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The Foundationalist
Bowdoin College, English, Undergraduate
- We are an intercollegiate literary journal, spearheaded by editorial boards at Bowdoin College, Yale University, and ... moreWe are an intercollegiate literary journal, spearheaded by editorial boards at Bowdoin College, Yale University, and University of Iowa. We serve as a platform for undergraduate works of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and essays; showcasing the most outstanding and diverse works of undergraduate writing internationally.edit
{Kinsale Drake, Yale University} After Billy- Ray Belcourt, In a Connecticut winter, I walk / Through the walls of the YUAG/ And dream of exploding / Every Picasso into a snowstorm.
Research Interests:
{Shelby Rice, Miami University} you’re no longer catholic but your patron saint sticks around. you’re not sure why . she’s sort of morphed into an imaginary friend you monologue to alone in your apartment, carrying full conversations on... more
{Shelby Rice, Miami University} you’re no longer catholic but your patron saint sticks around. you’re not sure why . she’s sort of morphed into an imaginary friend you monologue to alone in your apartment, carrying full conversations on with a goddamn spectre
Research Interests:
{Bailey A. Moskowitz, University of Virginia} In this paper, I will first illuminate how Morrison’s writing suggests artistic expression as a way for individuals to realize their identities. I will then investigate how other authors... more
{Bailey A. Moskowitz, University of Virginia} In this paper, I will first
illuminate how Morrison’s writing suggests artistic expression as a way for individuals
to realize their identities. I will then investigate how other authors depict Morrison’s theory of self-realization, thereby exploring how the production and dissemination of
art can serve as both healing means of expression and as forces capable of isolating the artist.
illuminate how Morrison’s writing suggests artistic expression as a way for individuals
to realize their identities. I will then investigate how other authors depict Morrison’s theory of self-realization, thereby exploring how the production and dissemination of
art can serve as both healing means of expression and as forces capable of isolating the artist.
Research Interests:
{Kelsie Bennett, New York University} The way into a man’s pants is through his ego. Mom taught her that when Candy was thirteen and being bullied in middle school for the gap between her front teeth. If she were a boy or had a daddy to... more
{Kelsie Bennett, New York University} The way into a man’s pants is through his ego. Mom taught her that when Candy was thirteen and being bullied in middle school for the gap between her front teeth. If she were a boy or had a daddy to teach her, maybe she would have learned to fight. But Mom still armed her. No middle school boy cared about the gap between her teeth once she’d complimented his snapback, and his tongue was in her mouth
Research Interests:
{Clementine Williams, North Carolina State University} I don’t want to work no mo’, / and that don’t make me lazy / ‘cause I done licked / the boot and pulled / up my straps for a / dolla’ seventy"five
Research Interests:
{Max Lee Fang, University of Chicago} Let me tell you a real story. It was January 2018. I was on summer break—seasons in the southern hemisphere are reversed—and my mother and I traveled back to China to visit family and friends. I was... more
{Max Lee Fang, University of Chicago} Let me tell you a real story.
It was January 2018. I was on summer break—seasons in the southern
hemisphere are reversed—and my mother and I traveled back to China to visit family and friends. I was only fifteen, so my parents didn’t tell me exactly what was going on, but I’m observant, always have been, and I had some idea of why I was sent off to stay with my dad in Suzhou while my mother spent nearly all her time in Beijing. My aunt was sick.
It was January 2018. I was on summer break—seasons in the southern
hemisphere are reversed—and my mother and I traveled back to China to visit family and friends. I was only fifteen, so my parents didn’t tell me exactly what was going on, but I’m observant, always have been, and I had some idea of why I was sent off to stay with my dad in Suzhou while my mother spent nearly all her time in Beijing. My aunt was sick.
Research Interests:
{Campbell Sharpe, Washington University in St. Louis} At the supermarket, I /
Buy a bruised pomegranate. // A cat stretches and shrinks / Along the lip of a dumpster.
Buy a bruised pomegranate. // A cat stretches and shrinks / Along the lip of a dumpster.
Research Interests:
{Emma Schick, University of Colorado Boulder} Maisie comes back home, unexpected, on a Tuesday afternoon. One minute, you’re about to be carsick in the back of Mom’s beat up, sour smelling minivan. The next, there’s a girl on the front... more
{Emma Schick, University of Colorado Boulder} Maisie comes back home, unexpected, on a Tuesday afternoon. One minute, you’re about to be carsick in the back of Mom’s beat up, sour smelling minivan. The next, there’s a girl on the front porch you don’t recognize. She’s smoking a cigarette and grins around it when she sees you, putting up her hand to wave.
Research Interests:
{Anna Kabulakhova, University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa} It’s dark. Maybe because it’s night, maybe because you’re standing below a behemoth mountain. It rises vertical. A wall. A fence. Teeth biting the land into two. Its sharp ridges carved... more
{Anna Kabulakhova, University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa} It’s dark. Maybe because it’s night, maybe because you’re standing below a behemoth mountain. It rises vertical. A wall. A fence. Teeth biting the land into two. Its sharp ridges carved by millions of years of rain and wind. Erosion. The neighborhood is quiet in the pocket of this looming giant.
Pray for stealth.
Pray for stealth.
Research Interests:
{Dylan Richmond, Bowdoin College} the ocean, albumen, the land, yolk! / unleavened, yet to be bred.
Research Interests:
{Isabelle Edgar, Stanford University} Little Bird: She used to frighten people with her eyebrows. The way they flashed in arcs upwards then disappeared into horizon lines. She knew the color gray like the back of her hand and he knew the... more
{Isabelle Edgar, Stanford University} Little Bird: She used to frighten people with her eyebrows. The way they flashed in arcs upwards then disappeared into horizon lines. She knew the color gray like the back of her hand and he knew the back of her hand like it was the map to leave Minsk. They dreamed of footsteps and scrubbed the corners of the windows with a sponge soaked in olive oil and crumbs.
Research Interests:
{Nora Sullivan Horner, Bowdoin College} I do not trust a story if I am not able to tell it myself. The warped lens of millennia has a way of distorting the truth, sometimes cracking it in half entirely. I do not remember being born. But I... more
{Nora Sullivan Horner, Bowdoin College} I do not trust a story if I am not able to tell it myself. The warped lens of millennia has a way of distorting the truth, sometimes cracking it in half entirely. I do not remember being born. But I remember the things that happened after that. And if I close my eyes for long enough, I am brought back to those first days in that first place. Would you like to hear something true?
Research Interests:
{Meghan Farbridge, McGill University} Through their radical poetics, Moore and H.D. stretch, revision, and redefine subjectivity , both within and beyond the material self. Here, I read their representations of the body by way of... more
{Meghan Farbridge, McGill University} Through their radical poetics, Moore and H.D. stretch, revision, and redefine subjectivity , both within and beyond the material self. Here, I read their representations of the body by way of posthumanist thought. Moore and H.D.’s poetry demonstrates a generative move towards a new imagination of embodiment ! one wherein all beings assume equal ontological status.
Research Interests: H.D. (Hilda Doolittle), Embodiment Theory, Donna Haraway, Marianne Moore, Virginai Woolf, and 2 morefeminist poetics, Hilda Doolittle (H.D.), cultural poetics and Feminism, Women's & Gender Studies, US Literatures (esp. Chicana authors, "multi-ethnic literatures", poetry, humor in literature), Other literatures in English, Critical theory (esp. dialogics, ecocriticism, queer theory, posthumanism), Film & media
{Esther Eunsuh Park, Bowdoin College} The House catches on fire / and the people
ash-blind, smoke-dazed, / point at a girl, barely woman
ash-blind, smoke-dazed, / point at a girl, barely woman
Research Interests:
{Hanna-Sophie Klasing, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin} I am made up entirely of almosts; / I am almost a vegetarian, / Almost a lesbian, / Almost a woman, /Almost grown-up.
{Sammy Aiko, University of Chicago} We're in your apartment. / There are clothes and books and pill bottles everywhere / Acetaminophen, fluoxetine, dextroamphetamine. / Sorry about the mess, you say. / I shrug and drop my coat on the floor.
{Lily Weber, Northeastern University} We were in a playground when we took the acid. Not one I was familiar with. That was my first mistake. Anyone who knows anything about psychedelic drugs will tell you that it’s best to be in a place... more
{Lily Weber, Northeastern University} We were in a playground when we took the acid. Not one I was familiar with. That was my first mistake. Anyone who knows anything about psychedelic drugs will tell you that it’s best to be in a place you know. Where you feel safe. That same rule applies to the people you’re with. If you’d asked me at the time whether I felt safe with the two men I was with, I would have answered in the affirmative. No question. One of them was my boyfriend Liam.
Research Interests:
{Surya Hendry, Stanford University} When the sun does not rise, the earthworm does. Tiptoeing toelessly through root and loam to lick the air, the drops of rain. In all her life // this will be her most glorious experience: fresh water... more
{Surya Hendry, Stanford University} When the sun does not rise, the earthworm does. Tiptoeing toelessly through root and loam to lick the air, the drops of rain. In all her life //
this will be her most glorious experience: fresh water caressing her all"tongue body .
She asks not the source of her pleasure. She has no word for sky .
this will be her most glorious experience: fresh water caressing her all"tongue body .
She asks not the source of her pleasure. She has no word for sky .
Research Interests:
{Elise Nass, New York University} In the rotting ribcage of a village long since burned to ash is a half-house, slowly becoming a part of the rolling green hills. Thorns and roses grow over stone. Through the frosted window a child sits,... more
{Elise Nass, New York University} In the rotting ribcage of a village long since burned to ash is a half-house, slowly becoming a part of the rolling green hills. Thorns and roses grow over stone. Through the frosted window a child sits, atop a wooden stool, poking at her pancakes and honey. Even favorite foods lose flavor when eaten too often, she discovers, and it’s been pancakes or carrots for days, taking flour from the burlap sack in the cellar that will run out one day. Then she’ll be left with what she can fry over the small fire in the center room of the house. Mushrooms wait in jars. They taste strange on her tongue, but eventually, hunger will drive her to eat them anyway. Once, they had dried meat hanging from the rafters, but now deer are scarce. Spooning the last of the pancakes into her mouth, she pads over dirt floors toward the fire now, mindful that she must never, ever, let it go out. Finch will be very angry if he comes back to a cold house.
{Shade Ayeni, University of Virginia} Father, if you forgave my parents for infecting me with Hatred / during my conception, / extend such forgiveness to my soul / before I see you !
Research Interests:
{Ari Brown, Brown University} Stuck at home scrolling through his social media amidst the backdrop of a global pandemic, 21-year-old Aeham Fatheen began to notice a bizarre trend: Friends -- both from college and from back home in the... more
{Ari Brown, Brown University} Stuck at home scrolling through his social media amidst the backdrop of a global pandemic, 21-year-old Aeham Fatheen began to notice a bizarre trend: Friends -- both from college and from back home in the Maldives -- were buying betta fish.
{Michelle Chen, University of Chicago} Evan // It was summer in North Florida, and white men were grilling alligator sausages in the Korean Barbecue restaurant while we slurped on jell-o from the Asian market, and Evan wrote “BITCOIN” on... more
{Michelle Chen, University of Chicago} Evan // It was summer in North Florida, and white men were grilling alligator sausages in the Korean Barbecue restaurant while we slurped on jell-o from the Asian market, and Evan wrote “BITCOIN” on the wall for fun.
Research Interests:
{Talia Protos, New York University} gabe said he wrote a poem about the year of the rat /
that my pet rats were the final straw for him after months of hearing about rats / apparently i made it into the poem
that my pet rats were the final straw for him after months of hearing about rats / apparently i made it into the poem
{Isabella Brewer, Rutgers University} She lived alone in a neighborhood with many. In a little house with white siding, the simple, slant-roof starter kind that kindergarteners draw with crayons -- it had a quaint suburban symmetry. And... more
{Isabella Brewer, Rutgers University} She lived alone in a neighborhood with many.
In a little house with white siding, the simple, slant-roof starter kind that kindergarteners draw with crayons -- it had a quaint suburban symmetry. And the picket fences pressed right up against her flower boxes in the front, right up against her neighbors on each side, right up against her and her tiny garden.
In a little house with white siding, the simple, slant-roof starter kind that kindergarteners draw with crayons -- it had a quaint suburban symmetry. And the picket fences pressed right up against her flower boxes in the front, right up against her neighbors on each side, right up against her and her tiny garden.
{Zhu Zhuan, University of Hong Kong} This morning, the chap at the barber’s / found on me a dozen white hair. / And I said to all his mirrors " / “See if I care.”
