FUSE REVIEWS

Fire and Ice

2012-01-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

2011 Issue

Review by Emily Crawford and Jessica Gilchrist

The 2011 issue of Bucknell University’s Fire and Ice follows mourners as they cope with life after the deaths of loved ones. In her poem, “still,” Lauren Krichilsky writes about a young mother struggling to understand how the world can go on, while she remains thinking only of her stillborn child. The speaker sees the stillborn everywhere, saying, “my baby will be a votive / candle in every church / i visit. i see her among / shipwreck survivors.” These lines show her desperation to understand her daughter’s death as a tragedy that was out of her control. The death of her child has changed her so deeply that she can no longer look at herself the same way. The fragmented structure of the poem beautifully illustrates the pain of knowing that there was nothing she could have done to prevent her child’s death, making “still” stand out as one of the most evocative poems on grief in the journal.

While “still” offers a firsthand account, in “Bereavement” by Dan Haney, the speaker watches how his grandfather’s death has changed his grandmother and morphed his own views of living. Haney writes, “My grandmother would bake me cookies I did not want to eat / And put them in a ceramic jar she always forgot to clean / But she never could remember my name,” an observation that his grandmother has distanced herself from him so much that she cannot remember who he is. While at first it seems like his grandmother is deprived of emotional attachments due to the loss of her husband, the speaker spends the rest of the poem contemplating if the detachment serves as protection. It strikes a chord within the speaker as he begins to question his own attachments to the living, wondering if love is worth the pain of losing it someday. The emotional journey leaves the reader feeling heavy with the thought of what the toll of attachment truly is.

While the poems deal with a figurative contrast, the literal barrier formed by Apartheid in Jessica Domsky’s short story, “Two Worlds,” is broken when two characters bond over their anguish. When Annabelle Thompson—a young, white American working to change the unfair social structure in South Africa—is brutally killed, her mother travels to witness the trial. She becomes acquainted with Lesedi, the younger brother of Annabelle’s killer. Ms. Thompson surprises herself by immediately connecting with the boy and realizing how, much like her, he has allowed the grief of losing a loved one to overtake his life. Ms. Thompson advises Lesedi to make the most of his life, because, “You are not only living for yourself anymore, you are living for your brother. And Annabelle, too. They would want you to live for your people, for the thousands that have died for freedom.” This is a turning point in the story, as readers later see how Ms. Thompson becomes a mother figure to Lesedi.

The artwork in this issue represents death as darkness by pairing scenes familiar to the viewer with darkness, as portrayed by the smoker in “Lighting Up” by Courtney Weitzer. In this painting, a man surrounded by darkness lights a cigarette so that his face is illuminated. The burning end of the cigarette is a burst of light in the center of a dark canvas. The image works as a metaphor for the written works collected in this issue of Fire and Ice: the idea that something commonplace that all are confronted with, like tragedy, can serve to color life in a unique way.

Saga

2011-12-23T13:34:00.000-08:00

Volume 74 (B)

Augustana University

Review by Melissa Bierly and Madeline Weiser

Volume 74 (B) of Saga, the art and literature magazine of Augustana University, has an elegant and unique style that reflects its many years of perfecting. The current editor says in the introduction, “Saga is not just a literary magazine but an artistic community on campus,” and this issue offers a glimpse into the richness of that community. The pages are filled with portrayals of all aspects of life, from family to loneliness, first love to failed love, and from childhood to old age.

“Dear Rock Island,” one of three poems by Nathan McDowell, is presented in the form of a letter. McDowell’s willingness to try something new is shared by many of the journal’s poets, and his command of language shows why his work is among the pieces in this issue. Although the speaker says, “I want to tell the waitress to take it easy on me / I’m just learning how to speak,” these lines are surrounded by such thoughtfully crafted sentences. But McDowell isn’t referring to a technical command of language, but to a deeper, emotional silence that conjures isolation, a desperate urge to connect through actions, words, and art.

Steven Scott’s “About Us,” a lyrical prose piece, strikes a tragic note without becoming overly sentimental. The unnamed narrator addresses his friend and lover, Tim, who has recently committed suicide. The narrator reflects on the aftermath of Tim’s death – the announcement of his passing on the intercom at school, the viewing, and the funeral – and remembers the moments they spent together: “I know the length of the scar on the inside of your thigh and I know we used to steal your dad’s brandy and pretend we were retired tennis-pros who had fucked more married women than we could count on two hands.” As we read this piece, we understood that through these moments of reflection the narrator tries to find reason in his lover’s death; he is trying to ground himself. Yet the truthful conclusion he draws is not comforting: “You always told me that nobody really dies. But, I think you really did this time, Tim. I think you proved us both wrong.”

But Saga is not a magazine solely composed of tragedy. Instead, it mixes the melancholic and the pleasant by including works such as “So Sweet,” a poem by Ginny Kay Phillips. The speaker describes the subtle, gentle instants of physical connection between herself and her crush by saying, “Sometimes when you reach / to get a napkin, your cool fingertips / accidentally brush the inside of my / wrist.” These events build one on top of another, a snowball effect that fuels the speaker’s declaration at the end of the poem: “These moments make / me want to be the strawberry jam / on those saltine crackers that you love.” This last line strangely encapsulates our response to Saga. Like strawberry jam on saltines, this magazine evokes both the bitter and sweet in us and can be sampled quickly, making us want to return to its pages for another taste.

