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.”

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.

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.”

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:

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.”

When I applied to the an editor for Literary Laundry, I had to answer the following question as part of my application: "What is the purpose of contemporary creative writing in our society? This is obviously a hard question; we just want to hear your thoughts." My response was rather vague and covered a variety of preconceptions regarding the functional role of literature. I wrote that good writing should aim to inspire introspection, and that creative writing can be invaluable in this regard because it allows us to transcend reality and broaden our perspectives. Humans are largely defined by their capacity for language, I asserted, and literature is a venue for sharing ideas and promoting curiosity and awareness. Literature is a celebration of humanity, I championed.