richly imagines the characters. There are times when it becomes frustratingly clear how deeply rooted the misogyny of the era is, but Chen balances these moments with Joan’s practical and modern personality, establishing her odds with the sexist cultures and her perceptions on gender, “For a man cannot see anything in the world without wishing to wear it like a trophy on his back, to call himself master over it. To her, this is what it means to be a man.” (Chen, 221)

Most know the end of Joan’s story from history or perhaps the vague mention in popular culture, and there is no twist at the end of this one. But Chen embeds this character with so much life and perseverance that we can look at her short life with admiration. She is a figure remembered longer than any of the nobility that supported or abandoned her, and she was even sainted nearly five hundred years after her death. Katherine Chen’s Joan is an excellent example of history reimagined, showing us a very human portrayal of Joan of Arc with determination and an uncompromising sense of self.


Joan by Katherine J. Chen, published in 2022 by Random House. 350 pages.


Mica Corson is an avid reader and aspiring writer residing in the Pacific Northwest. She recently graduated from Central Washington University with a Professional and Creative Writing degree.

Our Weekly Reads (December 4-10)

Here’s what our writers and editors recommend this week!

In 1987, when Hilary Mantel was first published in the London Review of Books, she wrote to the editor, Karl Miller, ‘I have no critical training whatsoever, so I am forced to be more brisk and breezy than scholarly.’ This collection of twenty reviews, essays and pieces of memoir from the next three decades, tells the story of what happened next.

Her subjects range far and wide: Robespierre and Danton, the Hite report, Saudi Arabia where she lived for four years in the 1980s, the Bulger case, John Osborne, the Virgin Mary as well as the pop icon Madonna, a brilliant examination of Helen Duncan, Britain’s last witch. There are essays about Jane Boleyn, Charles Brandon, Christopher Marlowe and Margaret Pole, which display the astonishing insight into the Tudor mind we are familiar with from the bestselling Wolf Hall Trilogy. Her famous lecture, ‘Royal Bodies’, which caused a media frenzy, explores the place of royal women in society and our imagination. Here too are some of her LRB diaries, including her first meeting with her stepfather and a confrontation with a circus strongman.

Constantly illuminating, always penetrating and often very funny, interleaved with letters and other ephemera gathered from the archive, Mantel Pieces is an irresistible selection from one of our greatest living writers. (Amazon Synopsis)

Avery Grambs has a plan for a better future: survive high school, win a scholarship, and get out. But her fortunes change in an instant when billionaire Tobias Hawthorne dies and leaves Avery virtually his entire fortune. The catch? Avery has no idea why -- or even who Tobias Hawthorne is.

To receive her inheritance, Avery must move into sprawling, secret passage-filled Hawthorne House, where every room bears the old man's touch -- and his love of puzzles, riddles, and codes. Unfortunately for Avery, Hawthorne House is also occupied by the family that Tobias Hawthorne just dispossessed. This includes the four Hawthorne grandsons: dangerous, magnetic, brilliant boys who grew up with every expectation that one day, they would inherit billions. Heir apparent Grayson Hawthorne is convinced that Avery must be a conwoman, and he's determined to take her down. His brother, Jameson, views her as their grandfather's last hurrah: a twisted riddle, a puzzle to be solved. Caught in a world of wealth and privilege with danger around every turn, Avery will have to play the game herself just to survive. (Amazon synopsis)

Franz Kafka, frustrated with his living quarters and day job, wrote in a letter to Felice Bauer in 1912, “time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible then one must try to wriggle through by subtle maneuvers.”

Kafka is one of 161 minds who describe their daily rituals to get their work done, whether by waking early or staying up late; whether by self-medicating with doughnuts or bathing, drinking vast quantities of coffee, or taking long daily walks. Thomas Wolfe wrote standing up in the kitchen, the top of the refrigerator as his desk, dreamily fondling his “male configurations”.... Jean-Paul Sartre chewed on Corydrane tablets (a mix of amphetamine and aspirin), ingesting ten times the recommended dose each day ... Descartes liked to linger in bed, his mind wandering in sleep through woods, gardens, and enchanted palaces where he experienced “every pleasure imaginable.”

Here are: Anthony Trollope, who demanded of himself that each morning he write three thousand words (250 words every fifteen minutes for three hours) before going off to his job at the postal service, which he kept for thirty-three years during the writing of more than two dozen books ... Karl Marx ... Woody Allen ... Agatha Christie ... George Balanchine, who did most of his work while ironing ... Leo Tolstoy ... Charles Dickens ... Pablo Picasso ... George Gershwin, who, said his brother Ira, worked for twelve hours a day from late morning to midnight, composing at the piano in pajamas, bathrobe, and slippers....

Here also are the daily rituals of Charles Darwin, Andy Warhol, John Updike, Twyla Tharp, Benjamin Franklin, William Faulkner, Jane Austen, Anne Rice, and Igor Stravinsky (he was never able to compose unless he was sure no one could hear him and, when blocked, stood on his head to “clear the brain”). (Amazon synopsis)

Yorkshire, 1843: Lydia Robinson has tragically lost her precious young daughter and her mother within the same year. She returns to her bleak home, grief-stricken and unmoored. With her teenage daughters rebelling, her testy mother-in-law scrutinizing her every move, and her marriage grown cold, Lydia is restless and yearning for something more.

All of that changes with the arrival of her son’s tutor, Branwell Brontë, brother of her daughters’ governess, Miss Anne Brontë and those other writerly sisters, Charlotte and Emily. Branwell has his own demons to contend with—including living up to the ideals of his intelligent family—but his presence is a breath of fresh air for Lydia. Handsome, passionate, and uninhibited by social conventions, he’s also twenty-five to her forty-three. A love of poetry, music, and theatre bring mistress and tutor together, and Branwell’s colorful tales of his sisters’ imaginative worlds form the backdrop for seduction.

But their new passion comes with consequences. As Branwell’s inner turmoil rises to the surface, his behavior grows erratic, and whispers of their romantic relationship spout from Lydia’s servants’ lips, reaching all three Brontë sisters. Soon, it falls on Mrs. Robinson to save not just her reputation, but her way of life, before those clever girls reveal all her secrets in their novels. Unfortunately, she might be too late. (Amazon synopsis)

When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother Roderick is consumed with a mysterious malady of the nerves.

Aided by a redoubtable British mycologist and a baffled American doctor, Alex must unravel the secret of the House of Usher before it consumes them all. (Amazon synopsis0

A Conversation with K.M. Soehnlein

A Conversation with K.M. Soehnlein, by Swetha Amit

Bio: K. M. Soehnlein is the author of the novels Army of Lovers, The World of Normal Boys, You Can Say You Knew Me When, and Robin and Ruby, along with essays and

journalism in numerous publications. He is the recipient of the Lambda Literary Award,

Henfield Prize, and SFFILM Rainin Grant in Screenwriting. He received an MFA from

San Francisco State University and teaches at the University of San Francisco MFA in

Writing Program. Raised in New Jersey, he lived in New York City during the AIDS crisis, participating in direct action with ACT UP and cofounding Queer Nation, all of which inform his recent novel, Army of Lovers. He currently lives in San Francisco.

What inspired the Army of Lovers?

Army of Lovers was inspired by the events of my life. I moved to New York City in 1987 and got involved in ACT UP, the AIDS activist group, until 1992, after which I left the city. This period was the same for Paul, the narrator of the book. I was inspired to write about this period as it was a historical time. I was among people who were making a social change and was very involved with this. On a personal level, many powerful things happened to me, from my first relationship to family troubles and the activism I was involved with. It was a very vivid and vibrant phase in my life. I always knew I'd write about it. It was just a matter of time, and it took a very long time for me.