The Allegheny Review

2011-12-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

Volume 29

Allegheny College

Review by Emily Crawford and Nicole Redinski

The Allegheny Review is one of America’s first nationwide literary magazines devoted to publishing undergraduate works of poetry and prose. Published annually out of Allegheny College, the journal’s twenty-ninth volume showcases characters who are travelers of many different kinds and how they find themselves in the end. Michael Winn expresses this best in his prose piece, “Yesterday is a Stupid Name for a Song,” when he writes, “Migration is the only way we can know where home is.” This theme throughout the issue reveals how important movement is in defining a person.

In Julie Woods’s poem, “Germany,” the speaker struggles with her experience in a foreign country. She conveys her difficulties through her everyday experiences, starting with a trip to a bakery to order some coffee, during which she muses: “It comes to me in an orange mug / without a handle. / Fitting, I think, / that I have nothing to hold on to.” The speaker continues to express this feeling of detachment from her surroundings, until she finds an old postcard addressed but never sent. She adds her own address and sends it home, thinking, “When I return to the States, / I hope to meet myself there.”

Without a comfortable feeling of “home,” characters are often left wandering, as in “Buzz Gold” by Theodosia Henney. In this story, Miss Lilith, the neighborhood beekeeper, “up and left one night with her bees, though the hive boxes and her house were just as they have always been.” After a peeping tom claimed to have seen “Miss Lilith’s thick shaping, standing in the middle of her hive boxes without any clothes on,” rumors spread throughout the town. Without a sense of companionship in her community, she feels the need to move in hope of finding somewhere she might belong.

Even movement in spirituality is highlighted, like in Amy Frake’s prose piece, “Jerusalem Is.” The narrator discusses how people and their beliefs enhance a place’s significance. She articulates this by saying, “Jerusalem is what it takes to get here […] once you enter, some part of you can never truly leave.” In our reading, this shows a sense of comfort and the necessity of feeling spiritually connected to a place for those who need something to believe in, and especially of finding a place that is greater than a house or a single physical structure.

This volume of The Allegheny Review strives to create a kind of home for its characters, its authors, and its readers. The pieces therein mostly lean toward the theme of finding oneself and depict the journey that it takes to get there. The sense of maintaining individuality, even in a strong community, seems effortless and fluid, pulling the readers into the worlds that the authors have created and guiding us along on our own quests to find ourselves.

Spectrum

2011-12-01T18:14:00.000-08:00

Spring 2011 Issue

Northeastern University

Review by Alison Enzinna and Stephanie Heinz

The spring 2011 issue of Northeastern University’s Spectrum immediately hooks the reader on the cover image’s iron gate, over which a dilapidated statue of Snow White bends. The striking contrast of this photograph against a placid lake scene speaks to the variety of styles and subjects in the works within the journal. Covering topics from personal battles with food to questioning the love and affection of a close family member, Spectrum attempts to understand where creativity fits in. The magazine’s staff lays out a mission to recapture interest and show that even the minutest detail can allude to a far deeper conflict, a battle of wills.

The magazine contains a wide variety of prose, poetry, and photographs, which together create a contrast of imagery and ideas. The selections are often brief, but the author of “Recitative,” Lauren Ditullio, uses this brevity to condense her characters’ lives into the most important moments. Recounting the narrator’s relationship with her husband from when they first meet to long after he has died, Ditullio captures their personalities in crucial lines such as: “He barks orders, and if my eyes flash fire back at him (and they did) it is only because he lights it inside of me.” The story progresses through the narrator’s anxiety, over her husband’s former love, which is felt strongest after his death. Despite the lifetime of significant moments shared with her husband, she, like the reader, is left with lingering doubts of his affection.

On nearly every page, the photographs are a constant presence emphasizing the magazine’s attention to particular, telling moments. “Lake Mist,” a photo by Andy Carlson, depicts a woman enjoying the breeze despite the mist that has fallen over the lake. The image creates a sense of serenity within us. The muted colors of the background draw our eyes to the only brightly colored elements in the photo: a sea foam green flower in the woman’s red hair. The image captures a brief moment of complete ease.

While artists in this magazine make their work appear effortless, Sid Phadnis, author of “0.7MM,” shows a struggle with the deep desire to create and an ache at having nothing for inspiration. With lines like, “If I were a slab of moldable mud / I’d sit on the axis and spin in place / the unformed otter on the pottery wheel,” Phadnis pushes the reader through the speaker’s desperation until he finds solace. It may not come from sudden enlightenment, but in searching the author has created his own inspiration. This poem succeeds in moving past its pressures the same way the magazine has. Instead of searching for a place, the Spectrum staff and contributors have created one. As they recapture the interest of readers with works built from the ordinary, these authors find fresh approaches to familiar subjects.

