JuliaHoustonTovar — December 18, 2011 - 09:37
i don't normally type.
its too easy to erase.
and then i miss the small beauties i would have caught on paper.
so excuse my abnormally censored words.
had it been written, i'm sure this would have been much better.
no, positive this would have been much better.
it would have been so much better.
Honest.
kelly.swope — November 1, 2011 - 07:27
I am enrolled in a philosophy seminar this semester titled "Aesthetics and Politics." As the name of the seminar suggests, the discussions focus on the possible convergences between aesthetics (in the broad sense, as both the contemplation of artforms and a particular kind of sensory 'experience') and politics (in an even broader sense - political form itself as well as our capacity for thoughtful resistance against totalizing politics). The readings for the seminar stem from a popular critical tradition known as the "Frankfurt School of Critical Theory" which began with iconic figures like Walter Benjamin and Theodor Adorno who were concerned with the fate of art during a period of mass totalitarian politics (Fascism in Germany, Stalinism in Russia, even the burgeoning 'mass' culture within US democracy).
The seminar to date has been full of provocative and disturbing conversations. One of Theodor Adorno's more provocative theses, which, troublingly in my opinion, many of his contemporary admirers still uncritically ascribe to, is that the explosion of technology since the beginning of the twentieth century has so totally subsumed our culture that we no longer have access to 'experience.' For Adorno, technology and its totalizing effects mediate life to such a degree that our 'lack of access' to experience has actually become a total 'incapacity' for experience.
sachiu — November 1, 2011 - 01:25
Happy (belated) Halloween, everyone! Sending spooky thoughts out to all you candy-comatose costumed hooligans. With all of the festive emphasis on fright and fear, I couldn’t help but begin to wonder how our fears affect how and what we write.
What are you afraid of? I don’t mean in the giant hairy spider kind of way, although that could be a factor as well. What I am referring to is real, persistent fear, the fear that gnaws at your belly and creeps into the corners of your mind when your thoughts begin to drift to darker things. Does fear motivate you? Does it drive you? Or does it beckon you towards it with the allure if an adrenaline rush? How do our fears shape us? How does it shape our work? I am drawn further into this mental debate and begin to wonder how can art be used to confront fear, to use fear to our artistic advantage? Mark Twain wrote, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it.” Can art be courageous? Can artists?
Some say art is driven by fear, by the need to express ourselves and the fear of being looked over, the fear of passing through this life without a means to validate our existence. As we take this evening to celebrate the scary and glorify the gory, let us also reflect on and respect how our deepest fears influence our art.
jamessheldon1 — October 19, 2011 - 20:30
I am often persuaded to begin a "business" book for one reason or another these days: "This author has interesting insights" or "I really think that there is a glimmer of universal truth about this subject". In fairness there are many good business reads out there that I could generalize as page turners in their own right--Barbarians at the Gate comes to mind instantly in that regard. However, as far as being close to anything like a great piece of literature they are miserably lacking in depth or complexity. The author usually draws on one, desperately apparent after chapter one, idea and uses this as the basis of his/her entire book. This isn't to say either that this idea can't be something that is novel or ingenious... but these authors' executions lack the virtuosity to intricately weave more than one idea synergistically into what I would call a great book.
deans55 — October 18, 2011 - 19:58
As the Internet continues to turn the entire world upside down (more or less), those of us in the creative arts have been left in particularly bipolar state, at once manic about the possibilities of essentially free distribution and depressed about the fact that it must come with a devaluation of our art.
As a musician, I am particularly sensitive to this fact. Since I'm not Lady Gaga (I'm still waiting on the millions of album sales and the sex change), I make pretty much nothing from my creative output. It's more of a hobby than anything else, even though I would love for it to be my main source of income.
If you want to be depressed about the state of the music industry, there are plenty of places to look and things to read. But if you want to be really unbelievably depressed about something you thought was cool before, check out this amazing infographic about how little musicians make from music online: http://www.informationisbeautiful.net/2010/how-much-do-music-artists-earn-online/.
It's a bit old and perhaps a little outdated in the details at this point, but it's pretty astounding. The most incredible figure is this: in order for a solo artist (yes, one person) to make a monthly minimum wage from his music, his album would have to be played 4,053,110 times on Spotify in a month.
Yes, 4,053,110 times.
For listeners, Spotify is a truly unbelievable -- free music, supported by minimal (though admittedly annoying) ads. For artists, it provides exposure but is, sadly, a nightmare financially.