This social change happened in the 80s and 90s. What made you choose to tell the story now?

It took a long time as it was hard to write. It was the most ambitious novel I ever wrote. I never wrote a book that covered a considerable period of political and social change. I've never written a novel that had so much emotion. I've always been a writer who has gotten into emotional stories through the characters. But this was a world where there was an epidemic going on. It was killing people I knew, a harrowing tale. It took a long time to get it right. Another reason why it took a long time is because I tried to get this novel published eight years ago. I had an agent in New York who stopped trying to sell the book after facing multiple rejections. I had to rethink how to write this novel, and over these eight years I ended up writing many drafts.

You have used the first person and inserted small portions of the second person. How did you choose to tell the story this way?

I knew from the beginning it was going to be first person. In fact, when I began writing it, I thought it might be a memoir. But as a novelist, my brain immediately started creating fiction out of the events. At one point, I thought it would be autofiction and decided to name the character Karl. I was inspired by many authors who create these blurred boundaries between memoir and fiction. The longer I worked on it, the character in the book became less and less like me and more like a fictional character on the page. I realized he was not Karl and decided to name him Paul instead. The story had to be told from the voice of the person living the experience. It's a story set over thirty years ago, and I wanted to write the past in the present tense. I was inspired by Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, which has a middle-aged narrator looking back at her youth.

The sections that break into “Notes to Self” were something I developed later. I had to acknowledge that this was a story written and told by someone who is and is not Paul in the book. I looked at novels that used metafictional techniques to remind the reader there is a writer behind even the first-person narrator. Those notes are the writer questioning why he is writing the story. More than the second person, this is the first person's direct address, talking to himself.

You mention how it started out as autofiction. When did you start feeling distant from the character Paul and realize he wasn't you?

When I was eight drafts into the novel. At one point, I needed help figuring out how to push through the places where I was stuck. A friend suggested that I stop thinking of this character as myself and more as a character on the page. In time, I saw that many things were happening to Paul that didn't happen to me. When the “didn't” outweighed the “did,” I decided to take out Karl, and the weight came off my shoulders. I began to focus more on Paul.

The novel is set in the 80s and 90s, and though you lived a large part of that life yourself, did you feel you had to go back and research to bring the authenticity of that era to the page?

I had to do research, as I only remembered some things. I looked up many things online, talked to several survivors of ACT UP, and sought their input. I also read some other books that have been written about this subject. Strangely, there have been few books besides a few nonfiction books, considering the significance of this movement.

You talked about historical events and had to tell a fictional tale. How did you manage this process of weaving fact and fiction together?

It's hard, and that's one of the reasons why it took so long. I wanted to ensure there was a lot of information about AIDS activism and the trajectory of ACT UP over the years. I always knew it had to be told through Paul's eyes. I cut out around 150 pages about the larger ACT UP group and narrowed it down to Paul's personal story within the group.

It was challenging to come out in the 60s and 70s. How do you think things have changed now?

Things have changed a lot. Back then, we did not have allies, faced a lot of stigma, and were very isolated. We fought to change that, and we have come a long way. Today the White House lights up in rainbow colors during Pride month. At that time, Ronald Reagan's admin did nothing to help anyone with AIDS. They just let us die and went as far as to joke about it. But unfortunately, we are facing the same enemies again in the form of right-wing conservatism.

You mentioned getting multiple rejections earlier. How did you deal with that painful experience?

I took it very personally. This book was a personal story. I was very hurt when multiple places refused to publish. That was a low phase, and I began to focus on other projects. While a part of me never gave up, the multiple rejections compelled me to let go and walk away from it.

In a short time, I became acquainted with Michael Nava, who is the managing editor of Amble Press. He asked if I had any manuscripts in hand. I sent him the first fifty pages, and he agreed to publish it. It was just a matter of finding the right person at the right time. I didn't have an agent and was looking for one. Initially, a few sounded interested but have yet to get back to me after I sent them the manuscript. It was discouraging, but at the same time, I had people who believed there was an audience for this book.

What do you want readers to take away from this book?

For people who lived through these times, I hope I have honored the struggle that we went through together. I hope they see or feel something true to their experiences in the book. To those who aren't aware of this challenging time, I hope I have made them aware of the dire effects of the AIDS crisis. It killed many people, and the queer community stood up and fought against the government. I also hope they understand what it is like to be a part of a political movement. I also hope that people who want to see a change in this world will take some inspiration about how to participate in political activism and community organizing.

How do you react to critical reviews?

This book is so new that I haven't faced a negative review. It's probably yet to come. A writer/author needs to stay true to their internal experience of the book rather than be defined by what other people say, whether it's praise or criticism. Having said that, it's hard to read bad reviews, as I am sensitive, and I do care.

Who are the authors/books that have inspired you?

I mentioned Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood earlier. James Baldwin is another writer who inspires me, and he was one of the great voices in my awakening. He made me understand that, as a white person, I was responsible for dismantling white supremacy. You may have noticed his name and his writing appears numerous times in this novel. In fact, his novel In Another Country is another book that directly inspired me. Edmund White is a gay white writer, and his novel The Beautiful Room is Empty, a work of autofiction, inspired me while I was writing Army of Lovers.

One weird writing habit you possess?

I incorporate Tarot cards into my writing practice. I've been reading Tarot cards for about 25 years. Every day I choose a card and take a message from what's reflected in it into my day. Whenever deeply involved with a writing project, I'll look to cards for guidance.

What was your most memorable moment during your childhood?

When I was in sixth grade, my family, comprising my parents, and two younger sisters, took a cross-country road trip. We got a car with a camper on the back and drove from New Jersey to the Grand Canyon. During that one month, we saw a lot of places and faced some challenging moments. The gas tank in our car broke, so my dad fixed it using chewing gum. That was a significant and memorable time.

What is the strangest place you have ever visited?

One of the most isolated places was The Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland. My mother was born in Ireland, so I have a lot of family members back there. These islands are remote and barren, and people speak Irish as their first language. It's very rugged and beautiful. It's been twenty years since I last visited.

Lastly, any upcoming books?

I'm working on Dorothy’s Children, which I hope will be the third book in the series. I began with The World of Normal Boys and continued with Robin and Ruby, moving the characters in that story ahead ten years. Dorothy’s Children advances the story another decade, to the late ‘90s.


Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

Our weekly reads (November 27-December 3)

Here’s what our writers and editors are reading this week:

Like his father and grandfather before him, Kino is a poor diver, gathering pearls from the gulf beds that once brought great wealth to the Kings of Spain and now provide Kino, Juana, and their infant son with meager subsistence. Then, on a day like any other, Kino emerges from the sea with a pearl as large as a sea gull's egg, as "perfect as the moon." With the pearl comes hope, the promise of comfort and of security....

A story of classic simplicity, based on a Mexican folk tale, The Pearl explores the secrets of man's nature, the darkest depths of evil, and the luminous possibilities of love. (Amazon synopsis)

Door to Door is a celebration of accident and grace in a world where wonder is too often supplanted by obligation. This collection of poems is split into four parts roughly corresponding to the author’s life phases, touching on her experiences of childhood, family, motherhood, and aging, as well as her reflections on art, love, loss, and the mysteries of the natural world.