The Shinnery Review

2011-11-18T17:27:00.000-08:00

Volume XVI (2011)

Abiliene Christian University

Review by Abigail Hess and Rebecca James

While beholding the winding sapling on the cover of the 2011 issue of The Shinnery Review, readers aren’t drawn to its leaves or branches but to the exposed roots. Likewise, this magazine emphasizes the authors and artists who ground and nurture their work. Lit mags often represent a place to introduce new and upcoming authors, and The Shinnery Review surpasses these expectations. Without outside context for each author such as an author bio or graduate status, this magazine gives the reader insight into the authors’ minds instead of a mere introduction. Since the 1930s this magazine from Abilene Christian University has published prose, art, and poetry from its graduate and undergraduate population. The pieces are organized by author, as opposed to genre or theme, which allows the reader to get to know the authors who have multiple pieces published herein.

Juliana Kocsis has five poems in the magazine. In “Stargazing, Age Five,” a daughter remembers what could be any night from her childhood. Even though the stars she sees out her window are there every night and her father’s goodnight kiss is customary, the poem searches for a way to explain how these familiarities are still surprisingly beautiful. The speaker is able to “imagine / bringing the stars a little closer / to my bedroom window, / tying them down like balloons / with a string of names.” This close examination of personal observations is one way that many of this magazine’s pieces pull up the roots of the poem or story and plant them above ground, exposing the hidden framework that allows it to stand.

By seeing multiple selections by one author, such as the six traditionally lineated poems and prose poems by Tanner Hadfield, the reader gets a broader sense of the ways these authors work. In “August 13, 2033,” Hadfield uses the metaphor of a yard sale to explain the speaker’s willingness but inability to bargain for a girl’s whole heart: “the ad said / let the buyer bare, and I was / knocking on your garage / before even the sun.” These lines are simple and direct, but are not sensational, while in “Untitled” images like the speaker’s landlord’s entrails, “wrapped like a bow around our apartment complex,” show the horror of falling into territory never before experienced. Lines like, “The fire hydrants have burst out of sheer joy,” show the fantastical feeling of the familiar becoming bizarre.

“Funeral at MTWPA,” a short story by Brian Peacock, also speaks to the unknown through the story of a young American boy living with family friends in Africa after his mother has died. Readers can see from the first line—“It is a bad thing to think about Africa only in terms of the things that can kill you”—that relatable recognition of one’s own mortality which is evident by the honesty in this speaker’s voice. By the end of the story he realizes this fear will be perpetual; death is everywhere and unavoidable. Even when his friend feels she must tell him, “It’ll get better,” the speaker’s response of “yes” is really unsure. It is followed by, “her intense eyes begging for her own words to be true. In my heart I was begging too.” Once again an author from The Shinnery Review gives the reader a glimpse of the unseen and tangled undercarriage of human experience, that complicated infrastructure which feeds the evocative poetry and prose.

Stylus

2011-11-14T16:45:00.000-08:00

Fall 2010 Issue

Boston College

Review by Mike Coakley

With all the talk of writing programs, creative writing workshops, and college literary magazines being developments of the past few decades, it is reassuring to encounter a magazine with longevity – one that predates contemporary writing culture. Stylus of Boston College boasts a 128-year history, and its Fall 2010 issue offers works of prose, verse, and visual art that prove creative enterprise at Boston College can survive the test of time.

In fact, the prose of Stylus teems with vitality. In Keith Noonan’s “No Place,” the fifth-grade narrator paints a narrative portrait of his family: a fast-talking and observant older brother, his boisterous and wide-eyed younger brother Grenny, and their parents, whose conflict unfolds behind the scenes, felt rather than explained. The older brother’s voice carries a certain maturity as he traces the lines between reality and the colorful world in The Wizard of Oz, saying, “There’s a talking scarecrow that looks a bit like Pa, kinda stumbles around like Pa does at night when he’s had too many.” From his position at the threshold of adulthood, he compares a colorful, whimsical fictional character to a somewhat darker father figure.

Shorter prose pieces, such as Kevin Valenski’s “Existence Below,” wash over the reader quickly but memorably, proving that short prose can carry heavy emotional weight. Valenski presents a surreal, dystopian world full of “electronic night watchmen … internal circuitry in want of apprehending [a] delinquent.” Stories such as this one feel fresh and new, with the long-time reputation of the magazine used as an effective showcase for emerging undergraduate writers.

The twenty-five poems spread among the works of prose and visual art offer a similar vitality. Jack Neary’s “A Nymph Emerged” details the appearance of a mythical creature in a not-so-mythical kitchen where the speaker “had been chopping carrots” – an ordinary chore interrupted by a fantastical intrusion. Jennifer O’Brien’s “Burns” breezes by in three lines consisting of eight words: “Overlapping dust- / jackets shield from conditions, / pieces sew knowledge.” The lasting power of the few brief lines resides not so much in their literal meaning, but in the suggestion of feelings they evoke. The poetry ranges from realistic to delightfully absurd, from narrative or abstract, from strange to everyday. The diversity of poetic offerings, and the feelings they create, make Stylus a wonderful and worthy read well over a century after its inception.