Research Interests:
{Jie Venus Cohen, Mount Holyoke} A collection of four poems: calypso, Circe., Samson & Delilah, Agdistis I
Research Interests:
{Tori Ingram, University of Massachusetts Amherst} We sleep upon cots. / Sneakers squeak on the gymnasium floor, and fathers groan while mothers scream. / It’s blurry to my eyes now, but my tongue remembers / the stale animal crackers and... more
{Tori Ingram, University of Massachusetts Amherst} We sleep upon cots. / Sneakers squeak on the gymnasium floor, and fathers groan while mothers scream. / It’s blurry to my eyes now, but my tongue remembers / the stale animal crackers and the smoky air.
{A.J. Vitiello, The New School} Set the fork on the left and on top of the napkin; set the spoon on the right and next to the knife; don’t bite your nails at the dinner table, or I’ll polish them with deterrent; melt a Kraft Single in the... more
{A.J. Vitiello, The New School} Set the fork on the left and on top of the napkin; set the spoon on the right and next to the knife; don’t bite your nails at the dinner table, or I’ll polish them with deterrent; melt a Kraft Single in the microwave on your bagel if you really want to taste God; dump your dishes in the dishwasher after you finish eating; when blowing leaves to make yourself a nice pile, be sure to stand clear of the hydrangeas, because that way you’ll preserve their bluish tint; rest on the cushion and not on the edge of the couch;
Research Interests:
{Greta Schmitzer, University of Florida} I carefully adjust the knives I have set on the table one more time to make sure they are straight. The legs of the chairs scratch on the floor as I line them up with the floorboards. I add just a... more
{Greta Schmitzer, University of Florida} I carefully adjust the knives I have set on the table one more time to make sure they are straight. The legs of the chairs scratch on the floor as I line them up with the floorboards. I add just a drop into one of the wine glasses to make their portions exactly even. The dinner I cooked is laid out neatly on the table. I tug the tablecloth to remove any wrinkles and then, when that moves the silverware, I adjust them again...
Research Interests:
{Kate Tapscott, Bowdoin College} Although The City and the Pillar’s protagonist Jim Willard vacillates on a number of issues throughout the text, one inclination of his remains markedly constant and unambiguous: his aversion to women.... more
{Kate Tapscott, Bowdoin College} Although The City and the Pillar’s protagonist Jim Willard vacillates on a number of issues throughout the text, one inclination of his remains markedly constant and unambiguous: his aversion to women. Jim’s sexual encounters with women range from terrifying ordeals in which he considers the idea of sex “obscene” to surface-level affairs devoid of physical contact, and even outside a sexual context he can barely muster up anything beyond a vague distaste for most women (Vidal 52).
Research Interests:
{Basia Siwek, Emerson College} Come home to the pretty, blonde, and problematic. Come home to the women who scoop you a dollop of Daisy and dream for Dolly Parton’s waist. The women of the apocolipstick, whose hot honeypot heads hear... more
{Basia Siwek, Emerson College} Come home to the pretty, blonde, and problematic. Come home to the women who scoop you a dollop of Daisy and dream for Dolly Parton’s waist. The women of the apocolipstick, whose hot honeypot heads hear voices.
Oh secret society of husband hexing—who is next in line to the throne for the vicious, vivid dimension of the housewives with third eyes. Oh ladies of the CRV, near the brink of explosion from exploitation--you left the dirty underwear on the carpet. Next time you go scum shopping in a tin can forest, I ask you to cradle me into my next life, for I will never cry again. I will bake my own bread and befriend the couture girls.
Oh secret society of husband hexing—who is next in line to the throne for the vicious, vivid dimension of the housewives with third eyes. Oh ladies of the CRV, near the brink of explosion from exploitation--you left the dirty underwear on the carpet. Next time you go scum shopping in a tin can forest, I ask you to cradle me into my next life, for I will never cry again. I will bake my own bread and befriend the couture girls.
Research Interests:
{Natsumi Meyer, Bowdoin College} Its early morning and delicately cut shards of sunlight are warming the tatami floor. The room is washed with a hazy yellow, and the window shades made of thick, hardened paper stretched across a wooden... more
{Natsumi Meyer, Bowdoin College} Its early morning and delicately cut shards of sunlight are warming the tatami floor. The room is washed with a hazy yellow, and the window shades made of thick, hardened paper stretched across a wooden scaffold seem to glow white. I am lying on a mattress on the floor that’s dressed with towels instead of sheets, but the blankets covering my body are exceedingly soft. My hair is still damp.
Out of the quiet, there is a sudden rush of feathers and a crow flutters onto the windowsill outside. He violently beats his wings and steps in a circle. He raises his beak towards the sun and shrieks.
Out of the quiet, there is a sudden rush of feathers and a crow flutters onto the windowsill outside. He violently beats his wings and steps in a circle. He raises his beak towards the sun and shrieks.
Research Interests:
{Nathan Chu, Kenyon College} I’d like to imagine that for a few, very brief moments in our lives, we can slip out of ourselves and view the world through someone else. It’s a ridiculous thought, being able to truly understand things from... more
{Nathan Chu, Kenyon College} I’d like to imagine that for a few, very brief moments in our lives, we can slip out of ourselves and view the world through someone else. It’s a ridiculous thought, being able to truly understand things from another person’s point of view, but from under the film that coats my eyes, I like to peak out and wonder.
Research Interests:
{Nina Merkofer, University of Basel} Ancient castles and ivy-covered ruins with spiral staircases, eerie dungeons, and hidden trap doors set the scenery for terrific tales of lurking villains, mysterious outsiders, fair maidens, valorous... more
{Nina Merkofer, University of Basel} Ancient castles and ivy-covered ruins with spiral staircases, eerie dungeons, and hidden trap doors set the scenery for terrific tales of lurking villains, mysterious outsiders, fair maidens, valorous heroes, and supernatural on-goings. These dark, uncanny, and suspenseful stories draw the readers into the mysterious and fantastic world of the Gothic. Surrounded by the
ideas of enlightenment, Gothic literature presented a backlash against the predictability and regularity of the literature of the Age of Reason. The core ideas of this literary trend were retrieved from the stories of traditional folksay and from gripping mysteries of the gloomy past.
ideas of enlightenment, Gothic literature presented a backlash against the predictability and regularity of the literature of the Age of Reason. The core ideas of this literary trend were retrieved from the stories of traditional folksay and from gripping mysteries of the gloomy past.
Research Interests:
{Kira Santana, University of Hawai’i at Manoa} Born from the grey rocks at the edge of the fjord, my blood runs // as clear blue saltwater, my bones grafted from the sand // at the bottom of the sea, out of the long, curving Oslofjord I... more
{Kira Santana, University of Hawai’i at Manoa} Born from the grey rocks at the edge of the fjord, my blood runs // as clear blue saltwater, my bones grafted from the sand // at the bottom of the sea, out of the long, curving Oslofjord I came, and back to its shores // I return, the anatomy of a small seaside town sticking // like wind in sails to my palm lines.
Research Interests:
{Nicole Fan, University College London} Virginia Woolf once asserted that the ‘arts of painting and writing lay close together’, and her commitment to this creative ethos is indeed evident in her visually evocative texts (Roger Fry 239).... more
{Nicole Fan, University College London} Virginia Woolf once asserted that the ‘arts of painting and writing lay close together’, and her commitment to this creative ethos is indeed evident in her visually evocative texts (Roger Fry 239). In two of her most painterly works, To the Lighthouse (1927) and The Waves (1931), this artistic fusion comes to the fore as she incorporates the techniques of two modern art movements.
Research Interests:
{Olive Amdur, Amherst College} The subway is slow when it rains in New York City: the underground air in every station humid and heavy, the uneven floors of train cars covered in puddles. On sunny days and during warm months, the weeds... more
{Olive Amdur, Amherst College} The subway is slow when it rains in New York City: the underground air in every station humid and heavy, the uneven floors of train cars covered in puddles. On sunny days and during warm months, the weeds and trees rooted beneath the concrete sidewalks above those subways grow faster, greener, and thicker, towards the air. Even in New York, with its steeled and solid built environment, our lives are intertwined with and fundamentally shaped by weather, nature, and Earth. Why, then, have we long distanced the city—our cities—from this intimacy, and what does this do to us?
Research Interests:
{Meredith H. Benjamin, Grinnell College} in the painting the men argue in a phosphorescent room.// i have spent all morning staring at Jesus on the cross.// the silence was tense and awkward.//so i asked him oh my god how’ve you... more
{Meredith H. Benjamin, Grinnell College} in the painting the men argue
in a phosphorescent room.// i have spent all morning staring at Jesus on the cross.// the silence was tense and awkward.//so i asked him oh my god how’ve you been??//and hey, have you heard from your dad lately?//which was cringey, i know, but in my defense// the past few years, God has been a little off the grid.
in a phosphorescent room.// i have spent all morning staring at Jesus on the cross.// the silence was tense and awkward.//so i asked him oh my god how’ve you been??//and hey, have you heard from your dad lately?//which was cringey, i know, but in my defense// the past few years, God has been a little off the grid.
Research Interests:
{Eleanor Ambler, Arizona State University} We swirling women block the sun //(only darkness for the first sin repeated in living flesh //sagging breasts fail a test //we are not worthy)// Children marvel as tulle dances between our legs;... more
{Eleanor Ambler, Arizona State University} We swirling women block the sun
//(only darkness for the first sin repeated in living flesh //sagging breasts fail a test //we are not worthy)// Children marvel as tulle dances between our legs; we marvel as we billow, waiflike, into air// (we dream of translucent skinned// flowing limbs shifting// against substanceless skirts)
//(only darkness for the first sin repeated in living flesh //sagging breasts fail a test //we are not worthy)// Children marvel as tulle dances between our legs; we marvel as we billow, waiflike, into air// (we dream of translucent skinned// flowing limbs shifting// against substanceless skirts)
Research Interests:
{Tabitha Chilton, Bucknell University} Late July in the Catskill mountains was still cool, sometimes it would stay in the sixties all day and be too cold to swim. On too cool days we would catch salamanders in the shallow edges of the... more
{Tabitha Chilton, Bucknell University} Late July in the Catskill mountains was still cool, sometimes it would stay in the sixties all day and be too cold to swim. On too cool days we would catch salamanders in the shallow edges of the lake. When we were particularly committed, my cousins and I wore rainboots and carried rusty nets over our shoulders, wading through rocks and mud. Certain spots were particularly squishy and if you didn’t step very cautiously you’d wander into one of those soft spots and sink a few inches until the clear lake water flooded your boots and splashed between your toes.
Research Interests:
{Paddy Qiu, University of Kansas} I. Supplication. Our first bus ride took us to Chinatown in Flushing, Queens. As we rode closer to the epicenter, the white ghosts, bai gui, dissipate. Their slick-shined shoes shuffling off one by one,... more
{Paddy Qiu, University of Kansas} I. Supplication. Our first bus ride took us to Chinatown in Flushing, Queens. As we rode closer to the epicenter, the white ghosts, bai gui, dissipate. Their slick-shined shoes shuffling off one by one, my eyes darting towards the exit. Patiently waiting for supplication, I questioned whether I should have left with them. When my father and I got to our stop, I stomped on the foot of a Chinese grandmother.
Research Interests:
{Sean Etter, Emerson College} Maurice took me hunting a few times each year, the only times I was allowed to venture beyond our village and into the frozen wilderness. The rules were that I had to stay close to him, the large imperious... more
{Sean Etter, Emerson College} Maurice took me hunting a few times each year, the only times I was allowed to venture beyond our village and into the frozen wilderness. The rules were that I had to stay close to him, the large imperious figure who protected me from the dangers of the wild, and I had to follow all of his instructions to a T. My curiosity always got the best of me, though, and I’d go around touching every branch, stone, rabbit (although they always ran away if I got close), anything I could get close to, really.
Research Interests:
{Joshua Lee, University of Washington} It has been 21 days since Blaine Hughes’ sudden disappearance from Meadowbrook, WI. After a lengthy and extensive effort from the Meadowbrook Police Department, Sheriff Emile Barlow has called off... more
{Joshua Lee, University of Washington} It has been 21 days since Blaine Hughes’ sudden disappearance from Meadowbrook, WI. After a lengthy and extensive effort from the Meadowbrook Police Department, Sheriff Emile Barlow has called off the search. Blaine Hughes, 18, is a student of Meadowbrook High School. He was set to graduate with the class of 1988 and attend Blackhawk Technical College in the fall.