Award-winning, best-selling author Emma Walton Hamilton’s love of language is evident throughout; her voice is playful, at times reverential, and always interested in the magic and imagery of the subjects she tackles. (Amazon synopsis)

On the coast of rural Newfoundland, Hannah Fitzgerald's mother has lived her life in near total isolation. When Hannah returns to the lonely saltbox house to prepare her mother for the transition into assisted living, her childhood home is anything but welcoming. Dilapidated from years of hoarding and neglect, the walls are crumbling, leaving Hannah’s wellness crumbling along with them.

While packing her mother's things, Hannah discovers a trap door to the house’s attic, the one she believed for most of her life had been permanently sealed shut. Blinded by curiosity, Hannah enters the attic and finds a mysterious bedroom riddled with dark secrets. Desperate to know more, Hannah begins to scramble for answers, combing the house for clues that may lead her to the truth.

Hannah must navigate through the violent outbursts of her senile mother, the prying questions of a nosy hospice nurse, and the rage of the coastal wind that threatens the structure of the house. Piece by piece, she assembles a picture of her mother’s not-so-distant past—a twisted tangle of infatuation, lies, and maybe even murder.

The Woman in the Attic is a claustrophobic psychological thriller wrought with suspense. This novel will put you on the edge of your seat . . . and make you wary of the unused spaces collecting dust in your home. (Amazon synopsis)

When did we begin to be as self-centered as we are today? At what point did we expect to have the right to determine our own lives? When did we first ask the question, How can I be free? It all began in a quiet university town in Germany in the 1790s, when a group of playwrights, poets, and writers put the self at center stage in their thinking, their writing, and their lives. This brilliant circle included the famous poets Goethe, Schiller, and Novalis; the visionary philosophers Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel; the contentious Schlegel brothers; and, in a wonderful cameo, Alexander von Humboldt. And at the heart of this group was the formidable Caroline Schlegel, who sparked their dazzling conversations about the self, nature, identity, and freedom.

The French revolutionaries may have changed the political landscape of Europe, but the young Romantics incited a revolution of the mind that transformed our world forever. We are still empowered by their daring leap into the self, and by their radical notions of the creative potential of the individual, the highest aspirations of art and science, the unity of nature, and the true meaning of freedom. We also still walk the same tightrope between meaningful self-fulfillment and destructive narcissism, between the rights of the individual and our responsibilities toward our community and future generations. At the heart of this inspiring book is the extremely modern tension between the dangers of selfishness and the thrilling possibilities of free will. (Amazon synopsis)

Charles Dickens wrote The Life of Our Lord during the years 1846-1849, just about the time he was completing David Copperfield. In this charming, simple retelling of the life of Jesus Christ, adapted from the Gospel of St. Luke, Dickens hoped to teach his young children about religion and faith. Since he wrote it exclusively for his children, Dickens refused to allow publication.


For eighty-five years the manuscript was guarded as a precious family secret, and it was handed down from one relative to the next. When Dickens died in 1870, it was left to his sister-in-law, Georgina Hogarth. From there it fell to Dickens's son, Sir Henry Fielding Dickens, with the admonition that it should not be published while any child of Dickens lived.
Just before the 1933 holidays, Sir Henry, then the only living child of Dickens, died, leaving his father's manuscript to his wife and children. He also bequeathed to them the right to make the decision to publish The Life of Our Lord. By majority vote, Sir Henry's widow and children decided to publish the book in London. In 1934, Simon & Schuster published the first American edition, which became one of the year's biggest bestsellers. (Amazon synopsis)

Our Weekly Reads (November 20-26)

Curious what our writers and our editors are reading this week? We figured! Here’s a list of this weeks reads:

Summer 1995: Ten-year-old Joan, her mother, and her younger sister flee her father’s explosive temper and seek refuge at her mother’s ancestral home in Memphis. This is not the first time violence has altered the course of the family’s trajectory. Half a century earlier, Joan’s grandfather built this majestic house in the historic Black neighborhood of Douglass—only to be lynched days after becoming the first Black detective in the city. Joan tries to settle into her new life, but family secrets cast a longer shadow than any of them expected.

As she grows up, Joan finds relief in her artwork, painting portraits of the community in Memphis. One of her subjects is their enigmatic neighbor Miss Dawn, who claims to know something about curses, and whose stories about the past help Joan see how her passion, imagination, and relentless hope are, in fact, the continuation of a long matrilineal tradition. Joan begins to understand that her mother, her mother’s mother, and the mothers before them persevered, made impossible choices, and put their dreams on hold so that her life would not have to be defined by loss and anger—that the sole instrument she needs for healing is her paintbrush.

Unfolding over seventy years through a chorus of unforgettable voices that move back and forth in time, Memphis paints an indelible portrait of inheritance, celebrating the full complexity of what we pass down, in a family and as a country: brutality and justice, faith and forgiveness, sacrifice and love. (Amazon synopsis)

Read less

Frances is a coolheaded and darkly observant young woman, vaguely pursuing a career in writing while studying in Dublin. Her best friend is the beautiful and endlessly self-possessed Bobbi. At a local poetry performance one night, they meet a well-known photographer, and as the girls are then gradually drawn into her world, Frances is reluctantly impressed by the older woman’s sophisticated home and handsome husband, Nick. But however amusing Frances and Nick’s flirtation seems at first, it begins to give way to a strange—and then painful—intimacy.

Written with gemlike precision and marked by a sly sense of humor, Conversations with Friends is wonderfully alive to the pleasures and dangers of youth, and the messy edges of female friendship. (Amazon synopsis)

Set at a boys' boarding school in New England during the early years of World War II, A Separate Peace is a harrowing and luminous parable of the dark side of adolescence. Gene is a lonely, introverted intellectual. Phineas is a handsome, taunting, daredevil athlete. What happens between the two friends one summer, like the war itself, banishes the innocence of these boys and their world. (Amazon synopsis)

“Go get lost somewhere, it always does you good.”

For Arthur Less, life is going surprisingly well: he is a moderately accomplished novelist in a steady relationship with his partner, Freddy Pelu. But nothing lasts: the death of an old lover and a sudden financial crisis has Less running away from his problems yet again as he accepts a series of literary gigs that send him on a zigzagging adventure across the US.

Less roves across the “Mild Mild West,” through the South and to his mid-Atlantic birthplace, with an ever-changing posse of writerly characters and his trusty duo – a human-like black pug, Dolly, and a rusty camper van nicknamed Rosina. He grows a handlebar mustache, ditches his signature gray suit, and disguises himself in the bolero-and-cowboy-hat costume of a true “Unitedstatesian”... with varying levels of success, as he continues to be mistaken for either a Dutchman, the wrong writer, or, worst of all, a “bad gay.”

We cannot, however, escape ourselves—even across deserts, bayous, and coastlines. From his estranged father and strained relationship with Freddy, to the reckoning he experiences in confronting his privilege, Arthur Less must eventually face his personal demons. With all of the irrepressible wit and musicality that made Less a bestselling, Pulitzer Prize-winning, must-read breakout book, Less Is Lost is a profound and joyous novel about the enigma of life in America, the riddle of love, and the stories we tell along the way. (Amazon synopsis)

Meet Vera Johnson, fifteen-year-old illegitimate daughter of Rose, notorious proprietor of San Francisco’s most legendary bordello. Vera has grown up straddling two worlds—the madam’s alluring sphere, replete with tickets to the opera, surly henchmen, and scant morality, and the quiet domestic life of the family paid to raise her.

On the morning of the great quake, Vera’s worlds collide. As the city burns and looters vie with the injured, orphaned, and starving, Vera and her guileless sister, Pie, are cast adrift. Disregarding societal norms and prejudices, Vera begins to imagine a new kind of life. She collaborates with Tan, her former rival, and forges an unlikely family of survivors, navigating through the disaster together.