The Fall 2010 issue solidifies the notion that a magazine need not be fresh to feel fresh – need not twist and contort itself in any desperate attempt to remain chic and relevant. Stylus has maintained its freshness through the diversity of its staff, contributors, and work, and through the way each piece moves its reader beyond the present moment, out of the space he or she inhabits. Stylus remains an undergraduate literary magazine that pioneers the way for others, and has been doing so, perhaps, since before the term “undergraduate literary magazine” ever existed.

Touchstone

2011-10-31T15:26:00.000-07:00

Issue 75

Viterbo University

Review by Jessica Gilchrist and Sarah Gzemski

Black shoots of grass curl around the bottom of a flash-animated scene in which a boy sits in a tree swing and a girl flies a kite in the breeze. This is the menu page which greets online readers of the seventy-fifth issue of Viterbo University’s literary magazine, Touchstone. The editors of Touchstone take pride in providing “an outlet for publications of art, prose and poetry.” Beyond the unique animated cover page, the web pages for the works within the issue are focused on the words and the art.

The poetry of Touchstone captures the darker sides of confusion and feeling out of place through succinct images that express a spectrum from sweet hope to sickening reality. In Kyle Constalie’s “Come Say,” the reader ponders the idea of being unique when met with, “Tell me I’m a peach and there are a million of me, / each pit a letter in a sentence long digesting.” Visceral verbs like “chugging,” “breathing,” and “wrangles” capture the loneliness that accompanies the speaker’s realization that we are all so similar. Molly Grosskreutz’s poem also explores the idea of individuality, but within the realm of love. In “Spark-less,” desperation fuels the speaker’s actions: “I strike the match against your chest, / your zipper, / your lips? / Nothing.” The short lines slice right into the heart of the peril of rejection and the complicated dance of affection.

In prose, the best pieces are reflective, looking back on how two characters cope with tragedy. In “Lost Daughter” by Larry D. Harwood, the narrator listens to a woman grieve the loss of her daughter. She expresses that her worrying fueled her guilt when she says, “Couldn’t really blame them, I thought afterward, but it hurt then because I had to much time to think and I prayed too little. Imagined over and over how I might have prevented it.” The story uses time to refract grief in a way that becomes singular to this mother, who can only come to terms with her helplessness in time. In “On the House,” Katelyn Rubenzer examines how parents deal with the loss of a child, but in this story it is a loss caused by the father. The reader witnesses a man ravaged by depression years after his drunken behavior caused him to nearly kill his son. The narrator, after learning about the end of this man’s marriage, watches him closely: “Gary sat there, stroking the scar as if his fingers were erasers and his scar was pencil lead. She watched as his breathing slowed, knowing that tonight, Gary was finally forgetting.” Both pieces examine grief and the torture and healing that time can bring.

Touchstone’s artwork ranges from graphic design to typography to hand-drawn work, featuring complex representations of painful issues like earthquakes and suicide. Amy Braaskma’s collage is arranged so that hands dominate the right corner, reaching out to the reader to assist with relief in Haiti while also expressing the helplessness of those still suffering from the aftermath of the earthquake. Paintings like “Self-Portrait” by Kyle Marcantelli deal with pain on a more personal level. This work is a colorful expression of inner turmoil, the figure’s hands held like a gun to the side of his head, an explosion of light exiting on the other side. The gesture expresses despair while the brightness still leaves hope for the viewer.

Touchstone’s web site provides a unique reading experience, utilizing beautiful graphics on the menu page to showcase extraordinary work by artists and authors alike. The silhouetted images are a gateway to pieces that deal with dark and difficult issues like time and grief. Readers find, however, that there is always a reason to endure, whether in a burst of light or a flower blooming before their eyes.

Outrageous Fortune

2011-10-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

Spring 2011 Issue

Mary Baldwin College

Review by Michael Fiorilla and Christopher Rodriguez

The spring 2011 issue of Mary Baldwin College’s national online literary magazine, Outrageous Fortune, greets its reader with a stark, minimalist presentation, beneath which lies a heart of turmoil. This dichotomy, a placid surface masking confusion and fear, is mirrored in the writing featured in the issue. The journal casts a wide net in securing its content, offering fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and visual art. Outrageous Fortune is a journal that, like each of its pieces, has a lot to offer lurking just beneath the surface.

Margery Bayne’s essay, “In the Eye of the Beholder,” begins with a look at social politics at a wedding before plunging into an unflinching examination of modern standards of beauty and the author’s own insecurities with them. She reflects on herself when she writes, “I realize I could be so much thinner. So much better. No matter what, it will never be enough,” and, “When I am shy, do I seem standoffish? When I try to be outgoing, is it annoying? Is there something deeper and nastier about me that I cannot see?” The author highlights an internal struggle, which intensifies the question at the heart of the piece: Why is beauty, something that does little to reflect on the “worth” of a person, a quality that society holds in such high esteem?

For another example of depth and conflict hidden in everyday life, we look to “Play Ball,” a short story by Kelly Cernetich, in which four brothers take their game of catch from the baseball field to their backyard. The author portrays the children’s mother by writing, “Mom used to come out and chase us with her broomstick if we were caught messing around too close to her garden. But the begonias had given up on us and seemingly, so had she. With six other kids to look after and a house to keep, we just hoped she wouldn’t mind if we played a harmless game of catch.” Through her concise description, Cernetich adds depth to a story that might otherwise read as a “harmless” game of catch gone wrong. The author gives life to every child’s fear of angering their parents and delivers a well-crafted, entertaining piece in a very short space.