Of course, artists can make money from other sources -- selling CDs, touring, etc., but the point is that most of the online business models (many of which are included in the infographic) pay virtually nothing.
So what does this mean for writing?
As creative economies move more and more toward being Internet-based, literature is a hold-out but no exception.
Corey Tazzara — October 4, 2011 - 22:10
In a Slate interview a few months ago, Philip Roth declared that he no longer reads fiction:
“I’ve stopped reading fiction,” he said. “I don’t read it at all. I read other things: history, biography. I don’t have the same interest in fiction that I once did.” Asked why, he said: “I don’t know. I wised up.”
Perhaps that explains why the Nobel prize bookies are giving him only 25-1 odds for picking up a prize this year, behind Adonis (4-1), Tomas Transtromer (9-2), Thomas Pynchon (10-1), and Haruki Murakami (16-1). He is tied, in the odds, with Cormac McCarthy, Joyce Carol Oates, and Don DeLillo.
On the other hand, it's rather surprising that Philip Roth ever read fiction. His own novels betray hardly a trace of interest in any of the fabulous literature published since the Second World War. I'd wager that only complete ignorance of the ambitious works of other writers could explain Roth's famous arrogance.
(Click to read about the Nobel prize betting)
jhcanel — October 2, 2011 - 15:53
I recently stumbled upon a critique of the LL chapbook and novella series. In a nutshell, the aspirant lambasted us for requesting that book manuscripts be submitted as PDFs, formatted entirely by the author. In the opinion of this critic, such a policy was slothful; he believed that LL, as publisher, assumed the responsibility of transforming manuscript novellas into finished works.
We request chapbooks and novellas in the form of a PDF because we want to see the unbridled creativity of our authors. We at LL are not copy-editors. That is not to say that we do not carefully copy-edit every book we accept before sending it to print... we do. But LL stands for the principle that literature, as a work of art, should constitute the product of its author's creativity (with bookmaking and formatting presenting mere extensions of the written project).
In the end, I find this critique comical. Such accusations of laziness are a thin disguise for the laziness of the authors who level them. If an author submitting to LL cannot be bothered to format his own manuscript, according to his own vision, why should we bother to give it consideration? Such disrespect for one's own art astounds me... Bad artists always admire each other's work. They call it being large minded and free from prejudice. But a truly great artist cannot conceive of life being shown, or beauty fashioned, under any condition other than those that he has selected.
marcustullius — September 30, 2011 - 01:02
As a fan of classical antiquity, I enjoy seeing ancient quotes crop up in the most unlikely places. Whether splayed across a national monument or displayed as a screenname beneath a wonderful blog post (see below), famous quotes worm their way into all sorts of situations.
But the Greeks and Romans aren't our only sources of inspiration. There's a stock of famed authors such that any sentence - no matter how banal - is infused with new life simply because of who may have said it in a fit of passion, frenzy, or delusion.
Nor is our adoration confined to quotes. If a well-loved author experienced adversity in childhood or faiied to eke out a living in her own lifetime, she becomes an inspiration. And rightly so. This post is not meant to detract from the remarkable feats and perseverance of famous authors in history. Instead, it only asks why the modern literary community is so captivated with alluding to and citing those who came before.
For instance, I have recently encountered an article that examines the role of antiquity in comforting us. That is, we look to the past to see that others have experienced similar pain or similar pleasure - that we are not the first to encounter the trying times which frequently define a human experience. But I feel that this is only a small part of the answer to a very large question.
Karpediem — September 14, 2011 - 23:15
"All happy families are alike, and all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way."
The beginning of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina speaks not only to the state of the world's families, but also to the state of the world's literature. The phenomenon of people failing to write compelling happy novels is discussed constantly, and one of the primary reasons for this phenomenon that comes of these discussions is the assertion that uniqueness in stories arises from the story's conflict. Without some conflict to make the characters unahppy, the story will likely fail to be unique and fail to captivate its audience.
This problem has fostered a culture where one can never expect a story to be hunky-dory all the way through. Even a story with a title like Katherine Mansfield's "Bliss" is expected (rightfully) to have major strife.