Research Interests:
{Andrea Rodríguez, Bowdoin College} It was a cooler December night than most. Out over the water, the stars shone intently, and an orange glow illuminated the mostly deserted street. In a normal year, the pier might’ve looked different,... more
{Andrea Rodríguez, Bowdoin College} It was a cooler December night than most. Out over the water, the stars shone intently, and an orange glow illuminated the mostly deserted street. In a normal year, the pier might’ve looked different, maybe filled with loud conversations over the sound of a speaker blasting reggaetón and an ever-growing pile of beer bottles overflowing a nearby trash can. Now that the COVID-19 pandemic quieted the streets each night, a lone pedestrian could probably make out the rhythmic sounds of ocean water crashing against the coralline rocks below.
Research Interests:
{Rachelle Claire Strub, University of Basel} In The French Lieutenant’s Woman, John Fowles uses metalepsis and metafiction as common devices of postmodern literature to create surprise and shock in the readers. These strategies connect... more
{Rachelle Claire Strub, University of Basel} In The French Lieutenant’s Woman, John Fowles uses metalepsis and metafiction as common devices of postmodern literature to create surprise and shock in the readers. These strategies connect his text to the genre of neo-sensation fiction. The aim of this paper is to outline how these instances of metalepsis and metafiction in both the novel and the film are connected to (neo)-sensation fiction.
Research Interests:
{Maya Gelsi, Syracuse University} Clouds shout down into the// street as the wind swirls together an apparition// made of bright rain, sycamores, the smell of// a field. The water curtains you off; these// cities lace their steel... more
{Maya Gelsi, Syracuse University} Clouds shout down into the// street as the wind swirls together an apparition// made of bright rain, sycamores, the smell of// a field. The water curtains you off; these// cities lace their steel fingers.
Research Interests: Poetry and Ezra Pound
{Makenzie Hallstrom, University of Washington} That feeling I thought I grew away from// comes back to me with the rising tide, and even though // I have long since tossed you into the ocean, // it seems I cannot stop searching the... more
{Makenzie Hallstrom, University of Washington} That feeling I thought I grew away from// comes back to me with the rising tide, and even though // I have long since tossed you into the ocean, // it seems I cannot stop searching the shoreline for your body.
Research Interests:
{Caitlin Woodford, University of Virginia} When the thunder comes over the mountains, we hear it before we smell it and see it and run from it. But before we hear it, the rumble starts in the pit of our stomachs—the gut feels the far-away... more
{Caitlin Woodford, University of Virginia} When the thunder comes over the mountains, we hear it before we smell it and see it and run from it. But before we hear it, the rumble starts in the pit of our stomachs—the gut feels the far-away shaking of clouds and water. For my mother, the feeling starts long before that. Her bones are built to rattle with the mountain thunder. She can smell lightning from miles away.
Research Interests:
{Anna Kalabukhova, University of Hawaii at Manoa} You always told me to dream big. I never really understood what that meant until I’d seen how far you had come. You told me you were raised in Moscow but that was not exactly accurate, was... more
{Anna Kalabukhova, University of Hawaii at Manoa} You always told me to dream big. I never really understood what that meant until I’d seen how far you had come. You told me you were raised in Moscow but that was not exactly accurate, was it? It is at least a two hours’ drive from the city center to your childhood home. I watch the glittering skyscrapers of the modernized city center fall away into the ash-colored Stalinist architecture that gets more sootier the farther you get from the capitol’s epicenter, like tree rings aging around the core.
Research Interests:
{Shirley Liu, Lafayette College} My local hardware store offers 112 swatches in/ white, chantilly and ivory and eggshell./ I choose panna cotta because I have a sweet tooth/ and because it is two shades lighter than my palms.
Research Interests:
{Maddie Chiu, Washington University in St. Louis} In Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, Woolf explores the force of punctuation, particularly those of brackets and parentheses, on the text itself and those reading the text. She... more
{Maddie Chiu, Washington University in St. Louis} In Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, Woolf explores the force of punctuation, particularly those of brackets and parentheses, on the text itself and those reading the text. She frequently engages with parentheses, but experiments with brackets in the novel, especially in the “Time Passes” section of decay and demise during World War I.
Research Interests:
{Sarah Ang} In 1976, Adrienne Rich argued in Of Woman Born that the ‘cathexis between mother and daughter – essential, distorted, misused...is the great unwritten story... minimized and trivialized in the annals of patriarchy’ (225).
Research Interests:
{Shirley Liu, Lafayette College} That night, our car becomes a thing of borders. As my mom drives past a sign reading Welcome to Maryland!, the radio seeps into static and I’m forced to change the station from Top 40s to Adult Contemporary.
Research Interests:
{Jess Yang, Bowdoin College} That was the official theme of the summer 2013 Catalina Sea Camp carnival, for which costumes were an absolute, without a doubt, necessity. I was just freshly twelve years old, attending my first three-week... more
{Jess Yang, Bowdoin College} That was the official theme of the summer 2013 Catalina Sea Camp carnival, for which costumes were an absolute, without a doubt, necessity. I was just freshly twelve years old, attending my first three-week sleepaway summer camp, and, unfortunately, I had forgotten a costume.
Research Interests:
{Samantha Rowling, Arizona State University} I’m standing where the green water meets the loam/ And the sewage"stink wafts up from the canal/ That holds bodies and rusting cars and all of our litter/ Debris from Burger King and garbage... more
{Samantha Rowling, Arizona State University} I’m standing where the green water meets the loam/ And the sewage"stink wafts up from the canal/ That holds bodies and rusting cars and all of our litter/ Debris from Burger King and garbage bags and old radios
Research Interests:
{Michael Trautmann Rodriguez, Johns Hopkins University} The piercing ringing of the tin-can bell/ reached my ears first; the booming"hollow voice/ of the young man coated in gems of sweat...
Research Interests:
{Clara Kjelsberg, University of Rochester} When we break up, I expect it to be bloody and vile. I expect guts to topple out of our respective, no longer shared stomachs, and I expect to suck on the fat that coats your heart, still beating... more
{Clara Kjelsberg, University of Rochester} When we break up, I expect it to be bloody and vile. I expect guts to topple out of our respective, no longer shared stomachs, and I expect to suck on the fat that coats your heart, still beating as the chunks lodge themselves between my long, yellow canines.
Research Interests:
{Andrew Yang, McGill University} A reaching sun/ pulls sprouting leaves/ from the soil/ like two trees lurching/ towards the sky/ grasping upwards/ for a sun in a pocket
Research Interests:
{Cecilia Wright, Washington University in St. Louis} I know that I spent time digging in Kindergarten. The digging would occur in a green plastic sandbox shaped like a frog. I would sit in the frog with my friend. We would dig with hands... more
{Cecilia Wright, Washington University in St. Louis} I know that I spent time digging in Kindergarten. The digging would occur in a green plastic sandbox shaped like a frog. I would sit in the frog with my friend. We would dig with hands and small plastic shovels and dig and dig until we reached the green plastic bottom of the green plastic frog.
Research Interests:
{Thomas McLeod, University of British Columbia} In that cafe on Granville, which would normally hold twenty or thirty friends, was an empty clump of tables and one man sitting in the back. He was drinking wine at two-thirty in the... more
{Thomas McLeod, University of British Columbia} In that cafe on Granville, which would normally hold twenty or thirty friends, was an empty clump of tables and one man sitting in the back. He was drinking wine at two-thirty in the afternoon...
Research Interests:
{Ashley Little, Franklin and Marshall College} Notions of mothering, nurturing, and providing are often equated with the "nature" of women. This "nature" designation conflates biological function with expression, thus restricting women to... more
{Ashley Little, Franklin and Marshall College} Notions of mothering, nurturing, and providing are often equated with the "nature" of women. This "nature" designation conflates biological function with expression, thus restricting women to roles as mother, nurturer, provider.
Research Interests:
{Kate Kwok, The University of Hong Kong} Darling I think it happens again / I forgot to buy garlic / always it is garlic missing / from the storage rack under the sink / my hands devoid of/ the weight of papery skin that wraps and warps...
Research Interests:
{Kelsey Day, Emerson College} the grass sizzles, seizes my bare feet and I/ hurtle through the dark with a speed only/ children are capable of...
Research Interests:
{Sophie Archambault, University of Connecticut} My hair started to whiten when you were born/ like all the color had seeped out of my head to stain yours/ I thought all attempts to salvage girlhood had failed but/ you came out looking... more
{Sophie Archambault, University of Connecticut} My hair started to whiten when you were born/ like all the color had seeped out of my head to stain yours/ I thought all attempts to salvage girlhood had failed but/ you came out looking like 1948...
Research Interests:
{Amanda Hall, University of California, Irvine} i swallow flavorless wafers/
from the hand of god, and pass salt shakers/down the dinner table. it’s an/
exorcism, of sorts, a consummation: my mother...
from the hand of god, and pass salt shakers/down the dinner table. it’s an/
exorcism, of sorts, a consummation: my mother...
Research Interests:
{Ruth Schreiber, Smith College} It is a Saturday, and I’m in Rhode Island, going to see my grandfather for the last time. The air is cool, and the sky is gray. Changing leaves scatter the gravel driveway made of pointed rocks, a layer of... more
{Ruth Schreiber, Smith College} It is a Saturday, and I’m in Rhode Island, going to see my grandfather for the last time. The air is cool, and the sky is gray. Changing leaves scatter the gravel driveway made of pointed rocks, a layer of beauty covering a raw, uncomfortable surface.
Research Interests:
{Cicely Williams, University of British Columbia} The plot of Celie’s story in The Color Purple almost invariably occurs in or around a house. This setting comes with implications of the ideological structure of domesticity...
Research Interests:
{Joseph Donato, University of Toronto} The curtains were never drawn at night. Charlotte’s husband, Henry, refused to buy an alarm clock when there was a perfectly good east–facing window beside the bed.
Research Interests:
{Neily Raymond, University of Maine} You’re ready to escape from out your head/and run astray—up to the cul-de-sac./You’re ready for a pair of jeans with pockets.
Research Interests:
{Yoela Zimberoff, Reed College} I called my brother after my first kiss. The cold car squatted outside the house, holding its breath. The engine was off and as it cooled, it seeped the warmth from my palms.
{Emma Karnes, University of Virginia} Something might become of us in the nursery, we might/become riddles of dust. And then what deer would die/
outside the window, bellowing for a kin, sounding/like the sound of a heavy wagon.
outside the window, bellowing for a kin, sounding/like the sound of a heavy wagon.
{Anne Savage, Tufts University} Every night my shift supervisor Harold used to leave a saucer of milk outside the delivery entrance of the truck stop. I made fun of him for it but he never seemed embarrassed and he never tried to explain... more
{Anne Savage, Tufts University} Every night my shift supervisor Harold used to leave a saucer of milk outside the delivery entrance of the truck stop. I
made fun of him for it but he never seemed embarrassed and he
never tried to explain himself. He would only say: “You never
know what’s out there.”
made fun of him for it but he never seemed embarrassed and he
never tried to explain himself. He would only say: “You never
know what’s out there.”
{Julia M. Walton, Princeton University} Whatever other debates are going on in the academic world of “world literature” — about what it means, who gets to participate, and why—academics have noticed that the capitalist pressures of the... more
{Julia M. Walton, Princeton University} Whatever other debates are going on in the academic world of “world literature” — about what it means, who gets to participate, and why—academics have noticed that the capitalist pressures of the international literary market have sometimes led to the production of works that are aesthetically “flat.”
{Sharon Mai, Mount Holyoke College} question 1: what secrets are hidden beneath the stone arch? a. a book: the first night i spent in Your home i found a book sleeping beneath the black and white photos of You, the late life-givers of a... more
{Sharon Mai, Mount Holyoke College} question 1: what secrets are hidden beneath the stone arch?
a. a book: the first night i spent in Your home i found a book sleeping beneath the black and white photos of You, the late life-givers of a family sprawled across the planet for the first time in the history of us.
a. a book: the first night i spent in Your home i found a book sleeping beneath the black and white photos of You, the late life-givers of a family sprawled across the planet for the first time in the history of us.
{Sophia Dienstag, Wesleyan University} The man came to install the PedalFun two days after Christmas. Robert and Lynn looked on excitedly as he carted the contraption, fully assembled as promised, down the ramp of a large truck and up to... more
{Sophia Dienstag, Wesleyan University} The man came to install the PedalFun two days after Christmas. Robert and Lynn looked on excitedly as he carted the contraption, fully assembled as promised, down the ramp of a large truck and up to their doorstep.