In poetry, there are a number of stand-out pieces, including Kaitlyn Duling's “Paris Doesn't Inspire You,” which contemplates a conflict inherent in writing, trying to convey abstract feelings on the page, to give them shape. Duling writes, “you touch your tongue to your nose, / stack your erasers and wonder how to say anything / worthwhile about about soaring above the clouds / that doesn't include the phrase ‘soaring above the clouds.’” These lines highlight the author's struggle with the page, pointing out the frustration a writer may feel when the words they can muster do not convey the emotions they feel. This subject is not only attractive but difficult to capture in a way that is accessible and emotionally resonant, and here Duling succeeds.

Outrageous Fortune is a journal that harbors depth behind a minimalist exterior. We find this iteration of the magazine concerned with inner conflict, as it takes a nuanced and contemplative approach to experiences of turmoil, fear, and frustration. The editors of Outrageous Fortune have created a collection that brings to light the depths of doubt and confusion into which all readers are capable of sinking.

Plain China

2011-10-17T20:31:00.000-07:00

Issue 3

Bennington College

Review by Dana Diehl and Colin O'Donnell

In an abandoned mine town, underground fires warm the earth and leave holes the size of sandboxes in basements. At a KFC, a man with spider webs inked into his elbows begs for money. In southern Delaware, lost seagulls fly over sandy fields as flood waters recede. These are the settings and characters created by some of today’s most talented young writers, and they make up a world that is captured elegantly and evocatively in the third issue of the online national literary anthology, Plain China.

The editors of Plain China describe their mission as the formation of a “collective narrative reflective of and relevant to the undergraduate writing experience.” Since 2009, they have showcased undergraduate writing from across the country, while also providing a venue for top-notch artwork. Based in Bennington College, each year a team of student editors reviews and selects works out of undergraduate journals from across the country. The result is a cornucopia of talent comparable to that of many accomplished professionals.

Poetry, nonfiction, and fiction are represented in Plain China by pieces that are powerful and controlled. The magazine prizes work that illustrates honesty and stark, immediate images. In her poem “Watermarked,” Nathalie Trepagnier shows the reader her home in southern Delaware: “There’s a town called Hardscrabble near a town / called Little Heaven. And I believe Heaven / is sun-baked roads in July and summer / handing you a ripened-red tomato.” The images that Trepagnier shows the reader are concrete and specific.

Tessia Bekelja’s story, “Moss,” describes a town that is falling apart as it sits atop ceaselessly burning coal fires, but an undaunted elderly couple refuses to leave for love of their home and each other. Bekelja writes, “Sometimes our bodies hurt from walking on the uneven floors all the time. Everyone else has moved away. My brother moved away as soon as he was old enough. He’s dead now. My mother moved to the next town over, but she is dead now too. They are both buried there next to my pop and their graves still steam like the rest of the ground here.” Her character’s voice is simple and direct, but the piece’s depth and beauty stem from this simplicity. The stories in Plain China are all very human, holding hope in one hand and despair in the other, occasionally choosing one but often leaving the reader to decide.

Plain China’s website is highly accessible and clean. The home page features an excerpt from the Bennington Poetry Prize winner, which gives the impression that the content matters in this journal above all. It also immerses visitors immediately in the students’ work. Other pieces from current and past issues are easy to locate, as the editors take pride in putting the students’ work first. Every piece of literature is paired with a piece of student-produced artwork. The art selected by the student judges is as stark as the writing. The image paired with “Watermarked,” for example, is a sepia photograph of an old windmill. Plain China selects images that allure the viewer without distracting from the content or voice of the writing.

This journal demands a reading for the quality of its content and clean presentation, but what may be most admirable about Plain China is its unspoken commentary on the sometimes-underappreciated community of undergraduate writers. It is the first online anthology of undergraduate work on a national level. The professionalism of the work in Plain China validates undergraduate journals and students alike. The journal gives us a glimpse at the voices of today’s young writers, and together they make a whole that is mature, thoughtful, and on par with many post-college journals in circulation.

Coraddi

2010-12-28T17:37:00.000-08:00

Fall 2009 Issue

University of North Carolina at Greensboro

Review by Sarah Gzemski

The cover of Coraddi is a striking blend of colors called “Leaf Bustle” by Heath Montgomery, and the eclectic splotches in cool blue, purple, and olive green tones draw in a reader’s eye to a larger picture, the branches woven in subtly and with great skill. The works inside this magazine are well represented by the cover, different parts fused together to create a unique and beautiful product.

Coraddi, as described on its title page, “represents the art and literary community of the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.” This magazine has a long history as it has been published “in various forms” since 1897, and the Fall 2009 issue represents Volume 112. Artwork and writing are equally represented, with separate sections and prizes awarded for each. While some magazines pair artwork with pieces of writing, Coraddi aims to represent both the art and writing on their own merit.