But in poetry, this is not the case. Plenty of poems successfully capture happiness in a way that is seeminly impossible for longer works of prose. Why is this? I posit this hypothesis, which I implore you to riddle with holes: Whereas prose has to explain a feeling uniquely, poetry has to simply describe it uniquely. In prose, we need to know why the character is happy; a plot event must happen to make the character feel that way, and plot events must keep that character happy in order for this feeling to remain. It is exceedingly difficult to do this and maintain a compelling story. With poetry, however, no justification is necessary; if the poet writes about happiness in an uncommon manner, the reader will be transfixed. As a result, happiness is much more plausible in poetry.
Elizabeth Metzger — September 11, 2011 - 13:32
While Literary Laundry is a publication that reveres the written word and, I believe, values the age-old tradition of verse in all its forms, LL is also a hub of dynamic and continuous conversation about the state of literature today (as evidenced by the below blogs). When it comes to the tradition of poetry, we generally agree that it began in an oral form as with Homer's famous ancient greek epics, spoken before written, sounds sung to express emotion, to tell a story, to be remembered. Even the word "language" comes from the word for tongue. While people often say poetry comes from the heart, the soul, the mind, etc, it is also undeniably physical: the rhythms, rhymes, alliterations, meter or line breaks, the cadences in general. Maybe poetry is indeed born in the mouth. This brings me to my question...what has happened to the oral tradition today? Maybe our lack of attention to this aspect of poetry is the reason poetry seems to live behind the great shadows of popular music, film, even plays and novels. What happened to the times when musicians named themselves after poets, like Bob Dylan with Dylan Thomas?
Of course, today, maybe more than ever audio readings of poems are available because of technological advancements. Often when searching for poems, I come across the chance to click a link and hear a poem in the poet's voice...reading series abound at universities and community centers, and yet...for a medium that values voice the most, there's seems to be some sort of dilution in the way be people read. On the one hand spoken word poetry has taken off, and can be quite exhilarating, but it can also fall into its own monotony, not only with familiar rhythms but also with content. Lyric poets on the other hand seem to retreat into either deadpan breathiness or unnatural lilts that try to hard to jerk the audience awake as if pausing at strange points will somehow clarify the sense of an obscure stanza.
Erica S. — July 13, 2011 - 21:46
McSweeney’s is unquestionably the funniest literary journal that I have come across. The publication is snarky, ironic, and hilarious, and the online archives of McSweeney’s Internet Tendency give the impression of being infinite. Which is great, because unfortunately I don’t have the budget for the actual print magazine, Timothy McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern; Issue 38 is currently available to pre-order for $55. So, whether you are eagerly awaiting the presently indeterminate release date of Issue 38 or lamenting the current state of your financial affairs, I would highly recommend checking out the extensive content available on McSweeney’s website.
McSweeney’s Internet Tendency is novel and fun. It’s updated daily, which is impressive, and easily organized to lead you to recently published pieces, as well as those deemed most popular by readers. A great deal of material takes the form of columns, which I find is both a hilarious and genius concept for a literary magazine. It’s fun that McSweeney’s showcases a variety of quirky and novel concepts of literature. Columns range from the likes of “Non-Essential Mnemonics” and “Chris White Answers Profound Questions about the Presidents” to more serious concerns such as “The Spark that Set the Arab World on Fire: Dispatches from Post-Revolutionary Tunisia.” In many cases, columns are maintained as would be traditionally expected: one author maintains a series of dispatches. However, there are also other columns that anyone can submit to, including the popular categories “Lists” and “Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond.”
Erica S. — July 5, 2011 - 20:36
I am slightly embarrassed to admit that before this weekend I had never read an issue of the Paris Review in its entirety; it had always been a publication that I would thumb through idly in my spare time, distractedly perusing its website, knowing that it was something I should read, but somehow never taking the time to really get into it. I picked up the summer issue, number 197, this weekend because now that I’ve spent the past few weeks reading smaller, more obscure literary journals, I was curious to see how they would measure up to what I’ve come to consider as the peak of contemporary literature. I was interested in comparing this standard to journals like Blood Lotus, Guernica, failbetter, and Literary Laundry.
I feel corny using the adjective “enthralling,” but that’s actually how I would describe my first true Paris Review experience. Reading this attractively petite print journal kept me captivated for five hours straight, an impressive feat for any form of modern day entertainment. The stories and interviews in this journal are transporting, just long enough to engulf you in a world of the highest quality literary indulgence. I know that by singing the Paris Review high praise, I am buying into the system, so to speak. Obviously the Paris Review has successfully branded itself as the pinnacle of new literature, and I do find myself questioning at times whether I am approaching its contents with the glasses tinted rose from reputation and hype. But ultimately I’m prepared to say that it’s more likely that the Paris Review is really good.
kelly.swope — July 1, 2011 - 08:57
Hey LL folks, picking up where I left my May 29 post, "The Old, the Contemporary, the New" with some reflections on literary history. As you'll read in this post, I think it’s important that we develop reflexes that enable us to critique our presuppositions about the histories to which our movement lays claim.