Research Interests:
{Julia M. Walton, Princeton University} One of the hottest stars in contemporary literary fiction is the young Irish novelist Sally Rooney. The attention surrounding her has been both overwhelming in scale and overwhelmingly positive. She... more
{Julia M. Walton, Princeton University} One of the hottest stars in contemporary literary fiction is the young Irish novelist Sally Rooney. The attention surrounding her has been both overwhelming in scale and overwhelmingly positive. She was named the 2017 PFD/Sunday Times young writer of the year for her debut novel, Conversations with Friends; in 2018, Normal People, Rooney’s sophomore work, was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize, won the UK’s Costa Book Award, and was named Waterstones’ Book of the Year, among other accolades. The critical praise directed her way, however, has taken on a specific shape: she has been hailed as the voice of the millennial generation.
Research Interests:
{Caroline Meek, University of Iowa} unidentified berries have yet to identify me, either,/
and as much as I’d like to believe
and as much as I’d like to believe
Research Interests: Poetry and A.R. Ammons
{Fabio S. Cabrera, Cornell University} El pescador habita en la niebla del ayer / liturgia apacible que evoca el tacto, / memoria de inocencia en llamas / se prende de la carne el anhelo sutil.
Research Interests:
{Mallory M. Moore, University of Chicago} My marriage died the day I turned forty-nine. Years later, everyone would forget that it had been my birthday at all. To those who I care to remind, they answer with a dismissive sigh,... more
{Mallory M. Moore, University of Chicago} My marriage died the day I turned forty-nine. Years later, everyone would forget that it had been my birthday at all. To those who I care to remind, they answer with a dismissive sigh, “Correlation is not causation, Jones.” To the rest of the world, it was Winola’s day of transformation. It was the day she shed her role as wife and mother and became...something else. Was it art or was it madness? Who am I to really say?
Research Interests:
{Tahani Almujahid, University of Michigan - Ann Arbor} Mother, / Do you remember then, when you begged me to stay, / but knew I needed to go?
Research Interests:
{Andie Weber, Grinnell College} Mal loved me before I existed, or so he tells me. He loved me when I was nothing but an open face and infinite potential, featureless and formless and ready to be shaped. He says that he created me, but I... more
{Andie Weber, Grinnell College} Mal loved me before I existed, or so he tells me. He loved me when I was nothing but an open face and infinite potential, featureless and formless and ready to be shaped. He says that he created me, but I have my doubts. In the depths of my mind are early memories of gentler hands, that gathered up wet sediment into a little imperfect ball, smoothed out the furrows, and set me out before the world. And then all those casual, hateful, loving, careless grazes that followed, the pinching out of limbs and lineaments until I was something more resembling a person. I have been molded by thousands of palms and fingertips and knuckles and wrists, but Mal insists that his are the hands matter.
Research Interests:
{Rose Gabbertas, University College London} Originally born out of ancient Greek myth, the figure of Tiresias is one that has endured and fascinated readers for many thousands of years. Stories of Tiresias’ etiology differ hugely within... more
{Rose Gabbertas, University College London} Originally born out of ancient Greek myth, the figure of Tiresias is one that has endured and fascinated readers for many thousands of years. Stories of Tiresias’ etiology differ hugely within classical literature, but he is widely recognized as the blind prophet who lived through seven generations of the Theban saga. Famed for his faultless clairvoyance, which he variously obtained from a series of visions, signs, haruspicy or augury, Tiresias is also renowned for having been transformed into a woman for seven years.
Research Interests:
{Dominic Joseph Burke, University of Sydney} An exceptionally weak man named Brian Neumann lived in an area that had no character or life. He was a short, stout thing of unremarkable appearance and balding head. Brian may have even looked... more
{Dominic Joseph Burke, University of Sydney} An exceptionally weak man named Brian Neumann lived in an area that had no character or life. He was a short, stout thing of unremarkable appearance and balding head. Brian may have even looked normal in another life, but it was his unbearably vacant disposition that made Brian grotesque. He had unfortunately bushy eyebrows and acne at 32 years old. His eyes were serviceable, but a little beady. His lips were bright red, always wet. And he thought he might be a woman.
Research Interests:
{Beau Farris, University of Colorado Boulder} the soapboxer only stands on their street corner to yell at other soapboxers / and who am i to make my own soapbox and stand and question the other soapboxers for wooden boxes when the box i... more
{Beau Farris, University of Colorado Boulder} the soapboxer only stands on their street corner to yell at other soapboxers / and who am i to make my own soapbox and stand and question the other soapboxers for wooden boxes when the box i made in my dead neighbors garage is cardboard
Research Interests:
{Sophie Ewing, Amherst College} And this is how I see the East: / I see it always from a low road, / a high outline of mountains. / A field, a vast field stretching out / behind and before me / my friends laugh in enfolding dark / and I... more
{Sophie Ewing, Amherst College} And this is how I see the East: / I see it always from a low road, / a high outline of mountains. / A field, a vast field stretching out / behind and before me / my friends laugh in enfolding dark / and I am feeling green, black-green, / like the field and the night.
Research Interests:
{Jonathan Chan, University of Cambridge} As a laboring-class poet, John Clare’s physical and emotional proximity to his subjects in “rural England” differentiated him as a native voice of his ecosystem. Rather than calling forth the... more
{Jonathan Chan, University of Cambridge} As a laboring-class poet, John Clare’s physical and emotional proximity to his subjects in “rural England” differentiated him as a native voice of his ecosystem. Rather than calling forth the ineffable, Clare’s countryside remained grounded as a place of organic, unmitigated knowledge. Clare’s textual approximation of the visual bears the influence of eighteenth century pictorialism, in which the long vogue of ut pictura poesis ensured that poets would learn to refine their ways of seeing to enrich the mind’s ability to form images and representations of things, persons, or scenes of being.
Research Interests:
{Shanshan Chan, The New School} to my mother: what is your earliest memory? i used to go to my grandparents house in shanghai now and then because my parents would be sent away. i remember playing one day with my friend we were maybe six... more
{Shanshan Chan, The New School} to my mother: what is your earliest memory? i used to go to my grandparents house in shanghai now and then because my parents would be sent away. i remember playing one day with my friend we were maybe six or seven and wanted to climb a tree and a red guard abused me. abused? well you know sexually touched me, but i didn't know what was going on at that time. it was just a one time thing.
Research Interests:
{Jack Wellschlager, Bowdoin College} Reading is at its absolute hardest when I think too much about it. I’m talking about those moments when 10 pages and 20 minutes into reading, I realize I’m 90 pages and 180 minutes out from finishing.... more
{Jack Wellschlager, Bowdoin College} Reading is at its absolute hardest when I think too much about it. I’m talking about those moments when 10 pages and 20 minutes into reading, I realize I’m 90 pages and 180 minutes out from finishing. The number at the top of the page stares me down, daring me to watch it slowly, painfully, inch towards a finish. I try to forget; I try to avoid its glare; I try to let time go; still, sometimes I just focus too much on endings to enjoy anything at all.
Research Interests:
{Aviva Betzer, Tel Aviv University} born in a kibbutz / i was wild and scream-full / i slashed my insides and gorged on them / i ate stale doughnuts because i wanted to be like everyone
Research Interests:
{Harrison Wahler, George Washington University} The neurologist’s office does a good impression of hospitality. Warm color palette, enticing toy chest in the waiting area, and a generous spattering of decorations in each patient room. My... more
{Harrison Wahler, George Washington University} The neurologist’s office does a good impression of hospitality. Warm color palette, enticing toy chest in the waiting area, and a generous spattering of decorations in each patient room. My shins hit only the cushiony edge of the checkup bed as I clamber up onto it. The other doctors had uneven drawers, cold metal protrusions that scrape at a kid’s legs like a lion not quite trapped in its cage.
Research Interests:
{Louis Lussier-Piette, McGill University} In my head the dangling bells do not ring as loudly. And the organ is frail, like a whisper in the back of my mind. When I close my eyes, I do not see gold. But sometimes I remember the bloodstain... more
{Louis Lussier-Piette, McGill University} In my head the dangling bells do not ring as loudly. And the organ is frail, like a whisper in the back of my mind. When I close my eyes, I do not see gold. But sometimes I remember the bloodstain on His chest, and I blush at the irony of such a thought.
Research Interests:
{Elsasoa Jousse, McGill University} Richard Wright summarized the 1955 Afro-Asian Conference in Bandung, Indonesia in his travelogue The Color Curtain: A Report on the Bandung Conferenceas having “an element of ‘Asianism’ in the whole... more
{Elsasoa Jousse, McGill University} Richard Wright summarized the 1955 Afro-Asian Conference in Bandung, Indonesia in his travelogue The Color Curtain: A Report on the Bandung Conferenceas having “an element of ‘Asianism’ in the whole conference” (558). This citation implies a lack of African representation in the Bandung Conference, “the famous meeting of over two dozen Third World representatives” (Burton 1) from which the term “Afro-Asian solidarity” emerged, and throughout the following decades when its “spirit” continued to inspire those opposed to colonialism. Wright’s quotation also refers to a uniform representation of “Asianism,” which reveals the Orientalist aspects of the Western gaze an American, albeit an African American, casts on Asian people. The aim of this Honours essay is to explore the representation of Afro- Asian connections in literature arising from the Bandung Conference of 1955 and the journal Lotus: Afro-Asian Writings published between 1967 and the early 1990s.
Research Interests:
{Danica Creahan, Loyola Marymount University} I miss the landscape and I miss my left molar. / Just the middle bit / that dentist drilled out.
Research Interests:
{Alexander Galdamez, University of California Santa Cruz} Brown / Like the shit you have to clean off your condom after you fuck some twink / Eyes as black as the bruises we got as teens when we came out / They were harder to see on my... more
{Alexander Galdamez, University of California Santa Cruz} Brown / Like the shit you have to clean off your condom after you fuck some twink / Eyes as black as the bruises we got as teens when we came out / They were harder to see on my skin.
Research Interests:
{Erin Yonak, Washington University in St. Louis} Halloween is / not for ghosts it’s / for academia / PhD candidates going door / to door with their diplomas / and their Bad News and / their End Of Times hysteria.
Research Interests:
{Miriam Mayer, Hamilton College] I was eighteen when Mama found me / asleep in front of the TV, head lolling / onto Max’s innocent arm.
Research Interests:
{Camille Lendor, University of Toronto} misplaced adrenaline / radiating through my body — pulsating through my toes my soles my ankles my shins / my knees my thigh — / straight to / the mushy walnut / that rests within / my compressing... more
{Camille Lendor, University of Toronto} misplaced adrenaline / radiating through my body — pulsating through my toes my soles my ankles my shins / my knees my thigh — / straight to / the mushy walnut / that rests within / my compressing skull.
Research Interests:
{Genie Harrison, University of Cambridge} Throughout his career, Leonard Cohen identified Federico García Lorca as an important influence on both his poetry and his songwriting, despite reading his works in translation. In this... more
{Genie Harrison, University of Cambridge} Throughout his career, Leonard Cohen identified Federico García Lorca as an important influence on both his poetry and his songwriting, despite reading his works in translation. In this dissertation I argue that this influence may be best understood in parallel with an examination of the spirit of the ‘duende,’ an ancient Spanish concept embodying the passion or inspiration of an artistic performance and its ability to enthral both performer and audience. The ‘duende’ necessitates interpretation by a ‘living body’ aware of its own mortality, leading me to explore the theme of death in the songs of Cohen and his inspirations from Lorca. As the ‘duende’ is grounded in physical performance, I also explore the boundaries between poetry and song for these two poets, investigating the role of oral poetry and the capacity for these different art forms to achieve the duende.
Research Interests:
{Jaede Shillingford, McGill University} As scholars of English Literature, or even casual observers of the craft, we have long understood the works of woman authors—Austen, Woolf, Brontë and all their equally inclined colleagues—to be... more
{Jaede Shillingford, McGill University} As scholars of English Literature, or even casual observers of the craft, we have long understood the works of woman authors—Austen, Woolf, Brontë and all their equally inclined colleagues—to be intrinsic cornerstones of feminist literary thought. This is not necessarily because the women centered in this fiction were any less marginalized by oppressive hegemonic ideology than the minds from which they came, but rather, the importance of these authors within the canon stems from the boundaries they broke simply through their courageous wielding of the pen.
Research Interests:
{Lily Swanson, University of Kansas} Your book club decides they’re going to murder Katelyn Becker’s terrier. It’s a pure Jack Russel, inbred into floppy-eared complacency, totally white except for russet-brown stains on its eyes and... more
{Lily Swanson, University of Kansas} Your book club decides they’re going to murder Katelyn Becker’s terrier. It’s a pure Jack Russel, inbred into floppy-eared complacency, totally white except for russet-brown stains on its eyes and ears. It has a habit of escaping into the front yard. You’ve seen it once or twice in the day, but its presence is most felt at night when that yap yap yapping fills the street like gunshots and Katelyn Becker cries out like a wraith: Dais-y! Dais-y!