“Satan scratched behind the ears of Gomorrah. ‘Who’s Daddy’s sweet kitty? You are! You are!” Sarah Sills imagines the life of Satan in her short story, “Satan Was Pissed,” using humor and Biblical references to enhance her piece. Satan’s encounter with Stella, a wildly attractive woman, and her subsequent kidnapping of his cat, Gomorrah, is laugh-out-loud funny. Her depiction of Hell as a fully functioning office with identification numbers, filing cabinets, and a tech support team is fresh and inventive.

Chris Welsh’s poem, “Backyard Anthropology,” was one of the pieces that really stood out to me, and its description of childhood rang true. The lines that begin the poem—“when i was young and in love with Adolf Rupp / instead of Faye Dunaway, / my father paid someone else’s father, / one with dinosaur tar beneath his fingernails, / to cement a basketball net / into our driveway” —paint a specific setting with their strong images and careful word choice.
Similarly, Amanda Manis’s prose poem “Curb-Sitters” uses powerful description to create a poignant story about two friends and their uncertainty about the future. “I say no, what do you want to be when you grow up and she says an octopus, an eight-legged creature of the deep: solitary, strong.” These lines in the first stanza perfectly capture innocence as well as the wisdom that shows itself most when we think like children.

The art in this issue comes from many different media, from pen and pencil drawings, to paintings and photography. “Fender Height” and “Trust” by Amanda Nichols provide an eye-catching and surprising splash of color. “Fender Height” features a jumping armadillo and commands attention on the page. It made me smile and look closer, since its subject is so singular and detailed, while its abstract red and green background is so cleverly blended. This warm color palate continues on the next page with “Trust,” a more somber scene of a deer lying behind a fence. I really enjoyed being able to see both a fun and a more serious side of this particular artist, and both pieces exemplify the quality of artwork that Coraddi publishes.

Sans Merci

2010-12-08T19:46:00.000-08:00

2010 Edition

Shepherd University

Review by Melissa Bierly and Dana Diehl

“She was born a fine piece of ebony / That grew tall and healthy in the fertile soil of her tropical / mother’s womb.” With these haunting lines begins “Her Father, the Craftsman” by Lashawn Tolston. Tolston’s language draws us in, invoking the reassuring warmth of motherhood, while raising questions that allude to darker significance: Why ebony? Why like a tree that has no control over how or where it grows, but relies on conditions outside itself? The opening captures the duality that we feel weaves its way through so much of this magazine. There is something familiar about Sans Merci, like an old favorite book to which your fingers have memorized the feeling of the binding. Yet, it also contains the air of something new. The pieces within make us think, make us stop and want to dig deeper, allowing the journal to tread the border of familiarity and newness.

Sans Merci is a long established literary magazine at Shepherd University in Shepherdstown, West Virginia that features prose, poetry, and artwork from its undergraduate students. The small, compact shape of the most recent 34th volume just begs to be held and entices us to leaf through. The cover image, a blurry horizon coated in water droplets, has an easy, effortless appeal that’s somehow calming. Yet, the blurriness of the image and the impossibility of distinguishing exactly what it was an image of add a sense of mystery and intrigue, paralleling what we loved in Sans Merci’s content.

Rachel Allinder’s story, “Just a Guy” is one of the many gems in the journal. Allinder tells the story of a man named Roger and his irate wife and son. Through her language, she creates characters with a depth and believability about them – their voices are strong and poignant with moments of wit that sparkle: “She kept a carton of cigarettes in the freezer. He did not smoke, but the stench from the couch provided him with enough nicotine to keep a decent buzz. Later, he prayed for lung cancer.” The story flows from one character to another, weaving together a seamless narrative about an average man stuck in an everyday cycle of drudgery.

Like “Just a Guy” Sans Merci itself is fluid. The font of the title bleeds black ink in smoky wisps across the magazine’s cover, a motif that recurs throughout the journal. Every so many pages ink blots trickle along the sides of the text, like a drop of food coloring in water. Also, the pieces are well paced – a short story, a collection of poetry, and then a display of artwork. This pattern often leads to pieces speaking to each other in interesting ways. “We Were Anchors,” for example, a poem about a family dealing with death, is followed by “The Copper Bowl,” in which a man comes to terms with his part in a death. The formula is repeated subtly, propelling us through the journal to the final page.

One of our favorite aspects was the artwork. Flipping through Sans Merci, our fingers catch on the colored photography and artwork that hide, like treasures, between the prose and poems. The artworks within each grouping complement one another. Two black and white photographs by Deanna Grace Tabor and Rachel Garletts stare across the journal’s gutter at each other, both picturing women who look trapped. The striking photograph Tragic by Madelaine Richards, however, stands on its own. It pictures the bottom half of a woman floating in the water, her torso hidden just out of frame. Her bare feet and tutu-like skirt create a ripple across a black lake, tantalizing us, making us wish we could see the rest of her. It’s like she’s falling out of the right side of the photograph into a dark vortex, a kind of mysterious Alice-in-Wonderland effect. This photograph represents how we feel about the journal as a whole. It is its familiarity, coupled with its quiet, stunning ambiguity that grabs us and keeps us there, pondering.