First, however, some review in case you didn't see the first post (or don't really feel like reading it): I derived the categories Old, Contemporary, and New from the editors' introductions to the first two issues of LL in which it was basically established that we are making "new" art here. Old art I called all of that which comes before us and affects what we are doing presently; it is what makes the New "inherently relational" to a history of art. The Contemporary I called all of that in the present with which we find fault, and against which we measure the innovations of the New. The New, of course, is what we are making here; according to our theory, it is unbeforeseen in the history of art.
As we reflect on what constitutes the Old, then, a passage from Theodor Adorno's Aesthetic Theory:
"Tradition is not to be abstractly negated but criticized without naiveté according to the current situation: Thus the present constitutes the past. Nothing is to be accepted unexamined just because it is available and was once held valuable; nor is anything to be dismissed because it belongs to the past; time alone provides no criterion."
marcustullius — June 30, 2011 - 13:25
Recently, I have been grappling with the challenge authors face when incorporating foreign languages into their writings. Many choose to italicize the given language in order to set it apart from the rest of the text. Mor often than not, the given phrase is then given a short translation -- either in a subordinate clause or sequestered away in parentheses. Cormac McCarthy has the pertinacity to use foreign phrases as regularly as English ones; let the reader be damned if he can't translate it properly. Strunk and White's little book on grammar has long held sway as an authoritative powerhouse of english language usage. I came across an interesting portion of it that deals with just this issue. The advice? Don't use foreign languages. At all. Avoid completely if possible because it just makes you sound worldy in a pretentious way and turns the reader off. As fellow writers, I am hoping you all could weigh in on this matter with any opinions as to whether one should include foreign phrases and, if yes, how to best do so.
pinkchucks18 — June 29, 2011 - 10:47
Let us commence:
“But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she’s not usually like this. Maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s also not impossible. It just depends what you want to consider. If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options.”
The above is from "This is Water," DFW's 2005 speech delivered at Kenyon College Commencement. I have to say that part of the reason I enjoy (well, sometimes they're hard to enjoy, per se) his works is that they never cease to remind me of why I write. As Virginia Woolf said, we, as writers, can "never forget Mrs. Brown"-- we can never forget the person-in-the-corner, the people we pass, the ones we perfunctorily interact with every day, because each one is living in his or her own novel as grand and expansive as our own. It's all about imagination and understanding. Thanks for the reminder, DFW.
Ilya Perelmuter — June 24, 2011 - 04:45
It seems to me, not a single poem with rhymes in your magazine. I am looking for contacts with poets writing rhyme poems. Very much interested in modern poets' perception of rhyme, attitude to rhyme poetry both as poets and readers. Would be very much obliged to anyone who could share views and opinions on the subject.
Thanks in advance,
Ilya Perelmuter, ilyaperelmuter@aol.de
Erica S. — June 20, 2011 - 20:42
Recently, I came across the online literary magazine failbetter, a ten-year-old journal whose name is inspired by a quote from Samuel Beckett: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” After reading a number of their recently published short stories and novel excerpts, I was impressed by the diversity and range of style and themes. Featured fiction selections range from short, playfully ambiguous narratives to longer, more developed character and relationship studies. All are captivating and enjoyable, although some perhaps more human and relatable than others.
“The Drunken Sailor,” by Shelagh Power-Chopra is a shorter selection which recounts a similarly brief sexual encounter with a man believed by the narrator to be a sailor. She meets a redheaded stranger in an alley, they drink gin, and make their way to her home, him singing the tune “What shall we do with a drunken sailor,” at various intervals. It’s unclear how the narrator comes to the conclusion that he is a sailor, but ultimately this story becomes a commentary on the power of imposed narrative, reminding me of one of Joan Didion’s signature observations, “we tell ourselves stories in order to live.” The narrator and her companion both eagerly engage in developing a full-fledged image of the man as a sailor, embellishing his past and profession, her noticing how everything about him is nautical: “he smelled good, salty and briny like an old rowboat.” However, the story ends with an admission: “I’m not really a sailor, you know…I just like that song. That’s all.”