Research Interests:
{Maria Gray, Bates College} Zip up. Shove the phantom penis back into your boxers. I was born a / bored constituent of God, built like an abacus with a soft spot for string theory, / X chromosomes burnt into my wrists; harm done to self,... more
{Maria Gray, Bates College} Zip up. Shove the phantom penis back into your boxers. I was born a / bored constituent of God, built like an abacus with a soft spot for string theory, / X chromosomes burnt into my wrists; harm done to self, then others.
Research Interests:
{Maya Hollander, Tel Aviv University} I / am / what / remains / of Babel, when / we spoke the soft / tongue of our fellows,
Research Interests: Poetry and Tower of Babel
{Daniel Bishop, Cambridge University} I was out running in the rain up a hill through the mud. I was thinking about psychosomatic disorders. That’s when what’s in your head affects how your body works. It seemed relevant at the moment,... more
{Daniel Bishop, Cambridge University} I was out running in the rain up a hill through the mud. I was thinking about psychosomatic disorders. That’s when what’s in your head affects how your body works. It seemed relevant at the moment, during the coronavirus lockdown. Everyone was noticing that whenever they felt a slight urge to cough, whenever their forehead felt slightly warmer than normal, they started fearing the worst. Maybe, in some cases, this paranoia contributed to genuine physical decline, I don’t know. A variation of this was certainly believed by a psychologist I was sent to as a child; she believed that if I tried hard enough, with my mind, I would get better.
Research Interests:
{Kasey Broekema, Columbia University} I come into this world with the inevitability that I will die another day.
Research Interests:
{Spencer Wilkins, Bowdoin College} Split starfruit / steaks we pair with / sparkling peach pit / flesh, floating up / champagne.
Research Interests:
{Dulcie Everitt, Connecticut College} Jane Austen’s six published works are most commonly understood as proto-feminist novels that flout expectations of womanhood within the constricted formula of the marriage plot.
Research Interests:
{Dia Brown, University of Vermont} Black and blues, black and blues / Lordy, Lordy, the sad days are gone / Still waiting for the love to come around / Park benches and city stenches, a sitting down pink day dream
Research Interests:
{Arik Wolk, Washington University in St. Louis} New Jersey is the ultimate little brother. Surrounded by two of the nation’s largest cities and full of suburbs, its denizens often define themselves by how far they are from Philadelphia or... more
{Arik Wolk, Washington University in St. Louis} New Jersey is the ultimate little brother. Surrounded by two of the nation’s largest cities and full of suburbs, its denizens often define themselves by how far they are from Philadelphia or New York City -- colloquially known as just “the city.”
Research Interests:
{Michelle Man-Long Pang, The University of Hong Kong} Political agendas are almost inevitably expressed in the construction of law codes. As Mouffe (2005) defines it, the law is an act of cooperative relation to resolving political... more
{Michelle Man-Long Pang, The University of Hong Kong} Political agendas are almost inevitably expressed in the construction of law codes. As Mouffe (2005) defines it, the law is an act of cooperative relation to resolving political conflicts that are otherwise unresolvable.
Research Interests:
{Karen Dellinger, National Taiwan University} No literary name immediately evokes such a palpable aura of masculinity as Ernest Hemingway.
Research Interests:
{Jack Ouligian, Penn State University} The television sits on a brown plinth. / My father stands before his chair. He scrapes / salad out of tupperware.
Research Interests:
{James King, Dartmouth College} The luminary sage “Leaky” Loutermilch was, as he proclaimed, taken up into heaven and delivered the miracle of the Great Truth on a Saturday in late September. This is all just what I have heard; I’m not a... more
{James King, Dartmouth College} The luminary sage “Leaky” Loutermilch was, as he proclaimed, taken up into heaven and delivered the miracle of the Great Truth on a Saturday in late September. This is all just what I have heard; I’m not a professional hagiographer, though I can assure you my sources are, at the very least, mildly reputable.
Research Interests:
{Emefa Dzivenu, University of St. Andrews} The pavement, speckled with a waxy moonlight, was glassy and damp. Ankara was stumbling over the street’s cobblestones, almost drifting off to the voice of the man in front of her and his clever... more
{Emefa Dzivenu, University of St. Andrews} The pavement, speckled with a waxy moonlight, was glassy and damp. Ankara was stumbling over the street’s cobblestones, almost drifting off to the voice of the man in front of her and his clever words, his politics, his sharp yet unwanted opinions.
Research Interests:
{Rebecka Eriksdotter Pieder, McGill University} In the Montreal neighbourhood of Mile End, students are scattered throughout assorted coffee shops like gnats around a bowl of fruit.
Research Interests:
{Emily Cohen, Bowdoin College} On January 5, 2020, 25,000 people marched across Lower Manhattan under the banner “No Hate, No Fear,” showing unity in the face of recent violent attacks inspired by antisemitism that occurred in the New... more
{Emily Cohen, Bowdoin College} On January 5, 2020, 25,000 people marched across Lower Manhattan under the banner “No Hate, No Fear,” showing unity in the face of recent violent attacks inspired by antisemitism that occurred in the New York City area: there was the stabbing in the home of Rabbi Chaim Rottenberg, a Hasidic rabbi, during a Hanukkah celebration that left five wounded, one critically, on December 29, 2019.
Research Interests:
{Meera Navlakha, Durham University} In the opening scenes of Shyam Selvadurai’s Funny Boy, the novel’s protagonist is seven years old and chooses to spend his playtime reveling in a game of make-believe. He rejects cricket: the activity... more
{Meera Navlakha, Durham University} In the opening scenes of Shyam Selvadurai’s Funny Boy, the novel’s protagonist is seven years old and chooses to spend his playtime reveling in a game of make-believe. He rejects cricket: the activity other boys his age opt for. Instead, Arjie transforms into a bride, complete with a worn, sequin"adorned sari.
Research Interests:
{Anthony Cardellini, Duke University} Saturday, four P.M. Seventy percent chance of rain at seven. Fifteen hours to go. A cardinal is singing atop the site fence as we go about building the Hooper Hotel.
Research Interests:
{Brian Araque Perez, Bard College} You cannot forbid / the mournfulness of mornings / or muscles
Research Interests:
{Nic Guo, Wesleyan University} “Spotted Qing, won’t you fill this up by the fountain?” Raisin Gu beckoned with an empty water cooler. When the exchange was made, the empty plastic felt ultra-light in my hand.
Research Interests:
{April Bannister, University of Iowa} i was trying to get a few days / rest from this senseless / faith, this effort to conceal you / and me. preserve the separation
Research Interests:
{Kara Worrells, University of California - Irvine} Pull through the suture, / scissors snip the stitch / and out slides the thread;
Research Interests:
{Kory Nathaniel Richardson, University of California - Irvine} “In lak'ech ala k’in” / From Mayan to Spanish: / soy tú otro tú y eres mi otro yo.
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{Madeline Peterson, University of Wisconsin - Madison} When Dan first met Lorraine, he was surprised to find she was not so young up close as she appeared from a distance. Dan didn’t know much about attractive women, but he guessed that... more
{Madeline Peterson, University of Wisconsin - Madison} When Dan first met Lorraine, he was surprised to find she was not so young up close as she appeared from a distance. Dan didn’t know much about attractive women, but he guessed that Lorraine invested a lot of time and energy into creating this effect.
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{Lillian Virginia Mottern, University of California, Los Angeles} Clifford Goldern and I played tennis at night. Clifford said it was good for his eyesight, which was poor, to practice hitting things in the dark, so he played without his... more
{Lillian Virginia Mottern, University of California, Los Angeles} Clifford Goldern and I played tennis at night. Clifford said it was good for his eyesight, which was poor, to practice hitting things in the dark, so he played without his glasses, hoping his eyes would grow stronger with overuse. He said it felt like his eyes were skinny dipping when he took his glasses off, skinny dipping but for tennis.
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{Olivia Liang, Washington University in Saint Louis} I remember Thursday. She always arrives on Thursday, and I have prepared accordingly: stocked the fridge, changed the sheets, cleared my calendar, prepared for the worst.
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{Elizabeth Johnson, University of Iowa} We would not be friends if we hadn’t come from the same womb.
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{Emily A. Brockman, Duke University} How do you go on? / I feel the icy waters of Lake Aleknagik / Pressing against the protective layer of neoprene waders
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{Noah Avigan, Columbia University} Published over four hundred years ago, William Shakespeare’s Hamlet continues to inspire vehement debate among critics. Much of this controversy surrounds the tragedy’s mysterious protagonist, whose... more
{Noah Avigan, Columbia University} Published over four hundred years ago, William Shakespeare’s Hamlet continues to inspire vehement debate among critics. Much of this controversy surrounds the tragedy’s mysterious protagonist, whose ambiguous motives leave a great deal to scholarly interpretation.
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{Stephen Artner, University of Virginia} The central impetus underlying every gripping narrative in the Hebrew Bible is the call to move into a mysterious land beyond the confines of the known. The crusty old patriarch Abram spends a... more
{Stephen Artner, University of Virginia} The central impetus underlying every gripping narrative in the Hebrew Bible is the call to move into a mysterious land beyond the confines of the known. The crusty old patriarch Abram spends a stagnant existence in the land of Haran, still living with his father Terah at the ripe age of seventy-five when he first hears the voice of YHWH. This voice needles him to pick up his belongings and travel to an unspecified land.
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{Bryan Angel, University of California - Irvine} I know this is not how you’re supposed to start / A poem but allow me to explain myself:
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{Sarah Bridgeport, University of Iowa} We come from the same genetics, but our bodies could not be more different. Height is our most obvious difference. I am 5’6”. Our mother argues that I cannot be, because she is 5’6” and I am most... more
{Sarah Bridgeport, University of Iowa} We come from the same genetics, but our bodies could not be more different. Height is our most obvious difference. I am 5’6”. Our mother argues that I cannot be, because she is 5’6” and I am most definitely shorter than her. Oh, there is no way I can be taller than her, according to her indisputable authority.
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{Matthew Olivas, University of California Riverside} ABOUT A DECADE AGO you shot an opossum with a cross bow. You shot it two more times to finish the job, all in quick succession. You didn’t want to prolong its suffering. It needed only... more
{Matthew Olivas, University of California Riverside} ABOUT A DECADE AGO you shot an opossum with a cross bow. You shot it two more times to finish the job, all in quick succession. You didn’t want to prolong its suffering. It needed only to die. Still, it felt like forever – its little silent sighs into stillness.
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{Samuel Milligan, Bowdoin College} My grandfather died of Alzheimer’s disease when I was twelve and also my second ever girlfriend, the second girl I ever said I love you to and the first where I actually meant it, broke up with me over... more
{Samuel Milligan, Bowdoin College} My grandfather died of Alzheimer’s disease when I was twelve and also my second ever girlfriend, the second girl I ever said I love you to and the first where I actually meant it, broke up with me over Facetime my freshman spring of college (though really it was the first week of February) in part because I have a bad memory. Those two things are not good separately but I think they’re especially bad together.
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{Connor Wilde, Trinity College} Isn’t red velvet a little overdone? / What hasn’t been done? / I still would rather have chocolate, everyone likes chocolate.
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{Katie Livingston, Wesleyan University} When I am a small child, I find a fetus on my grandparents’ porch. It is leathery, shriveled by the midsummer sun, but still malleable. I take the sharp end of a rock and press into it. Doing this... more
{Katie Livingston, Wesleyan University} When I am a small child, I find a fetus on my grandparents’ porch. It is leathery, shriveled by the midsummer sun, but still malleable. I take the sharp end of a rock and press into it. Doing this makes something in my stomach pinch and writhe, but I have to keep doing it, have to know what animal it is. When I’m done cutting it up, I throw it into the grass, disgusted.
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{Ellie Roy, Boston University} The buzzing keeps her awake. A ceaseless hum. At times bearable, often deafening, audible to none but herself. As if there is a network of live wires just beneath her skin. This must be what all our... more
{Ellie Roy, Boston University} The buzzing keeps her awake. A ceaseless hum. At times bearable, often deafening, audible to none but herself. As if there is a network of live wires just beneath her skin. This must be what all our grandparents feared would happen to our ears if we listened to music too loud, she thinks, pacing to the other side of the room. She winces where the thin gown brushes her skin.