Woodcrest

2010-11-10T19:56:00.000-08:00

2010 Edition

Cabrini College

Review by Amanda Chase and Mike Coakley

“The leaves were turning orange and brown like girls who fall asleep in tanning beds,” begins Christopher Zobel’s “Longing for Change,” published in Cabrini College’s 2010 edition of Woodcrest. Zobel goes on to offer a commentary on the harshness of nature, before turning to the narrator’s somewhat comical dissatisfaction with his own age and gut. With a resigned yet playful tone, he succeeds in tapping into feelings that everyone has experienced. This is the nature of Woodcrest: a diverse display of the whimsical and the tragic, longing and satisfaction, sadness and happiness. It is remarkable how well the different writers emerge from their own personas, allowing their experiences to color the texts but not hijacking them. The predominate bright blue, shown in circles on the title pages and stripes on nearly every page, demonstrates this human contradiction of emotion and experience: the color makes us feel whimsical and optimistic, in contrast to the oftentimes dark subject matter.

Zobel wonderfully captures the appeal of illicit fantasies which are impossible to play out but hypnotic nonetheless. Who has not sat at their job or in class daydreaming? The speaker, a banker, longs to press the “robbery-in-progress button,” which “stared at [him], called to [him], tempted [him] like some kind of gray, plastic siren.” It is a regular part of his everyday environment, but he finds it so alluring because it represents a means to interrupt the norm.

Additionally, an interesting collection of poetry is “Renga,” a Japanese-style set of collaborative poetry written by Shannon Fandler and Sean Ryan. Six haikus tell of a thunderstorm, with speakers alternating between each one. In demonstrating the nature of the storm, Fandler and Ryan also express the nature of their friendship – their close bond as writers. Their words of change, renewal, and truth illuminate important concepts for readers. The poem itself also attests to friendship. Each stanza flows into the next, with no conscious notice of the writer’s switching back and forth. Writing, often viewed as an isolated, individual practice, reveals itself as a collaborative effort.

Anthony Casazza’s photograph on page 66 is a wonderful example of what this magazine has to offer. Even while the subject is in the brightest streetlight, he has obscured himself in darkness. The mark of a good photograph is its ambiguity and its layers of meaning, and we find that here: some might see the road leading off into the distance as a sort of obscured personal future, while others might view the darkness and the light as life’s best and worst times. Again, we discover Woodcrest and the works within its pages to be contradictory and paradoxical, but in the best way – in the way that reflects a contradictory and paradoxical existence.

Westwind

2010-05-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

2009-2010 Issue

UCLA

Review by Michael Fiorilla, SU '12

UCLA'S Journal of the Arts, Westwind, seeks to publish "new, challenging, and unconventional forms of creative writing." Their goal is to create a "fresh, intelligent, and uniquely personal magazine," and by that standard they have succeeded. At first glance, the magazine appears to offer conventional, classically inspired cover art; however, a turn to the back reveals this is not entirely the case. The journal is printed on rough textured paper and includes a unique ASCII design style, with all of the decorative elements of the journal's interior composed out of the letters in Westwind. Form follows function in this case, as many of the pieces within Westwind follow through on the theme promised by the cover. That is, taking facets of life and art that appear coarse at first glance and exposing the beauty within.

In his story, "A Fistful of Salt," Dominick Duhamel describes an ailing former priest with the following words: "He was pale and thin; his hair had congealed into thick, greasy ropes and hung disheveled over his eyes. His pillow was the sickly yellow of hot dry sweat." In handling this scene, Duhamel gives the audience an image that, while grotesque, still presents its own brand of poetry. This is at the heart of what makes Westwind an interesting magazine, a striking and jarring brand of imagery in the coarser parts of life.

That is not to say that strong imagery is all that Westwind has to offer. True to their mission statement, each of the pieces stands on its own. The journal provides a unique and eclectic selection of works to its reader. In "Imperial Trophy Cabinet of a Romantic," poet Ben Stevens writes, "and then we went to the park and played, / played games / that Grandma sewed in our bones whilst / womb / worlds wrought / over us / imaginings / of greatness and Fame." Stark, winding, and removed from the visceral imagery of Duhamel, these two pieces give a cross-section of the spectrum of work.

Within Westwind the visual art is just as intriguing as the written and carries the same eclectic aesthetic. Perhaps most striking of these pieces are the ink and watercolor prints by Ryan York. Both untitled, they provide a splash of saturated primary color, one work depicting a baby connected to a dolphin by an umbilicus, the other a series of railways and overpasses decked out in over-the-top shades.

In its mission to provide an unbridled look into the spectrum of art being produced at UCLA, Westwind certainly succeeds.

Warren

2010-03-26T14:15:00.000-07:00

2008-2009 Issue

Blooomsburg University

Review by Lauren Bailey, London Campbell and Autumn Walck

Bloomsburg University’s 2008-2009 Literary-Art Journal, Warren, begins with a Virginia Woolf quote: “The words seemed to be dropped in a well, where if the waters were clear, they were also so extraordinarily distorting that, even as they descended, one saw them twisting about to make Heaven knows what pattern on the floor of the child’s mind.” This is the swirl of emotion that began our experience reading Warren. Woolf’s quote feels appropriate, as the majority of the stories and poems in this journal have a dark, dramatic feel to them, lending a sense of cohesion to the magazine as a whole.