Elizabeth Metzger — June 16, 2011 - 07:43
I just got back from a graduation trip/literary pilgrimage to London and Paris. Obviously, what we see when we visit a city for three days is probably less than reality but I realized it is important to consider what we mean when we talk about the state of literature today. Is it possible that while American poetry may be in more of a rusty age than a golden age, other countries are currently experiencing a golden literary/artistic age? I certainly don't think there is a Shakespeare thriving in London today or a Baudelaire in Paris but I did sense a greater appreciation for literature in both cities, especially Paris. And in London, I even stopped to speak to a poet in Tragalfar square who could recite all his poems by heart. I started to wonder if other countries, not in Europe necessarily, might indeed have a truly great author writing today? Of course, there is the question what is great, but that is a subject for a different post.
Erica S. — June 13, 2011 - 20:48
This week I read the online journals Guernica and Diode, both of which I found fresh, unique, and very enjoyable.
Described by its editors as “a magazine of art and politics,” the content of Guernica especially appeals to me. A bimonthly online journal, Guernica was founded in 2004 by Joel Whitney and Michael Archer, both of whom are very accomplished writers themselves. Guernica currently publishes art, poetry, fiction and photography from international writers and artists. In addition to this content, which is refreshed twice a month, Guernica maintains a blog which is updated every weekday.
Guernica also has an extensive archive of interviews with many high-profile personalities, including Howard Zinn, Joan Didion, John Updike, Nicholas Kristof, Don DeLillo, Junot Diaz, Alice Walker, John Yoo, and Oscar Arias. For those who enjoy the author interviews featured in The Paris Review, you will be similarly impressed by the Guernica archives. Featured this month is a transcription of an interview of Jane Goodall by Bill Moyers, excerpted from his new book Bill Moyers Journal: The Conversation Continues, forthcoming from The New Press. Although I have never been truly captivated or excited by Goodall and her work, I find this interview inspiring. Her love, compassion, and child-like amazement is beautiful and even transporting, making this interview definitely worth a read. I love Goodall’s description of her communication with the chimp she named David Greybeard:
Karpediem — June 12, 2011 - 23:32
I was sifting through Hallmark's Father's Day Card selection at Safeway today. Generally, the cards took one of two tones: sentimental or humorous. My father is generally someone who would prefer the humor. However, many of the humor choices were not particularly funny, and few were actually intelligent in their humor. This got me thinking: what if I could write a line of humorous "literary" Hallmark Father's Day cards? I'll post a few bad ideas of mine below, and if you have any others then post them in reply!
(Poor) Examples:
Front: You've given me life, so I feel it's my duty to save yours. As your Father's Day gift...Inside: I promise I won't let your brother anywhere near your ears with a vial of poison. (Hamlet)
Front: You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Inside: And to be honest, I can't imagine what it must have been like to raise me, so I may never be able to understand you. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate you though! Happy Father's Day! (To Kill A Mockingbird)
Sakina Esufally — June 9, 2011 - 10:43
Recently, I've had trouble picking out a good book. Since it's summer, I've found myself wandering around numerous bookstores, looking for good books to add to my reading list. For the life of me, however, I don't know what to pick. Looking back, I've never had this issue before. Lately, though, I feel like every book I pick up has recommendations like "Absolutely brilliant," "Fast-paced throughout" or some such generic claim. This is aside from it being on such-and-such bestseller lists and the averagely-impressive number of copies it has sold. It places the innocent reader in the middle of a warzone. How am I to know, for instance, that this apparent international bestseller (among hundreds) won't leave me groaning at cliche phraseology or diction. Don't get me wrong, I am all for light-hearted, summer reads (I find it quite therapeutic actually). I just don't want to purchase a book that has a potentially intriguing idea and find that its shallowness is something to be marvelled at. Gone are the days, apparently, when I'd know a good book just by picking it up.
Erica S. — June 6, 2011 - 20:41
This week I encountered the online literary journal Blood Lotus for the first time and was quite impressed. The quarterly journal was established in 2006 by a group of editors who claim to “loath the overly cynical notion that everything worth writing about is already recorded.” Their submission guidelines explain that the journal is looking to publish pieces that explore new methods of conveying ideas, emotions and stories. “Make it real; that’s our only standard,” they say, condemning writing that is unnecessarily inaccessible and pretentious.