“A character-driven novel about family, power, and loyalty, (San Francisco Chronicle), Vera brings to life legendary characters—tenor Enrico Caruso, indicted mayor Eugene Schmitz and boss Abe Ruef, tabloid celebrity Alma Spreckels. This “brilliantly conceived and beautifully realized” (Booklist, starred review) tale of improbable outcomes and alliances takes hold from the first page, with remarkable scenes of devastation, renewal, and joy. Vera celebrates the audacious fortitude of its young heroine, who discovers an unexpected strength in unprecedented times. (Amazon synopsis)

Husbandry

Husbandry by Matthew Dickman (reviewed by Alex Russell)

Matthew Dickman’s newest book of poems, Husbandry, focuses on parenthood. His poetry does not mince words – thematically, his intentions are clear; syntactically, there are no clumsy echoes. Everything is right there, visible and clear.

As a single parent with two young sons, the author’s world – as revealed in his poems – often revolves around everyday life. We see him folding clothes, cleaning dishes, and cooking food. In sparse yet precise language, he presents everything – from the monumental to the mundane -- with due diligence and a measure of concerned distance.

Most of the poems in Husbandry follow an established structure. Each stanza is made up of two short lines, making up a careful-sounding dialogue. After a while, the deliberate weight of each word becomes a signpost along a varied, expansive, living path.

Many pieces include conversations he has had with his sons. “Crossing Guard” is one such series of moments between a father and son as the two talk about lost friends. Without romanticizing it, being overly sentimental or trivializing it, death is a subject that is evenly threaded throughout each stanza. As the two talk about absent friends, the pair finds a dead animal in the road.

“For a moment I think / we will be standing / here forever, he and I / watching death / do its slow work / like someone restoring / a painting / but in reverse.” 

It is this kind of soft dissection of death – this large and all-encompassing thing – where Dickman finds his power. Part of this skill rests in the author taking his time with the experiences and ideas he wants to discuss; in a thought-out and patient manner, he lays everything out for the reader. 

Plain language does not equate to simplistic thinking and Dickman’s poetry is a testament to this. In a piece titled “Father,” he delves into the significance of names: 

“Fathers with names / like Joseph, / Yosef, Josiah, Yasef, / meaning he will add…Fathers with names / like Ernie, Ernest, Ernesto, / Arnošt, meaning kindness.” With an almost stoic grace, Dickman ponders little asides like this – taking in minute complexities and the interconnectedness of language, human culture and thought – without ever making it feel like stalling for time or senseless, aesthetic meandering.

“Father” ends with a bittersweet but crucial realization on the author’s part: “I know / there are / really three children / in the story of my life. / I must make a home / for each of them.”

It’s true that many sons become fathers, but Dickman goes several steps further to illustrate a kind of fluid, revolving continuum. Three short stanzas reveal something tender and real at his core both as a writer and human being.

The poem ends without any huge reveal or twist; there is nothing prefabricated or resupplied for cheap emotional string-pulling. “I must make a home / for each of them” is an instance of pure personal reflection. Here, Dickman balances out both the internal and external aspects of his life and, in a broader sense, human nature.

Taking into account his naked fears, anxieties, and his myriad responsibilities as a father, many poems in the book – without spelling it out – attempt to arrive at some pertinent balance. 

To find consistent harmony, in writing as in life, everything must be appraised. Thankfully, in Dickman’s writing, nothing is too big or too small to feature in his gorgeous, elegiac writing.

In “Lilac,” he savors “that amazing lemon / frosted lemon cake” from Starbucks, while he holds his youngest son and listens to “his body living, / alive outside / his mother’s body, and the lilac / outside on the street, outside / everyone, and heavy in the rain.”

As these stanzas make their way down the page, their tone is one of patience and resilience, and free of any ego. They move from a casual scene inside a Starbucks to the weight of the external world, always in flux.

Even though certain poems may seem to go off on tangents, Husbandry is to poetry what Dark Side of the Moon is to rock and roll; every aspect fits into a natural progression of thought and feeling. Interspersed throughout the book are prose pieces, two-lines at most, highlighting his sons Hamza and Owen and their individual reactions to their parents’ separation as well as their own burgeoning journeys in life.

Dickman’s writing is supremely candid about all things – separation from his wife is no exception to this. At times unabashedly pointed, at others frank and forgiving, the separation, in literary or thematic terms, could be considered a major inciting event in Husbandry.

More so than in actual, physical terms, what the separation took to mean for Dickman is a constant work-in-progress; a reappraisal of himself, Matthew Dickman – adult, writer, father, son, friend, lover. 

In “Parenting and Virginia Woolf,” beautifully and bluntly, Dickman writes: “For weeks after / the separation really / kind people kept / telling me that I was / on a journey, this is / your journey / they would say / and I would want to / scoop out their / eyeballs with one / of my grandmother’s / silver grapefruit / spoons.” Spiteful? Maybe. But entirely human and universal. 

Like the book as a whole, “Parenting and Virginia Woolf” takes time to develop, examine, exist in, and finally outgrow, the author’s individual, private hurt. “I am not on a journey, / I am cooking / dinner for my kids. / I am washing their / hair and underwear, / I am trying to go / for walks outside, / trying to eat more vegetables.” Not a journey, but a process.

A lot of the time, while reading Husbandry, it was hard to keep going. Dickman’s writing is “raw” – not in the sense of something unfinished, because his poems are as complete as diamonds, but in the way that exposed flesh will be red and sensitive to everything, even light.

In the end, it’s this sensitivity that, no matter how close he cuts to home, makes one return to his writing. There is something fulfilling and wonderful in being able to meet pain and vulnerability on level footing. Poetry, it seems, is Matthew Dickman’s way of doing just that.

Near the end of Husbandry, Dickman reflects in “Anniversary” how “The night isn’t as long / a year later, or bullied or rootless or night at all.” As painful as it often is, growth is still growth – eventually making us a little wiser, if not stronger.


Husbandry by Matthew Dickman, published in 2022 by W. W. Norton & Company. 142 pages.


Alex Russell earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from George Mason University and now works in the field of journalism and publishing. He has contributed poetry to a variety of literary magazines and art journals, such as The Elevation Review, 300 Days of Sun, and The Ignatian Literary Magazine. His contributions to the Falls Church News-Press, a locally owned newspaper in the Washington, DC area, can be found online at fcnp.com.

The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections

The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections by Eva Jurczyk (review by Katy Mitchell-Jones)

At an unnamed Toronto university, Liesl, the middle-aged protagonist, tries to fill the shoes of her boss who is on medical leave. After the disorganized but well-loved library director Christopher suffers a stroke and lies unconscious in a hospital, Liesl steps in, much to the disappointment of her colleagues. Despite her hard work over the years, Liesl has taken a quiet back seat approach to her work, while Christopher reaped the rewards. The story begins with Liesl attempting to open a safe in Christopher’s office, while the university president nervously stands by, hoping to confirm that the newest acquisition to the library’s collection is indeed safe. 

Upon finally opening the vault, she sees it is empty, and the acquisition is missing. Was it stolen? Or simply misshelved? No matter what happened to it, everyone gives her a hard time, and everyone, including the university president, urges her not to go to the police. The police would, she is told, bring bad press and they would lose donor money if they are perceived as irresponsible. This novel subtly illustrates the bureaucracy of big institutions, and how little people in leadership positions actually have very little power. Like many of us, Liesl finds herself in a situation with responsibilities that she simply does not know how to begin or even process, which causes her to think twice about who she trusts. 