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{Rory O'Hollaren, Deep Springs College} When my brother was little we had this game called Doctor Tiger. Doctor Tiger was a superhero who saved the day but sometimes he messed up and hurt people instead. It wasn’t really a fair game... more
{Rory O'Hollaren, Deep Springs College} When my brother was little we had this game called Doctor Tiger. Doctor Tiger was a superhero who saved the day but sometimes he messed up and hurt people instead. It wasn’t really a fair game because my brother was Doctor Tiger and I was just Mister Green and Mister Green was a priest who was the sidekick and only could pitch a million mile an hour fastball that could break buildings and kill people but couldn’t go around corners.
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{John Shimazaki, University of Virginia} Yesterday, the white gods whispered, “in the beginning was our word” / And their floating mansions became our sinking graves / We were sinking-we were sin-we were-
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{Em Setzer, Bard College} i met a girl in may and for a few months / our lives folded in like freshly-ironed linens / i wake up lovesick with a cold / barometric pressure builds in my sinuses / i want her to crack open my chest / to clear... more
{Em Setzer, Bard College} i met a girl in may and for a few months / our lives folded in like freshly-ironed linens / i wake up lovesick with a cold / barometric pressure builds in my sinuses / i want her to crack open my chest / to clear the air suffocating my heart
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{Adrian Rucker, University of Chicago} With every metro train that passed, he imagined his head crushed between the wheels and the electrified rail. Or his legs getting caught in the undercarriage, sucking the rest of him into the train’s... more
{Adrian Rucker, University of Chicago} With every metro train that passed, he imagined his head crushed between the wheels and the electrified rail. Or his legs getting caught in the undercarriage, sucking the rest of him into the train’s vacuous insides to be digested in an instant of pain, yes, but also of clarity. If he went in at the right angle, his body could be mangled beyond recognition. There might be track closures. Restless passengers downstream would sigh as the public address system crackled something about significant delays on their line due to a foreign object on the tracks. The conductor would no doubt have to go to therapy; he might never recover. Other passengers who witnessed his plunge would probably be pretty traumatized too. Depending on the time of day, it might even make the news for a spell.
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{Marie Lindsey, Union College} Academia wove its way into group therapy as I practiced for the ACTs with schizophrenics and listed various portions of the central nervous system and muscular anatomy on each scar, a detailed diagram... more
{Marie Lindsey, Union College} Academia wove its way into group therapy as I practiced for the ACTs with schizophrenics and listed various portions of the central nervous system and muscular anatomy on each scar, a detailed diagram separated by a neat crimson ladder. A chronic desire to leap into the stream of lost souls created a continuous arrhythmia that put me too close to the edge. I landed in my first psych ward at 17. I was in and out of treatment for the rest of the year, somehow still clutching to my TI-84 and my mechanical pencils.
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{Mahito Indi Henderson, Northwestern University} You had not set out to steal cheese. But there you were. The parcel sits heavy in your right coat pocket. You had told the cashier that you would put the cheeses back after you realized... more
{Mahito Indi Henderson, Northwestern University} You had not set out to steal cheese. But there you were. The parcel sits heavy in your right coat pocket. You had told the cashier that you would put the cheeses back after you realized that you had forgotten to pick up your mum’s debit card. But you didn’t put them all back. The old woman working at the dairy counter looked ancient. Her eyes had a glossy sheen, but the way she pointed to a particularly pungent piece of Roquefort made you take it without hesitation, and even though you returned the two other varieties, a Morbier and a Cantal, you knew that you couldn't risk losing such a special Roquefort. You couldn’t return home empty-handed, not today. Today was, after all, French Night at Ben and Donna’s.
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{Kristina Kim, University of Chicago} i watch him pick fruit out of his mouth / his disgusted face-- a look i recognize./ the same soured smooch / that surfaced on my sweaty skin, last night / when i saw his pelvis boogying toward me.
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{Zoë Huettl, Northwestern University} So much depends / On a chalky, pale pink pill / 100 milligrams, at noon
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{Ethan Hill, Bowdoin College} The man was dreaming, and he couldn’t remember his own name. He remembered that he liked the sound of it, that it had a way of rolling off the tongue. The man remembered that voices other than his own often... more
{Ethan Hill, Bowdoin College} The man was dreaming, and he couldn’t remember his own name. He remembered that he liked the sound of it, that it had a way of rolling off the tongue. The man remembered that voices other than his own often uttered his name, so he presumed that he was rather famous.
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{Nelson Hilario, Bard College} i’d hear laughs. long ones. i’d go downstairs, already with my suspicions. it’d be eight or nine, or ten. her voice would be calm. calmer than usual. i’d hear her while going down the stairs. the portico’s... more
{Nelson Hilario, Bard College} i’d hear laughs. long ones. i’d go downstairs, already with my suspicions. it’d be eight or nine, or ten. her voice would be calm. calmer than usual. i’d hear her while going down the stairs. the portico’s light would be on, i’d be right, but i’d ask before getting all joyous: “¿no te vas a acostar temprano hoy mamita?”; and she’d hug me and say, “en una o dos horas mi amor”; and go back to drinking and talking on the phone. there’d be a bottle of coca-cola on the floor, a marlboro cig glowing between her fingers like a torch, a glass of rum mixed with coke on the table!ice cubes so white they look like they’ll crack.
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{Kyrie Garlic, Texas A&M University} We lie beneath the stars / in a security of sun-baked earth / with summer singing all around us: / chicharras and coyotes, / an opulent orchestra of the outdoors.
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{Nathan Blum, Bowdoin College} I decided to learn saxophone so that I could take Mr. Jansen’s Music Theory in high school, which my buddies and I wanted to take because on a field trip Mr. Jansen told us a story of a time when he smoked... more
{Nathan Blum, Bowdoin College} I decided to learn saxophone so that I could take Mr. Jansen’s Music Theory in high school, which my buddies and I wanted to take because on a field trip Mr. Jansen told us a story of a time when he smoked weed that was sold to him in a conch shell.
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{Gabriel Ridout, Wesleyan University} in the trunk of my car, where / no one sees from the outside, / there we are shapes in the tint, / venting steam from our bodies,
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{Jack McKeon, Bard College} The first sentence of Frederick Douglass’s Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave is not written by Douglass. The sentence belongs to William Lloyd Garrison, editor of The Liberator, who... more
{Jack McKeon, Bard College} The first sentence of Frederick Douglass’s Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave is not written by Douglass. The sentence belongs to William Lloyd Garrison, editor of The Liberator, who begins his preface by recounting his first encounter with Frederick Douglass in Nantucket four years prior. On that August day it was Garrison’s “happiness to become acquainted with FREDERICK DOUGLASS, the writer of the following narrative” (Garrison 3).
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{Sofia Rabaté, University of Pennsylvania} Every night, Mrs. Benson makes a cup of tea for her bedridden husband. His response is always a deep-throated gurgle before he slurps it ineptly. Some inevitably spills in the process, and Mrs.... more
{Sofia Rabaté, University of Pennsylvania} Every night, Mrs. Benson makes a cup of tea for her bedridden husband. His response is always a deep-throated gurgle before he slurps it ineptly. Some inevitably spills in the process, and Mrs. Benson watches it happen, knowing that she will have to scrub the stain out. Mr. Benson’s heart, brain, lungs, liver, and kidneys are slowly crystallizing. Does he know he is going to die? What he surely does not know is that his decay is not due to old age, but instead, it is because of the sweet-tasting antifreeze in his tea, dosed out carefully with one of Mrs. Benson’s old measuring spoons.
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{Shannon Klein, Rice University} The problem in “The Fall of the House of Usher” lies not in the tarn or the mansion itself, but in the realization of why their presence provokes such a strong reaction: they remind us that despite our... more
{Shannon Klein, Rice University} The problem in “The Fall of the House of Usher” lies not in the tarn or the mansion itself, but in the realization of why their presence provokes such a strong reaction: they remind us that despite our attempts to dominate nature, we will inevitably succumb to natures power, and realize our innate subjection and link to the natural world.
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{Courtney Klashman, Rice University} As an intellectual, Salim dwells in betweenness. He is a marginal of society in the town at the bend in the river; a foreigner of Indian ancestry displaced by a violent uprising in an unnamed nation on... more
{Courtney Klashman, Rice University} As an intellectual, Salim dwells in betweenness. He is a marginal of society in the town at the bend in the river; a foreigner of Indian ancestry displaced by a violent uprising in an unnamed nation on the African coast, he is neither colonizer nor colonized. Salim cannot go home, yet never comes to view the town at the bend in the river as more than temporary. He thus embodies Said’s intellectual in exile, “a sort of permanent outcast, someone who never felt at home, and was always at odds with the environment, inconsolable about the past, bitter about the present and the future.”
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{Jennifer Cheng, George Washington University} Alice Wu’s Saving Face (2004) examines how gossip, despite its nature of speculative whisperings and indirect exchanges in the margins, functions as a check on individuals so as to maintain... more
{Jennifer Cheng, George Washington University} Alice Wu’s Saving Face (2004) examines how gossip, despite its nature of speculative whisperings and indirect exchanges in the margins, functions as a check on individuals so as to maintain (hetero)normative expectations, specifically in a Chinese American context. The film thus explores how queerness is defined by, works around, and interacts with this ever-present gossip as it reinforces a distinct Chinese American respectability politic that values honor, duty, and family, as well as success, productivity, and heterosexuality.
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{Zoe Russell, Trinity College} The car was filthy, but we’d been in and out of it for so long it didn’t matter anymore. When we stepped in we tripped over apple cores and got tangled in dirty old grocery bags. We fell into half-broken... more
{Zoe Russell, Trinity College} The car was filthy, but we’d been in and out of it for so long it didn’t matter anymore. When we stepped in we tripped over apple cores and got tangled in dirty old grocery bags. We fell into half-broken seats only to break them even more. It’s not that we weren’t taught to care, we just didn’t. If there’s nothing to care about, then there is no reason to care; and our car was nothing special so we didn’t care at all.
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{Susan Monaghan, Univerity of California, Los Angeles} There is a rat digging in my yard, probably neither today or tomorrow. Tars (the rat) has made between six and ten holes, perfectly cylindric from what I can tell, although cylindric... more
{Susan Monaghan, Univerity of California, Los Angeles} There is a rat digging in my yard, probably neither today or tomorrow. Tars (the rat) has made between six and ten holes, perfectly cylindric from what I can tell, although cylindric implies that their length is straight and not bent, and I have not been able to look down any of them, because of my phobia of holes.
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{Lara-Sophie Boleslawsky, University of British Columbia} As Barthes begins his 1968 essay citing Balzac, so too do I begin by citing a brief epithet by the Romanticist William Blake: “Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read’st... more
{Lara-Sophie Boleslawsky, University of British Columbia} As Barthes begins his 1968 essay citing Balzac, so too do I begin by citing a brief epithet by the Romanticist William Blake: “Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read’st black where I read white.” Just as Barthes uses the words of Balzac to point to the loss of an author’s identity, here this brief Blakean couplet crystalizes the very crux of this paper’s argument. While the corpus of Pauline epistles found within the New Testament are subject to debates surrounding issues such as authorship, historicity, and eschatology, one matter remains glaringly constant, namely, the presence of a reader (or multiple readers), who persist in their efforts to interpret the textual manifestations the Apostle Paul has left behind.
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{Andrin Albrecht, University of Zurich} There is a train that runs from the town where I was born all the way to the capital, on rails that were laid for the most part right along the lake. It is fast and almost soundless, like the breath... more
{Andrin Albrecht, University of Zurich} There is a train that runs from the town where I was born all the way to the capital, on rails that were laid for the most part right along the lake. It is fast and almost soundless, like the breath of the people who watch it pass, and its roof is made entirely of mirrored glass, so that from the outside you just see an impenetrable gleam, but from within, you can admire all the surroundings as if you were out in the open air. This stretch said to be one of the most magnificent train rides in the world, and I don’t disagree.
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{Emma Blue, University of Georgia} The blacktop rolled beneath the orange hood of the car, swallowed up mile by mile under the New Mexico sun. One hand floated outside the open window like a demented bird, gliding along in the hot wind... more
{Emma Blue, University of Georgia} The blacktop rolled beneath the orange hood of the car, swallowed up mile by mile under the New Mexico sun. One hand floated outside the open window like a demented bird, gliding along in the hot wind until a pocket of air caught wrong against Emmett’s fingers and jerked her hand back.
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{Lauren Sylvia Foster, Vassar College} It was the kind of bright blue day that makes you want to do hard drugs, to pull the curtains over your eyes and bring the darkness back. The kind of day on which you would normally find me in bed,... more
{Lauren Sylvia Foster, Vassar College} It was the kind of bright blue day that makes you want to do hard drugs, to pull the curtains over your eyes and bring the darkness back. The kind of day on which you would normally find me in bed, under an air-conditioning vent, one leg sticking out beyond the covers. Except that particular day, my mom barged into my room, yanked open the blinds, looked over my frail, wincing figure and said, “You need some sun.”