The latest issue, number 20, which was released last month, features a wide variety of poems, prose fiction (all less than 4,500 words), and critical book reviews of works by writers who have previously been published in Blood Lotus. There are also some pieces that can’t be easily classified as either prose or poetry, or any other conventional genre, for that matter. Blood Lotus makes a point to accept what they call “gray area submissions,” a tradition established by the editors because they “didn’t like having to decide what was poetry and what was fiction.” The gray area also provides an opportunity for the journal to publish genres that aren’t fiction or poetry, such as nonfiction, drama, interview, or other, less traditional forms like “prose poetry” and “flash fiction.”
willgemma — June 1, 2011 - 13:17
The introduction to the poetry section of Vol 1, Issue 2, reads: "If poetry is to reclaim a vital pulse in intellectual culture, it must become more difficult." And later: "Colloquial poetry evinces no mystery at all." I politely question the first statement on the grounds of evidence - more difficult than what? Homer, Shakespeare, Ashberry? Lowell, Plath, Young? Gluck, Howe, Flynn, Dickman? I agree there can be merit in difficulty, as is proved by thousands of years of poetic history, but without further stipulations (and I mean more than: "Difficult poetry seeks to question and to complicate, challenging with its nuance the presumptions we bring to bear on experience." I mean, as far as poetry is concerned, no shit) that sounds like the most boring, lifeless thing I can imagine.
I politely disagree with the second statement, again on the grounds of evidence. Colloquial poetry is going to be part of the poetic future whether anyone likes it or not. Poetry written in high-brow, deliberately complex language is really doing well, huh? I used to bash it, too (colloquial poetry, that is - and to provide examples, Young and Dickman are the best of the aforementioned), and bashed rap and hip-hop in favor of classic rock - but classic rock was bashed when it was around; Picasso was a realist before inventing cubism; and Shakespeare didn't write plays for the King and Queen, he wrote for the lower classes. Poetry is about evolution and representation, and saying that colloquial poetry evinces no mystery at all is like bitch-slapping the Beats into obscurity.
churcheb — June 1, 2011 - 01:29
As a writer I have significant interest invested in understanding the way that people think about good art, and why they have the opinions that they do of said work. How, I ask, does a readership physically hold a piece of writing in its collective mind, examine it, feel it, weigh its worth, and ultimately decide to keep it dearly in its consciousness, or to let it whither away into the ever-widening black hole of forgotten things?
This week, I have stumbled upon the importance of beginnings.
How many novels, poems, plays, or other written pieces do you know by their first line? Ask yourself. Do not ask yourself why--yet--but allow the idea to sink in. If you are like me, you derive some sort of comfort from the fact that you can seemingly bundle up so many beautiful works of art in so many first words. Let that feeling sweep over you--try to remember some of your favorites.
In the miniature library that I happen to have brought with me to Nashville, TN, taken as a satellite of sorts from the larger one in my home in North Carolina, I have compiled a list of first lines that many of you, Dear Readers, will probably recognize. It is missing some of the most famous and most dazzling, but my limited library will serve the point at hand:
"They're out there." --Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." --Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" --William Shakespeare, "Sonnet XVIII"
"Call me Ishmael." --Herman Melville, Moby Dick
"I am an invisible man." --Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man
"The idea of eternal return is a mysterious one..." --Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Caroline Schwartz — June 1, 2011 - 00:42
As an avid reader, I naturally attempt to make my way through the classics. Whether I'm flying through the slightly guilty pleasurable works of Jane Austin or slaving over the heavy word choices in Moby Dick, each book offered me thought-provoking insight that stuck with me long after reading the final page. However, for some reason, no other book seemed to have impacted me the way Catch-22 has.
Almost a year ago, I decided to pick up Joseph Heller's humorous account of war, the origin of the infamous phrase "Catch-22." Recently, I find my mind wandering back to the book to the point that I not only read the Wikipedia page on the book itself, but I perused the character pages as well. When reading the book for the first time, it may seem like a large jigsaw puzzle with hazy time periods and nonlinear storytelling. Each sentence is a circular "Catch-22," providing both humor and irony. The theory of "Catch-22" is a confusing concept that I had trouble wrapping my mind around, though I wanted desperately to understand the intricacies of the rule in each specific case it was used.
Submissions for our fifth journal issue are
due June 1, 2012.
Submissions for our eighth Showcase are due February 20, 2012.
Literary Laundry is now accepting applications to join our editorial team.