To add to Liesl’s stress, one of her colleagues goes missing shortly thereafter. Did this colleague have anything to do with the disappearance of the very expensive acquisition? Or is someone just trying to make it appear this way? Liesl doubts there was any foul-play, and suspects her colleague simply requested time off prior to her tenancy as interim director, and that Christopher did not note it down. However, as readers, we know that something is out of place, and we must wait until Liesl and her colleagues uncover the truth.

It is impossible not to consider which employee is behind the theft and disappearance. Was it Mariam, who acts oddly and avoids spending time with Liesl? Or Francis, her best friend at work, who urges her not to involve the police? Her husband even agrees she should not call, and it should be reported to the university president first. Or was it Christopher’s wife, the one who provided the safe’s combination? Perhaps it was the ex-priest, who was banished from his church after his involvement with stealing church money? The list of suspects is not short, and no one is immune to being on it. 

Though these disappearances are the main focus of the story, there is another plotline about a newly hired math professor, who wants to carbon date a famous bible the library houses. Liesl is apprehensive of this request, as she has other things on her mind and doesn't want any damage inflicted on the text. Liesl’s relationship with this professor begins on uncertain terms, as she doesn’t know who she can trust not only with expensive library artifacts, but with her own thoughts. She must constantly think about what Christopher would do in these situations and deal with the reactions of her colleagues, who seem disappointed no matter what she decides. As the story progresses, we see Liesl come into her own, as she begins to have more confidence in her decision making ability. 

Her relationships outside of work are also portrayed as somewhat rocky; her husband suffers from depression and though he has been in good moods lately, Liesl knows this can change any day. A prior affair with a colleague is also alluded to more than once, and as readers, we are uncertain about the specifics of what her husband knows. Additionally, though she has a good relationship with her daughter Hannah, Hannah spends less and less time around the house and seems to take her father’s side on anything that comes up. 

Some of the best moments in this read come from the dry humor that Jurczyk uses in Liesl’s thoughts and observations. Liesl comments she would enjoy the campus more if there were not so many undergraduates around, and that she worries when a young English professor waves a croissant too close to a Shakespeare first folio. Additionally, the university president, who carries his bike helmet in the opening chapter, is in the process of training for a marathon and consistently complains about sore muscles while snacking on trail mix. This inner commentary offers some comedic relief, but is also very relatable for the reader, as they come naturally and are quick quips. 

Overall this novel portrayed a believable and authentic voice of a protagonist who is close to retirement age. This book will be a five-star read to those of us who enjoy libraries, academia, and slow-medium paced reads with dry humor. While this book is not necessarily a suspense-filled thriller, you will become determined to figure out what happened to the missing text and in the lives of the characters.


published in 2022 by Poisoned Pen Press. 352 pages.


Katy Mitchell-Jones is originally from a small town in Washington state and graduated from the University of Washington in Seattle with her BA and MA. She then headed to Boston to teach high school English but has since returned to her west coast roots. Her favorite authors are Margaret Atwood, David Sedaris, Tana French, and Glendy Vanderah. She has published three short stories with Chipper Press, for middle-grades. You can follow her on Goodreads here.

A Conversation with Gaia Rajan

A Conversation with Gaia Rajan, by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo: So as an emerging poet, you've got two chapbooks out. Can you talk about what drives you to write? What is your writing practice like, and what are some aspirations for your career?

Gaia Rajan: Yeah, absolutely. I think I've always been writing. As a kid, I was like seven or eight when I made my mom wake me up at five a.m. every morning because I just gotten this book by Ted Kooser called the Poetry Home Repair Manual, and it was my very first instructional book on poetry—and I was obsessed with it. To the point that at one point in my life you could give me a page number and I could recite what he writes on that page. I was obsessed with this book. I spent an entire year just reading it over and over and attempting drafts. But my drafts, at that point, were very derivative.

GR: So that's how I started out, and then I just decided on it. As a sustainable discipline. And it's a very interesting way of viewing the world. I memorize poetry in addition to writing poems, and it's not something I do consciously, but it's a thing that just happened, and so I go everywhere, and I just I'm thinking like, oh, yeah, Anne Carson, “the human custom of wrong love,” you know, like I don't know why I’m like this, but it's a great way of, you know, experiencing things in a rigorous way. Everyone picks their academic discipline. It might not be academic, but, you know, the world, this is mine.

GR: And in terms of writing practice, like I obviously started out with a very, a super strict, poem-a-day kind of thing. And then that stopped being helpful to me sometime like a couple of years ago. I just realized that you know that had gone from a fun constraint to like an actual limit on where my poems could go. And so now I'm taking longer with my drafts, and that's been pretty rewarding. I don't write for like six months, and then I think about a new collection all the way through, and I know exactly how it's going to move, and then I write the whole thing in like a month. So that's incredible.

JA: Can you talk about the title of your chapbook, Killing It? Because I can think of a lot of things that you would be trying to kill in this set of poems, like desire and societal pressure, or something within yourself. Where did the title come from?

GR: So killing it was originally a part of a seventy-five page hybrid thesis about hauntology and partition. So I do a thing where I write a seventy-five page thesis every single year, and I've done this for most of high school, and I also did it like, you know, post my eligibility for any of these scholarships that would be helpful. I just decided on it. You know it's like a way of just putting myself to make new work. So my thesis at the year of Killing It was hauntology. Hauntology is this idea by Derrida that the present is haunted by lost features. Basically, I was writing a bunch of poems, an interlocking series of short fiction, and also a paper on hauntology. Then I finished the thesis, and I was looking at my work a couple of months later, and I was picking things out, and I saw the thread of a new, either full length or chapbook in it. And there's that point. I thought it was a full length and I decided to call it Killing It because I was reading Minor Feelings at the time and thinking a lot about the ways that I had unconsciously erased myself to be good or more legible to the institutions. And so you know, there's a lot of murder going on there. And also at the time I came upon a quote where they talk about the ways that our cultures, definitions of achievement, are very much inclined towards colonialism and in violence so like, Killing It. Target audience, knock it out of the park. We have so many ways in which our conception of success are intrinsically tied with violence.

JA: You're writing a tradition of queer literature. Who are some queer poets and writers who have inspired you on your journey and writing Killing It and some of your other work?

GR: So I'm going to do people that I know personally, and then people I don’t know.

The first person is Megan Fernandes, whose work I followed for years before I met her, but I met her in New York, and it was pivotal to this collection existing. She's incredible. Her new book is called Good Boys and yeah, she's amazing. The way she reads is just insane. So her, and Dorothy Chan, who was my mentor for several years; she’s amazing. We met on Twitter, and I started working for her journal. And also Claudia Cortese, who I met through the Adroit mentorship when I was fifteen. And then we started a correspondence. We just kept emailing. She’s also from Ohio, so we really understood each other on some things. I met her in person in New York also, and we read together at the Black Lawrence Press reading.

GR: For people I don’t know: Anne Carson, love her. Autobiography of Red saved my life. Natalie Shapiro’s poems are insane, incredible. Paige Lewis was able to blurb my collection, but I don't know her personally other than that. Also, Jameson Fitzpatrick is a poet that I’ve been really into lately, especially “Divorce Song.” So yeah, that’s my small list. I could talk about this for ages, but I don’t want to.

JA: That’s a great, what’s the word, canon?

GR: Also, I would be wrong if I didn’t mention Bhanu Kapil, because Killing It would not exist without Schizophrene.