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{Emily Huber, University of Washington} It wasn’t difficult to lose track of time on the train like this; the watery blue daylight hardly seemed to reach the passengers through the windows. Everything and everyone was cast in the white... more
{Emily Huber, University of Washington} It wasn’t difficult to lose track of time on the train like this; the watery blue daylight hardly seemed to reach the passengers through the windows. Everything and everyone was cast in the white reflection of the walls, and the air was stale and mixed with the smell of smoke carried in on commuters’ clothes. The seat cushions were old and new—some worn, with ripping purple thread, some replaced with a pulsing blue plastic that grated against the skin. The whole compartment was sealed off from everything outside.
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{Samuel Milligan, Bowdoin College} Geoff was not the boy’s uncle, but the boy’s father said to call him Uncle Geoff, and Uncle Geoff was sitting in the backseat with the boy. On their way to church. The boy’s father drove, one hand on the... more
{Samuel Milligan, Bowdoin College} Geoff was not the boy’s uncle, but the boy’s father said to call him Uncle Geoff, and Uncle Geoff was sitting in the backseat with the boy. On their way to church. The boy’s father drove, one hand on the wheel and the other scrolling through the iPod. Tick tick tick. Now we share the laughing / We share the joking / We do the sleeping / Oh with one eye open belted the stereo.
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{Abby Provenzano, University of Michigan} There’s a picture in one of his mother’s old scrapbooks of him and his best friend Donny standing at the edge of the St. Clair River. Jamie & Donny, her cursive scrawls across the back, 1953.... more
{Abby Provenzano, University of Michigan} There’s a picture in one of his mother’s old scrapbooks of him and his best friend Donny standing at the edge of the St. Clair River. Jamie & Donny, her cursive scrawls across the back, 1953. They’re wearing white knit sweaters that nearly reach their knees. Jamie’s hand is in front of his face, shading his eyes from the sun. Donny is laughing. He’s looking at Jamie, not the camera. Jamie doesn’t remember why the photograph was taken, or what they’d been doing that day, but it is this image that crosses his mind when his mother’s tinny voice on the phone tells him that Donny is dead.
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{Griffin Hamstead, University of Georgia} Debra Wallace has a terrible secret. And it ruined her life. . . Dishes clatter across the covered table. Dim voices are heard echoing along the walls. Light streaks in from the open window,... more
{Griffin Hamstead, University of Georgia} Debra Wallace has a terrible secret. And it ruined her life. . . Dishes clatter across the covered table. Dim voices are heard echoing along the walls. Light streaks in from the open window, cutting a swath of waxing sunlight through the room. Cereal is rushed in as children file down the stairs into the dining room.
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{Maya Lora, University of Washington and Lee} The Wife of Bath and the Pardoner share boisterous sexual personalities and a desire for authority that needs to be controlled, resulting in glossing by Chaucer. Chaucer relies on typical... more
{Maya Lora, University of Washington and Lee} The Wife of Bath and the Pardoner share boisterous sexual personalities and a desire for authority that needs to be controlled, resulting in glossing by Chaucer. Chaucer relies on typical masculine power dynamics to enforce his narrative; he uses the Wife of Bath’s own words to correct her tale, penetrating the raw text, and he uses one of his most authoritative male characters, the Host, to keep the Pardoner in line. Since these characters both introduce narratives that rub against orthodox Christianity, I argue Chaucer gave the compelling narratives to deeply flawed characters in order to undermine the morals they present.
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{Liv Moul, Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford} When F.R. Leavis observes that Alexander Pope's Dunciad (1728-1743) in its fully annotated, bloated glory is a "poem [which] trickles through a desert of apparatus," he must have... more
{Liv Moul, Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford} When F.R. Leavis observes that Alexander Pope's Dunciad (1728-1743) in its fully annotated, bloated glory is a "poem [which] trickles through a desert of apparatus," he must have known that 'desert' is one of those words which has contradictory senses: a place of wilderness, and a state of worth or excellence.
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{Anjum Yasmin Nahar, University of Bristol} Set during the period of Ian Smith’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence, Dambudzo Marechera’s short story collection, The House of Hunger (1978), portrays a colonial Rhodesia (referred to in... more
{Anjum Yasmin Nahar, University of Bristol} Set during the period of Ian Smith’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence, Dambudzo Marechera’s short story collection, The House of Hunger (1978), portrays a colonial Rhodesia (referred to in this essay as Zimbabwe) that is rife with sexual and political violence. He critiques the fundamentalism of Zimbabwe's hegemonic national culture by deconstructing the rampant authoritarianism and sexism afflicting his own Hararean township. Often, his critiques rely on vulgar, grotesque and obscene language to articulate the horrors of Zimbabwe's cultural situation. Violence and vulgarity in the novella are also inextricably linked to the violation of the female body, which functions as an allegory for the colonized nation. This essay argues that The House of Hunger not only resists oppressive colonial power, but also a unifying national culture.
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{Thomas Erik Nielsen, Columbia University} Within William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, songs serve an evaluative purpose, commenting on the unfolding drama for the audience. In Hamlet, on the other hand, songs are an expression... more
{Thomas Erik Nielsen, Columbia University} Within William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, songs serve an evaluative purpose, commenting on the unfolding drama for the audience. In Hamlet, on the other hand, songs are an expression of individual thoughts and feelings – most significantly those of Ophelia as she goes mad from an amalgamation of filial grief for Polonius and romantic longing for Hamlet. Integrating these songs into film versions of the plays presents unique challenges;
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{Eileen Ying, University of Virginia} Michelle Cliff’s No Telephone to Heaven closes with an act of total wreckage. Clare, Harriet, and their comrades prepare to ambush a group of white filmmakers only to find themselves cloaked in a... more
{Eileen Ying, University of Virginia} Michelle Cliff’s No Telephone to Heaven closes with an act of total wreckage. Clare, Harriet, and their comrades prepare to ambush a group of white filmmakers only to find themselves cloaked in a sudden darkness. After the darkness, there is a spill of helicopter lights and a shower of hot bullets, then a few final fragments of language, then a naked and solitary daybreak. Though it is this incident that terminates the novel’s narrative arc, it is far from the only of its kind. No Telephone brims with scenes of violence; at every turn, futurity is cut short. Octavia Butler’s “Bloodchild” grapples with a similarly pervasive sort of trauma. Set in a dystopian universe, the story chronicles the parasitic relationship between the alien Tlic and a colony of human beings. It ultimately sidesteps the obliterative thesis, but ends with an equally foreboding moment – a ritual of impregnation that is also, paradoxically, a portent of death. This is hardly surprising, given the two works’ concerns with the aftereffects of colonialism and the ongoing brutalities of race and class oppression, but it nonetheless poses unique interpretive difficulties. At the center of both are questions of reproduction, futurity, and queerness (in the most capacious sense of the term) for subjects for whom childhood has always already been denied.
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{Thu Truong, Yale-NUS, National University of Singapore} “It started out as an idea to improve our therapy sessions,” I said. Among the gathered people, I was the only one who hadn’t been talking. Because of this, when I finally started... more
{Thu Truong, Yale-NUS, National University of Singapore} “It started out as an idea to improve our therapy sessions,” I said. Among the gathered people, I was the only one who hadn’t been talking. Because of this, when I finally started speaking, everyone else turned toward me with expectant looks on their faces. The wind beyond the window had died down, and the spring night fell into absolute silence. “It happened exactly ten years ago. I was thirty, then, and had just opened my own clinic in Rome. She was not my first patient, but was one who stayed for the longest, and who left me with the deepest scar as well.”
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{Tianyi Shou, Tsinghua University} Woolf’s metropolis is a paradoxical site where power structures intersect, and where alternative knowledge of national and individual identity is produced through visceral connections between bodies and... more
{Tianyi Shou, Tsinghua University} Woolf’s metropolis is a paradoxical site where power structures intersect, and where alternative knowledge of national and individual identity is produced through visceral connections between bodies and the material/social spaces that they inhabit. In exploring links between the body and the city, and the individual and the nation, through the lens of embodiment, this paper reads Woolf’s two literary essays, “Street Haunting: A London Adventure” and “The Docks of London,” alongside Simmel’s canonical sociological work “The Metropolis and Mental Life.” In so doing, I examine the idea of “the metropolitan body,” a material/ metaphorical image that stands out in both works, but functions differently in Simmel’s sociological reflection on modernity and Woolf’s literary depiction of urban desires and memories. I argue that Woolf’s celebration of embodied urban experience subverts a unifying nationalist imagining that theorists like Simmel follow.
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{Anna Staropoli, Dartmouth College} Alfredo’s is never open on the weekends, so Mom placed our order Wednesday morning. We wanted to pick it up today, and though Alfredo said Friday afternoon would be difficult, he’d make it work. He... more
{Anna Staropoli, Dartmouth College} Alfredo’s is never open on the weekends, so Mom placed our order Wednesday morning. We wanted to pick it up today, and though Alfredo said Friday afternoon would be difficult, he’d make it work. He didn’t really have a choice; the wake is on Sunday. The chimes ring when we open the door, and I immediately notice the new paintings that decorate the off-white walls of Etna’s last remaining Italian deli. A portrait of Pope Francis and a black and white still of Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday hang above the cash register. On the far end of the deli, the pope surveys the glass case usually stocked with meat, while Audrey oversees the one closer to the door. That one usually has the pastries, though both are nearly empty. Only a few, probably stale sfogliatella, six loaves of burnt olive bread, and two misshapen rolls of mortadella remain. Mortadel’ as nonno used to say. Mortadela, as Rosie would correct him. We’re from Italy, not New Jersey.
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{A. K. Shakour, University of British Columbia} waiting in the frost bitten grass / the air is cool / pocket buzzing / babe! can you see the moon? / pocket buzzing it’s red and full / fingers clicking / i love it
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{Lisa Zhuang, Emory University} She’s so beautiful that you crash your stolen Corvette into a swarm of screaming pedestrians, tumbling out just as the car bursts into flames. Fuck you! somebody screams - that’s all they ever seem to say.... more
{Lisa Zhuang, Emory University} She’s so beautiful that you crash your stolen Corvette into a swarm of screaming pedestrians, tumbling out just as the car bursts into flames. Fuck you! somebody screams - that’s all they ever seem to say. Sirens sound, but you don’t mind. No, your thoughts are on her as you sprint for the pier, bloody footprints in your wake. Helicopter blades flutter above. Bullets spray from behind. As you leap over the railing, one catches you in the shoulder, and you tumble down into cool darkness.
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{Quinn Waller, Vassar College} He lives in California. You live in Ohio. You text, of course, but you feel like you come off better face to face. You’re both in the same spots every time you Skype. He’s in his parents’ office. He shows... more
{Quinn Waller, Vassar College} He lives in California. You live in Ohio. You text, of course, but you feel like you come off better face to face. You’re both in the same spots every time you Skype. He’s in his parents’ office. He shows you the paperweight from the jazz convention his dad spoke at. Behind him is a travel poster for the French Alps. The office opens onto the kitchen, which is airy and bright, from what you can tell. You’re ensconced
in your room, perched on your bed. All he can see behind you is the painted white wood of your bedframe and a bit of your purple wall. Before, you’ve turned the laptop around, so he can see the rest of your room. The Monet posters. The dolphin painting.
in your room, perched on your bed. All he can see behind you is the painted white wood of your bedframe and a bit of your purple wall. Before, you’ve turned the laptop around, so he can see the rest of your room. The Monet posters. The dolphin painting.
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{Maddie Baxter, Wake Forest University} Love poems are written for bards, bartenders, train conductors, butlers and copycats. The poem opens with a somber metaphor of fishhooks in paper skin marked infected. This was named the Shakespeare... more
{Maddie Baxter, Wake Forest University} Love poems are written for bards, bartenders, train conductors, butlers and copycats. The poem opens with a somber metaphor of fishhooks in paper skin marked infected. This was named the Shakespeare theme by the Poet’s friend and publisher Spencer, who wrote dripping replies to the letter. The opening proclamation launches a devastating rejection that presents all of the poet’s main affections.
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{Melissa Friedhoff, University of Virginia} A bird in the hand / is worth two in the bush— /
but I don’t want the bird, / I want the blackberries.
but I don’t want the bird, / I want the blackberries.