Jess Weber’s story, “To Let the Light In,” is a disjointed, melancholy piece about a married couple grappling with the news that they cannot conceive children. “The Abandoned Ship,” a poem by Steven Koch, is similarly haunting, describing a ship that nobody knows what happened to. Though this volume of Warren does not have a theme, we found definite connections between these pieces. We also greatly enjoyed the refreshing humor in “An Unlikely Conversation,” especially these lines:

“‘My time is what you are actually paying for. Call it therapy.’

‘I already pay somebody else for that.’

‘Then I must not be needed.’”

There were several very artistic photos that, although printed in black in white, resonated with us as readers and seemed to speak to both the pieces and the dark undertone we detected throughout the journal. It did seem odd that the photographs were printed on the same page as a story or a poem – we wanted to pay everything in the magazine the same amount of attention, but when reading a story or poem, we would sometimes become distracted by a photograph, and vice versa. We also thought the column-formatting in this journal made the prose feel cluttered – it would have been easier to focus on the stories themselves if they had simply been printed across the page. We really liked the layout, however – the glossy white paper feels inviting, and the collection of words on the front and back covers speaks, once again, to the Virginia Woolf quote included on the title page.

Overall, we thoroughly enjoyed Warren, and hope to have the opportunity to see future editions!

Manhattan Magazine

2010-03-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

Spring 2009 Volume 19

Manhattan College
Review by Autumn Walck

Manhattan Magazine paints itself with as much passion inside the pages as is found on the graffiti of the building on the front cover. “Sometimes, I feel like a broken toy…each time increasing the fragility,” begins the first poem “Broken Toy” by Maura Kate Costello. Her words set the tone for the collection of the pieces inside of the magazine. They all flow with a connection to your heartstrings like the tumultuous love between two adolescents that end their romance in tragedy from Kevin Vachna’s story, “Killing ReginaMcAlister.” Vachna writes, “Shutting the door, she kissed hungrily at my mouth, the loaded gun, unsuspecting what was about to occur.” This begins many of the moments in his piece where you can feel the pull of emotions coming from the author and spilling out into his writing. It becomes the common thread that links the place of endearment from which each photograph, poem, and story derives. The young authors of Manhattan Magazine approach each piece with a unique perspective that hints at something deeper.

The magazine features drawings and photographs spread evenly, in color and in black and white, throughout the pages. These each add something new and exciting. “Guitar” by Ricky Mason is a drawing of a woman holding a guitar to her chest. Her hair covers her face, but the passionate grip of her hands on the guitar communicates desire and longing. “One Train” by Ashley Roman is a color photograph of an empty subway trail with a symmetrical view that extends almost like an illusion back into the page.

“Hush, Child, Hush,” a poem by Alana Powell, connects the suffering faced by a mother and daughter in Africa: “He watched the darkest of nights, / and listened to the ghastly acts to those without protection.” It continues with the repetition of “Hush, child, hush, / they are only the Devil’s sons.” Each time the mother speaks those words, the poem descends into something darker until we reach the very last line, “I held his trembling body to mine, / and this time I said nothing, / for I could only cry.” The stanzas of “Glass Bottles and Pints Refracting Weak Lights” by James Milne are full of this continual thread of emotion. He writes, “Less air, more smoke. / Less air, more liquor. / Less air, more bodies.” These threads collect to become the whole of the magazine and continually make the reader feel something. Manhattan Magazine is what Editor Nick Buzzi writes in the editor’s letter, “a true outlet for the creativity and ingenuity of the students of Manhattan College.”

The Blue Route

2010-02-14T19:33:00.000-08:00

January 2010 issue

Widener University
http://theblueroute.org/links.html

Review by Amanda Santangelo

Widener University’s online literary magazine, The Blue Route is as good as literary magazines get, with the added perk of unlimited readership on the internet.This concept of an online journal that accepts work from undergraduate writers across the country is extremely enticing for students because the entire internet can view your published work at any point.

Adopting its name from the highway of the same name that runs through the suburbs of Philadelphia, The Blue Route’s website states that the name “connotes a certain mood and a certain direction. The Blue Route suggests one possible path to where you might want to go.” This aphorism is a pretty accurate depiction of the fiction and poetry featured in the journal. From the lyrical familial narrative poem “Times You Were” by Halle Kostansek to the haunting flash-fictional account of a female suicide bomber, “Istishhadiyah” by Stephanie Ciner, each work takes the reader on an insightful and lasting journey.

The January 2010 issue is currently featured on the magazine’s main page, and the staff is currently accepting submissions for the next issue with a deadline in April. Undergraduate students across the country may submit up to 3,000 words of prose and no more than five poems. In order to be considered for publication, the name of a faculty member currently working at the students’ current school must be included in the submission. I’d say this process is well worth it, since those authors selected for publication receive twenty dollars for their work, in addition to being featured in this top-notch literary publication.