JA: So one of the recurring themes in Killing It is cameras and places where there should be cameras. Can you talk about the theme of surveillance, and how it affected your writing? I think that also speaks to just being young and female, feeling like people are watching you.

GR: I think that I became aware when I was around a sophomore in high school around like fifteen that I had just been accustomed to seeing myself as a possible threat in all sorts of experiences. Not that I believed that I was capable of harm, but that I believed that everyone believes that I was capable of, you know, violence. But I did have this constant feeling that people perceive me as like a lot more of a threat, or like harsher or more violent than actually, you know, I was, in every space. And I feel like that's like a brown girl thing, but also just like a queer thing, because I would go into women's spaces, and feel like a monster, you know.

JA: I think that's absolutely correct.

GR: So I'd walk everywhere, feeling like a bomb. There were cameras in every location in my old school, and so it was just like I'd be walking into my door at nine p.m. and there would be a camera, and I was like fifteen just figuring out how to live like and be a person in my own right, and it was just kind of pivotal for me to realize that the surveillance was not just external. It would also become internal, and I was always like monitoring myself for signs of harm, you know, and I was always trying to make sure that I was not, in fact, a monster and I kind of decided in Killing It, to say fuck it and be the monster, and, like you know, kill my old self—like I do snap her neck at one point. And it's because, like myself, actualization was not pretty. It was not dainty, and it was not feminine in the way that, like people want it to be feminine.

JA: Another recurring theme other than cameras: There’s ghosts, there's blood, and there's the body. So can you talk about how these poems echo through each other, and how poems can kind of go through a chapbook? By which I mean how poems come together to become a chapbook. Alternatively, say something about what ghosts, blood, and the body mean to you?

GR: I love this question. It's amazing. So, I wanted Killing It to feel haunted. And it’s the structure of itself, you know. And that started with, the core poem in the manuscript for me with the ghazal crown, because it was the centerpiece, but also the longest one. And so it felt the heaviest, right? But then ghazals are also a traditional South Asian form, and so bringing them together, I hope to mirror the geopolitical aspects of partition, and that was the centerpiece of the thesis, and so the form itself is haunted. And then in the callbacks that these ghazals to each other, because obviously, there’s word repetition, there was a haunting, but also a clarity. You know the call back to prior moments is exactly what I wanted for the overall movement of the collection. Not just that poem. And so there are several sustained characters. And there's a prodigy series that all have the same titles. Right? I want the reading experience to kind of mimic a full length. The collection comes in at forty-three pages, so it’s just shy of that forty-five page mark. I wanted it to be that weighty and significant like a full length not just like a collection of pieces, you know.

JA: Yeah, I think it feels meaty. I think it feels cohesive. As opposed to like a kind of a throwaway chapbook. Not that I throw away chapbooks. There's so many good chapbooks.

GR: I wanted it to be more than just a list of poems that I’d written in the past years, although I love some chapbooks like that. But that's not what I was trying to do with this. I think it was what I was trying to do with my first chapbook. You know it's just like: here are the poems I've written in the past three years.

GR: So I think I understand where you're coming from with that exactly. Also, because I think in units of collection. I planned the women of this from the beginning, which is a little psycho of me. It didn't actually stick like the way that I imagined that it would. I don't know. It feels a little bit antithetical to the point of poetry. The point of poetry, you know. Air quotes. But it’s against the point of poetry to outline. And so that's not entirely what I was doing. It was more emotional than that. It was like Jess Riz’s An Inkling with Teeth.

JA: I think that all of the best poets have a lot more structure to their work than you realize. Like Anne Carson, for example. There's so much behind the scenes that goes on, like if you look at “The Glass Essay.”

GR: I’m deeply indebted to Ghost Of by Diana Khoi Nguyen. She was talking about how she spends the whole year thinking about how she’s going to write her book, then writes the whole thing in fifteen days during winter break.

JA: That’s incredible.

JA: You often speak of “this town” in your chapbook. What’s the significance of the town, and how does it feature in the book?

GR: Richard Hugo has this collection called “The Triggering Town,” where he talks about how the best way to talk about the small town that you’re from is to imagine the exact clone of the hometown that you are from, except without any of the existing events that have occurred there. Right? And then just set everything in that town and figure out how to link it back, make it a route from that. I was figuring out that I’m from a town in Ohio, and I spent a really long time attempting to piece together my fraught relationship with this town. And it got a lot easier when I removed my allegiance to the town, as like the town, as it is named. That’s a lot easier of a course myth to come from than like an entire town with so many people with their own lives. And so it felt less journalistic. Once I decided on “this town” rather than like this specific hometown that I’m specifically, theoretically, from, right? And so this town is the triggering town.

JA: That’s great. I love that. So I just have one more question for you, which is: what’s next? Are there manuscripts in the future? Should we expect a full length?

GR: So, I am in the middle of another cycle right now. I started a new thesis. It's going to be done in February. It's code named but that’s not what it's actually called. I'm not going to actually call it that, but I'm working with the idea of reincarnation as an internal logic for a bunch of poems, and also short fiction. And so I'm talking about how early South Asians like, for example, believed in reincarnation, and how this impacted the way that they made their societies. And um, I have this entire series of short stories about people who see themselves. You can be reincarnated while you're not dead in this universe, right? And so you view reincarnations of yourself all the time. You just like, come across them. They walk like you. They speak like you, and they ride a bike like you, you know. It's called Afterlives. I have filled my entire bedroom all with ideas and like weird little visions. And so yeah, this looks like it'll be done by February. I'm going to play with it after.

GR: Also, I'm in the screenwriting class. I'm learning how to write scripts. It's so fun and such a weird way of conceptualizing dialogue. I love it.

JA: I can’t wait to see what you do next!


Gaia Rajan is the author of the chapbooks Moth Funerals (Glass Poetry Press, 2020) and Killing It (Black Lawrence Press, 2022). Her work is published or forthcoming in the 2022 Best of the Net anthology, The Kenyon Review, THRUSH, Split Lip Magazine, diode, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. She is the cofounder of the WOC Speak Reading Series, the Junior Journal Editor for Half Mystic, and the Web Manager for Honey Literary. She is the first place winner of the Princeton Leonard P. Milberg Poetry Prize, Sarah Mook Poetry Prize, and 1455 Literary Festival Contest, and a runner up for the Smith College Poetry Prize, Nancy Thorp Poetry Prize, and Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize. Gaia is an undergraduate at Carnegie Mellon University studying computer science and creative writing. She lives in Pittsburgh.

Joanna Acevedo is a writer, educator, and editor from New York City. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2021 for her poem “self portrait if the girl is on fire” and is the author of three books and chapbooks, including Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021) and List of Demands (Bottlecap Press, 2022). Her work can be found across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Apogee, Hobart, and the Rumpus. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry and The Masters Review, Associate Poetry Editor at West Trade Review, and a member of the Review Team at Gasher Journal, in addition to running interviews at Fauxmoir and The Great Lakes Review. As well as being a Goldwater Fellow at NYU, she was a Hospitalfield 2020 Interdisciplinary Resident. She received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021 and is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income for Artists.

Sisters

Sisters by Daisy Johnson (review by Mica Corson)

September and July are ten months apart but share the same birthday. They are inseparable siblings dealing with the severity of adolescence and are bound together by promises that one will never let the other forget. In Sisters, author Daisy Johnson explores the dynamic web tying two girls together and the bonds of envy and impulse that develop over their young lives.   

This tense and unsettling novel begins with sisters September and July returning in their teens to the house where they were born - the Settle House. Johnson’s prose has strong poetic elements, relying heavily on rhythm and repetition. It is overflowing with visceral images that mark the dread and unease surrounding their new home. Much like the image of a fractured face that makes up the cover of this contemporary fiction novel, the prose is a mix of short and fractured sentences that create an almost fervent pace, heightening the tension of the ominous unknown event that led the sisters and their mother to the Settle House.

July, the younger sister, acts as our narrator, providing the audience with vulnerable and candid confessions in a first-person perspective as she explores the Settle House, a decaying seaside cottage in Yorkshire. Through the novel’s three parts, we are also given third-person perspectives from September and the girls’ mother, Sheela.  

September is the leader, the caretaker, and the manipulator. Her mother finds her stubborn and obstinate and far too capable of cruelty. However, to her younger sister, she is an idol. September is a confident and all-encompassing presence. “Yes. I think then, as I have so many times, she is the person I have always wanted to be. I am a shape cut out of the universe, tinged with ever-dying stars-and she is the creature to fill the gap I leave in the world.” (Johnson, 91) July views herself as an extension of September, following her words only. Where September goes, so does she, following in her shadow. July is the peacemaker, the introvert, and the only one to soften September’s harsh edge, creating a pair so connected they would not even let their mother have an intimate role in their lives. 

Their mother, Sheela, had long struggled before returning to the house. As a writer, mother, and woman, she has dealt with depression, borderline abusive relationships, and a growing fear for her isolated daughters. “They always seemed to be telling some great secret, some truth only they could know. The look in their eyes when she came across them, the sudden silence that she could not quite break into.” (Johnson, 106) Moving to the Settle house after an ominously vague “what had happened,” Sheela’s mental health is low, leaving July to rely even more on September.

From its first page to the last, this novel contains no dialogue. The format of dialogue remains, propelling short conversations primarily between the sisters. Nevertheless, its absence is striking, keeping the narrative internal and philosophical. An eerie, unsettling nature comes to the Settle House with the sisters as their behavior becomes more erratic in their isolation. The external plot is slow-moving, intersected with details from the sisters’ early life and the incident that brought them to the Settle House. Instead, the riveting and twisting relationship between September and July creates a profoundly moving story. 

Sisters by Daisy Johnson, published in 2020 by Riverhead Books. 210 pages


Mica Corson is an avid reader and aspiring writer residing in the Pacific Northwest. She recently graduated from Central Washington University with a Professional and Creative Writing degree.




A Conversation with Vanessa Hua



A Conversation with Vanessa Hua, by Swetha Amit

Date: September 30, 2022

Introduction: Vanessa Hua is an award-winning columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle and the author of the national bestsellers A River of Stars and Forbidden City, and Deceit and Other Possibilities—a New York Times Editors’ Pick. A National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellow, she has also received a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers' Award, the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature, and a Steinbeck Fellowship in Creative Writing, as well as awards from the Society of Professional Journalists, and the Asian American Journalists Association, among others. She appeared in publications that include the New York Times, Washington Post, and The Atlantic. She has taught, most recently, at the Warren Wilson MFA Program, the University of San Francisco, and the Sewanee Writers Conference. She is the daughter of Chinese immigrants, and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her family.

What inspired Forbidden City? 

About a decade and a half ago, I watched a documentary about China and up popped a photo of Chairman Mao surrounded by giggling teenage girls. It turned out he was fond of ballroom dancing. He partnered with a troupe of young women not only on the dance floor, but also in the bedroom. In 1937, an American journalist, Agnes Smedley taught him and other party elites how to dance, and over the decades he continued to have these dance parties. The Chairman's physician wrote a memoir and used a dismissive tone to describe the young women, saying the experience was “exhilarating,” the greatest honor of their lives. I knew the story had to be more complex than that, particularly for those who became his confidantes, handled his mail correspondence, and interpreted what he was saying when his speech became garbled. They were able to stay by his side, during the most tumultuous time in modern Chinese history. I tried to find out more information. I initially wrote a short story set in one of those dance parties, and then something compelled me to keep going. What I couldn't find explained in official records, I wanted to attempt in fiction. 

In your earlier book, A River of Stars, you used the third person, whereas in Forbidden City, you chose the first person. What made you decide to tell the story from the point of view of Mei in Forbidden City?

Forbidden City is the first book I wrote and the third book I published. I began writing it in grad school, as a short story in the third person, but I realized that I had to use the first person to access her interiority. By comparison, A River of Stars is in the third person and in early drafts, I had many more points of view, akin to Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad. But after revisions, it was mainly told from Scarlett's point of view. 

A large part of Forbidden City highlights the Cultural Revolution, which would have required a lot of research. How did you go about the process? 

I spent fourteen years on the book as there was a long and winding road to publication. During that time, I conducted interviews in China and traced part of the path Mei would take across the country. I also became a power user of the library and read a lot of memoirs and nonfiction historical accounts. Historians have a particular purpose and intent in documenting what happened; novelists tend to focus more on how it felt to live through those events. I also read a lot of newspapers from that era. I didn’t take copious notes that I cross-referenced but if something inspired me along the way, I would include it in the narrative. 

You come from a journalism background, and while writing a fictional narrative of the Cultural Revolution, how did you avoid this journalistic aspect while telling this story?

I remember workshopping the early part of the novel during my first semester in my MFA program. One of my classmates called it “reportage.” I was annoyed! Eventually, I understood that while journalism claims neutrality, fiction is filtered through the distinct consciousness of the character. Anything Mei encountered—whether it's the setting or recreation of historical events—is via her sensibility. 

You write short stories as well. How was the experience of transition to long fiction? 

I have been writing short stories ever since I was a kid. In second grade, my teacher asked the class to vote for the best story, and mine won. That was my first recognition, even though a classmate said she voted for mine only because it was the longest! So, it was also my first snarky review.  I continued writing short stories throughout school and college. In my early thirties, when I was at a reporting fellowship in South Korea, I told another journalist I wanted to write a book. She said, “Then write a book.” She was merely making small talk, but that's when I realized I had to center that goal in my life. The difference between a novel and a short story is that a short story feels closer to a poem in terms of how it rests on an emotion, a turn. There’s a feeling of the world continuing after a short story, whereas a novel is a 300-page journey. There’s a sense of completion. 

Forbidden City has a lot of themes like coming of age, friendship, love, and historical significance. Do you consciously think of themes while writing a story?

For me, my understanding of the themes doesn’t emerge until after I finish the first draft. I’m focused on the characters and it’s only in retrospect, when I’m looking at the book as a whole, that I figure out the themes which in turn can help guide my revision. I've always written where my interest lay, and my characters lead me, which may end up reflecting the zeitgeist upon publication. Readers and reviewers have remarked that my books are timely.

Forbidden City was published shortly before the Roe vs. Wade decision was overturned. Even though the novel is set during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, it resonates with the present because of its focus on female bodily autonomy. 

You mention reviewers. While getting positive reviews is gratifying, how do you deal with the negative ones? 

I get a good friend or my husband to look at them first. I don't even look at Goodreads or Amazon reviews. I also realize that my book is not for everyone and should not please everyone. But I hope that my book will reach someone at the right moment, resonate with them, and make them feel less alone. 

How do you balance writing fiction and journalism? Tell us more about your writing process. 

I like being able to do both. With nonfiction, the deadlines are on a weekly or monthly basis, whereas a novel takes years. So, writing nonfiction helps me get out in the world and interact with people in the community by interviewing them. Since I have a deadline, I can plan, think, and work around a strategy for it. With fiction, I must consciously map out the next few steps I need to take. I read my manuscript and sometimes listen to the draft via an app on my phone. This is to ensure I keep the world of my novel in my head as I progress with it. 

So, do you like writing stories or articles more? 

That's like asking who my favorite child is! I think both nourish me and nourish my practice of the other. I'm just happy to have the opportunity to do both. 

How do you overcome writer's block?

It's good to have more than one project going so that when you struggle with one, you can cheat on it with another. I have also come to realize things like going for a swim or a run are essential to writers' practices. In fact, I figured out the ending for A River of Stars while I was on a swim. I was trying to figure out the ending, and I remember getting out of the pool and texting myself the solution. You can't access your subconscious directly. It is only when your body is in motion that sometimes answers come to us. Making room for movement in your life can release things. 

Who are the authors who inspire you?

Maxine Hong Kingston (Author of The Woman Warrior) graciously wrote a blurb for my book. I am blown away by her generosity and by what she does for the community. Not just through her writing but also through her activism. I remember I had an opportunity to interview her a few years ago. She said that as an activist, you keep going. You don't know if your work is going to matter. Maybe someone 200 years ago did something that's made things possible for you. So, we have no idea how our actions may benefit someone in the future. 

You touched upon the subject of memory earlier. What is your favorite childhood memory?

Well, maybe riding around on a car trip and reading jokes to my family. That coziness of all of us cramped in a car together, laughing, is a pleasant memory. 

What is the most exciting job you have ever had? 

I've been a journalist since I graduated from college. Even in college, I wrote on the school paper. Being a journalist has afforded me fascinating opportunities, such as reporting from overseas and visiting several countries. 

What are the places you've been to?

I've been to Burma, Panama, China, South Korea, Ecuador—and even Burning Man!  

What is it you want readers to take away from Forbidden City? 

I believe the past is never as distant as it seems. Even though this novel is about the Cultural Revolution in China, it's an opportunity to not only learn about that era but also examine our own era. Sometimes you need to look back to understand our present. 

What's the weirdest writing habit you have?

I got this last year. It's basically an under-the-desk bike peddler. Whenever I am revising or answering emails, I pedal away. It's nice to do as it's something that gets me going. Besides that, I also enjoy my cups of hojicha tea.

Lastly, any upcoming books?

I am working on two projects. One is a novel about surveillance and suburbia. And the other is an essay collection about foraging, resilience, and survival. I'm working on the draft for both, but excited to be in this process. 

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit






Time Is A Mother

Time Is A Mother by Ocean Vuong (reviewed by Alex Russell)

It can be very difficult, when evaluating a piece of art — in this case, Ocean Vuong’s sophomore poetry collection, Time is a Mother — not to make comparisons to other, related works. It is almost a compulsion; having to connect the thing you are talking about to something else just to explain it better.

Connection, successfully or unsuccessfully, pleasantly or with disastrous aftermath, is a major theme in Vuong’s work; something that he evaluates with ease, though, never bogging the narrative imagery down. He does it earnestly and with alarming certitude. As a writer reading another writer’s stone-cold brilliance is envy-inducing and inspiring. As a reader, it takes me out of myself to reconnect me with some of my missing pieces.

Vuong’s sharp and powerful command over his chosen method of communication with the outside world is exemplified through his control of pacing and rhythm.

“The Bull,” an introductory piece, is a crystal clear, unflinching realization centering on physical as well as emotional touch. It’s also a very gorgeous, near-sublime poem about understanding yourself through the help of something (or someone) else.

Most if not all of the poems in Time is a Mother are gorgeous. Many of them seek to provide context for the painful, and sometimes unexplainable things, in life.

It may be difficult for readers unfamiliar with confessional poetry — developed and brought to cultural and academic acknowledgement by many brilliant writers such as Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, and Allen Ginsberg — to feel comfortable with Vuong’s words. That is okay.

The occasionally jagged edges of his stanzas (visually) and the occasionally robust, economical, or jarring word-choice (for example: “fuck he said/oh fuck you’re so much/like my little brother,” from the poem “Dear Peter”), are intentional in their bluntness without shining a big glaring spotlight on themselves. Being human can be a brutal experience; Vuong’s work, in its careful and empathetic approach to life and people, provides a series of images that ring with honesty and a simple goal of saying, here it is.

There are signs and symbols one might not expect in Time is a Mother. The image of a Colt factory, or a plate of “triple stack…jumbo pancakes at Denny’s after top surgery.” 

“New England’s endless/leaves. Maybe I saw a boy/in a black apron crying in a Nissan/the size of a monster’s coffin.” These pictures feel all the more real because Vuong does not shy away from an intimate and painstakingly real point of view.

Some of these scenes almost ooze with palpable isolation, like the “backyard, so dark,” evoking, at least in my mind, the great painting Cape Cod Evening by Edward Hopper.

There are voices from other rooms and other eras peeking through as well. They appear like visitors or guides to provide commentary or elucidation. They are not necessarily foreign to Vuong; they are rhythms and sounds he might have picked up on his way.

“I know the room you’ve been crying in/is called America,” from “Beautiful Short Loser,” sounds like something from a piece of prose out of a Jack Kerouac novel. Yet it also feels indigenous to Vuong’s experience as a writer and as a person. The two are inseparable if you do it for long enough.

The prose-poem “Nothing,” near the middle of the book, is reminiscent in form and style to Dennis Cooper’s poetry. Violence and homosexuality and deep, passionate love are all characteristics of Vuong’s verse, just as they are of Cooper’s. Perhaps this is another junction where their poetry meets — however temporarily. The further one reads, the more obvious it becomes: Vuong’s voice and syntax are entirely his own. 

A segment from “Nothing” reads, “But to live like a bullet, to touch people with such intention. To be born going one way, toward everything alive.” This is how Vuong’s poems found me with his first poetry book, Night Sky with Exit Wounds and this is how it finds me now, with Time is a Mother.

Of Vietnamese heritage, Vuong paints surrealistic scenes of the war in Vietnam in both collections. In this book, however, unlike in his first, surrealism becomes almost an end and not just a means. Sometimes horrible things cannot be explained, but their debilitating effects can be weakened through deconstruction. 

“On the wall, the shadows of their erections fall, then rise./We are rare in goodness, and rarer still in joy./Their clothes/return to them, like crumpled laws./He walks backwards as the soldier walks backward. They/smile at each other until both are out of sight. The night/returns to itself, less whole. The Maybelle Auto marquee a/beacon in the fog.” Thus ends one of his poems, “Künstlerroman.” It appears near the end.

Violence, war, tragedy, love, sex, death, spatial emptiness, emotional emptiness, terrains of all kinds, and the colors of nature and of night, among many other things, make up the ingredients of Vuong’s work. He finds a balance for everything wrong and right in the world.

Time is a Mother succeeds because it doesn’t play games with the reader or with itself. There is a deep search for justice, a cry like a voice out of the forest on the edge of town, that cuts into the air and holds. Where there is no justice found, Vuong’s poetry sticks around to remind the reader that justice is a stepping stone on the way to love — and that love makes us and unmakes us, over and over.

Time Is A Mother by Ocean Vuong, published in 2022 by Penguin Press. 114 pages.


Alex Russell earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from George Mason University and now works in the field of journalism and publishing. He has contributed poetry to a variety of literary magazines and art journals, such as The Elevation Review, 300 Days of Sun, and The Ignatian Literary Magazine. His contributions to the Falls Church News-Press, a locally owned newspaper in the Washington, DC area, can be found online at fcnp.com.