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{Peri Sheinin, Brown University} Particles of sand sting his face and he squints but manages to keep his eyes open wide enough to closely monitor the danger that lurks in his left hand. Brown curls tumble out of his turban and fall right... more
{Peri Sheinin, Brown University} Particles of sand sting his face and he squints but manages to keep his eyes open wide enough to closely monitor the danger that lurks in his left hand. Brown curls tumble out of his turban and fall right above his shoulders. The boy continues to stare straight ahead and grip the snake. He does not want to be a snake charmer but he has no choice.
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{Jacob Atwood, Boston College} The Colombian red-tailed boa coils in a stiff oval. Meaty bands of torso heap high in the glass tank. The snake’s emerald brown scales glisten under the glare of the artificial lighting. I stare, gasping for... more
{Jacob Atwood, Boston College} The Colombian red-tailed boa coils in a stiff oval. Meaty bands of torso heap high in the glass tank. The snake’s emerald brown scales glisten under the glare of the artificial lighting. I stare, gasping for air, as sweat seeps between my fingers. The dread I felt this morning has come to fruition in the bright aisle of a Petco. I inhale a kibble-scented breath and keep looking.
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{Sarah Mayo, UC Irvine} hide away sweet thing / this thistle-world, this swollen mind /
this ancient room can’t touch you / through me flow rivers of distance / and fleets of bruising mandolin notes
this ancient room can’t touch you / through me flow rivers of distance / and fleets of bruising mandolin notes
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{Donya Jeyabalasingham, University of Bristol} I can’t see any Icons, so I’m here looking for you, / I’ve sailed to Byzantium, walked to Arcadia, stood in grass outgrew. / Each place I left, following something new, / where my hair... more
{Donya Jeyabalasingham, University of Bristol} I can’t see any Icons, so I’m here looking for you, / I’ve sailed to Byzantium, walked to Arcadia, stood in grass outgrew. / Each place I left, following something new, / where my hair stretches out, and my brown skin beams bright / and where my soul knows it sits right. / Behind this chestnut door an old voice calls out ‘come through, my love, come / through.’
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{Flynn Allott, University College London} The function of the eye was entirely reinterpreted during Drummond’s lifetime, and a struggle with the language arising from this discovery is widely apparent in both his poetry and his prose.... more
{Flynn Allott, University College London} The function of the eye was entirely reinterpreted during Drummond’s lifetime, and a struggle with the language arising from this discovery is widely apparent in both his poetry and his prose. Perhaps against his own wishes, Drummond’s writing refuses to be merely erotic, or merely decorative. As the language of poetry overlapped with the language of science, the eye became a lens through which a great intellectual struggle was transmitted: Drummond was caught between two modes of vision, one ancient and one modern, and the instability of this position resounds throughout his work.
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{Chariklia Martalas, University of Witswaterstrand} I have my mother’s face, now I have her coat. A brown coat: my mother says it is shabby for the coat is now older than me. I didn’t care as I packed it gently into my suitcase. Making... more
{Chariklia Martalas, University of Witswaterstrand} I have my mother’s face, now I have her coat. A brown coat: my mother says it is shabby for the coat is now older than me. I didn’t care as I packed it gently into my suitcase. Making sure that it would not be crumpled, that it was resting easy and comfortable knowing that it could so easily be bruised in the flight. I am already too clumsy with suitcases. The next time I would be wearing it was in Florence, up three flights of narrow stairs in an apartment just south of the Arno with a window looking onto Italian washing. There I would unravel a different kind of thread. Place on the coat as if I was wrapping myself to become a fatalistic spool.
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{Samantha Claypoole, University of Pennsylvania} We move / slickly down the road / accompanied by the gentle hum of the engine and / the hurricane of our own laughter.
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{Tiara Desire-Brisard, Trinity College} Most of Chaucer’s works can function as commentaries for social class, religion, and even the politics of his day. His mastery of language and characterization allow him to create complex storylines... more
{Tiara Desire-Brisard, Trinity College} Most of Chaucer’s works can function as commentaries for social class, religion, and even the politics of his day. His mastery of language and characterization allow him to create complex storylines that are hyper-realistic in both the medieval world and our modern one. Regarding the Knight and the Squire, their familial bond can be seen through the descriptions in their “General Prologue” portraits, and in a more nuanced way, it can be seen within the stylistic elements of their stories. Since the Knight and the Squire are nobility, they are expected to represent chivalry and honor within their language and actions. Yet, while the Knight appears to perfectly emulate this, the Squire falls short and gives into the youthful trends of the day. Even though they hold similar values, the Squire’s lack of maturity, desire to travel, and romantic ideals distance himself from his more traditional father.
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{Charlie Lee, Yale University} Young people who read are the worst my brother the hypocrite once said waiting outside / a bar / I’d rather dance / This was not entirely true I thought / having never seen him dance
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{Camila Dadabhoy, UC Irvine} “Alahu Akbar, Alahu Akbar!” The long, drawn out, Arabic words singing from the round Athaan clock in the kitchen echo throughout the house, signaling the time for the Islamic afternoon prayer. I am comforted... more
{Camila Dadabhoy, UC Irvine} “Alahu Akbar, Alahu Akbar!”
The long, drawn out, Arabic words singing from the round Athaan clock in the kitchen echo throughout the house, signaling the time for the Islamic afternoon prayer. I am comforted by this strong symphony, when it is suddenly contrasted with the very same words being uttered from a handsome, African-Grey parrot perched high in a tall, white cage. He repeats the words with such similarity, with a few
parrot-voiced undertones that lead you to remember that this was indeed, a bird.
The long, drawn out, Arabic words singing from the round Athaan clock in the kitchen echo throughout the house, signaling the time for the Islamic afternoon prayer. I am comforted by this strong symphony, when it is suddenly contrasted with the very same words being uttered from a handsome, African-Grey parrot perched high in a tall, white cage. He repeats the words with such similarity, with a few
parrot-voiced undertones that lead you to remember that this was indeed, a bird.
Research Interests:
{Jack Rodgers, Bowdoin College} In the twilight of time out of time—that is, time in literature, which supposes a time while never fully partaking of it, Kublai Khan asks, “What is the use, then, of all your traveling?” What is the use of... more
{Jack Rodgers, Bowdoin College} In the twilight of time out of time—that is, time in literature, which supposes a time while never fully partaking of it, Kublai Khan asks, “What is the use, then, of all your traveling?” What is the use of all of our traveling? The question may be rephrased like this: From whence have we come, and why? What have we brought? What gifts? There is an accusation here: for time has been given, and cannot be given again, but may, of course, be taken away—by empty stories from the mouth of a wanderer, who is perhaps a thief, bringing what might very well be stories of places he has never been. This is the question at the beginning of hospitality: the Great Khan asks, “And you?”
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In “What Is An Author?,” Michel Foucault critiques the traditional notion that sees authors as their texts’ mere human creators. Instead of placing the author in a position of privileged authority, Foucault suggests that one should... more
In “What Is An Author?,” Michel Foucault critiques the traditional notion that sees authors as their texts’ mere human creators. Instead of placing the author in a position of privileged authority, Foucault suggests that one should analyze the author as an evolving classificatory function of the text. While Foucault refers primarily to literary texts in this piece, he acknowledges that the author function can apply to other sources as well. Therefore, considering Foucault’s view of the author function in conjunction with auteur theory in cinema, which claims the director as the “author” of a film, fosters both a fascinating and constructive study. Mixing these theories together creates complications, as cinema and literature function in similar, but not identical ways; however, this dual analysis yields a beneficial outcome, as it raises profound insights for both mediums. In addition to “What Is An Author?” this essay will draw on François Truffaut’s “A Certain Tendency of the French Cinema” and Andrew Sarris’ “Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962” to show how Foucault’s theory of the author can evolve and expand when applied to film directors.
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To designate Dracula as a vampire novel would by no means constitute a false representation; the text does, on a molar level, deal with the vampire. However, this classification misdiagnoses the conflict that drives the novel, a conflict... more
To designate Dracula as a vampire novel would by no means constitute a false representation; the text does, on a molar level, deal with the vampire. However, this classification misdiagnoses the conflict that drives the novel, a conflict which instead deals in the becoming-vampire, among other becomings. Essentially, Dracula relies more on the vampiric than the vampire. By performing the vampiric act of infection—turning the familiar into a terrifying other—Dracula threatens to usurp the patriarchal structure at the center of the novel. This paper conducts a reexamination of the vampiric through the concept of ‘becoming’ as articulated in A Thousand Plateaus, a critical lens that facilitates new insight into gender issues in Dracula. Reframing the vampiric as ‘becoming’ generates the possibility that it might be redeemed as an alternative to the patriarchal.
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In early modern England, the genre of the elegy began to emerge as a profound form of social and cultural meditation upon the common and yet painful occasion of death. By laying the foundations for the art of mourning, the elegy cemented... more
In early modern England, the genre of the elegy began to emerge as a profound form of social and cultural meditation upon the common and yet painful occasion of death. By laying the foundations for the art of mourning, the elegy cemented the literature of loss and sorrow in such a manner that placed a remarkable emphasis on the individual’s private and personal experience of grief, thereby reflecting the timely recognition of the individual’s newly burgeoning sense of a distinct self. The poetics to arise out of these Renaissance humanist traditions presented the audience with both the secular and the religious arguments that were frequently employed by individuals in response to the death of a loved one. In particular, the poets of the seventeenth century milieu, such as Ben Jonson and Katherine Philips, as well as the earlier genius of William Shakespeare, were all able to capture the often incomprehensible encounter with life’s ultimate tragedy—the death of a child—and to later pose the psychological remedies that the individual can implement in order to reclaim such misfortune. In pursuit of this shared literary goal, then, Jonson, Philips, and Shakespeare offer an intimate glimpse into the crisis of parental bereavement, one which they argue can be properly mitigated through a redemptive model of self-consolation that guides the individual to triumph over the tribulations of grief.
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In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor and his monster chase each other past all borders of civilization into the unexplored arctic. This essay refers to the work of Eve Sedgwick and James McGavran to establish and define Victor’s and the... more
In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor and his monster chase each other past all borders of civilization into the unexplored arctic. This essay refers to the work of Eve Sedgwick and James McGavran to establish and define Victor’s and the monster’s mutual homoerotic desire. The work of Fredric Jameson, Elizabeth Freeman, Dana Luciano, José Muñoz and Lee Edelman will help to define the arctic within the narrative as a queer utopia. I will then draw upon the work of Jason Haslam to reach my own conclusion as to why the monster lives and Victor dies, and how those events serve to create a new utopic vision. The arctic realm in Frankenstein functions as a queer utopia which ultimately opens the possibility of new queer temporalities.
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Zora Neale Hurston’s novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God, is told from the perspective of Janie. Through the course of three failed marriages attempts to understand herself. Janie’s voice, however, is not unified. Rather, it is divided... more
Zora Neale Hurston’s novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God, is told from the perspective of Janie. Through the course of three failed marriages attempts to understand herself. Janie’s voice, however, is not unified. Rather, it is divided between Janie’s first person, reported speech and a third person narrative voice. Janie is able to speak of her life in her own dialect. While these instances, largely due to their adherence to dialectal authenticity, feel intimate, there is very little self-reflection. At moments of complex interiority, there is a distance between the reader and the narrator. A third person narrator is able to subsume Janie’s dialectal voice. This voice is distinctly Janie’s, simply at a different register. The narrative voice seems to be more literary. It relies on figurative language such as metaphors and similes. It follows conventional grammatical rules. It feels more educated. Yet, the narrative voice is not a mere translation of Janie’s voice into standard English. The separation of the two voices is the manifestation of the tension between Janie’s interior and exterior self. Through analyzing Janie’s various attempts, and failure, to narrate both her interior and exterior life, this paper will offer a more complete understanding of the ways in which identity functions in Their Eyes Were Watching God.
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Toni Morrison’s novels are deeply rooted in and committed to place. Perched on the distinction between fact and truth, her work relies on truth to recover a subjectivity that is often cut away from fact. In Beloved, while we are aware of... more
Toni Morrison’s novels are deeply rooted in and committed to place. Perched on the distinction between fact and truth, her work relies on truth to recover a subjectivity that is often cut away from fact. In Beloved, while we are aware of the facts of Sethe’s escape, we are asked to instead pay attention to Sethe’s subjective memory of it, her private familiarity with pain, her intimacy with Amy’s “breath like burning wood”. (Morrison, 2004, 92). In this way, using the ‘magical’ to conjure up something more real and whole than fact, Morrison similarly transforms the settings of her novels into something fuller than an address, writing the emotional truth of a place onto its physical landscape. Where other writers use setting as a physical backdrop, a stage, I argue that Morrison builds place with intimacy, paying attention to its corners and folds, giving it not only a name but a persona. In this essay, I will explore how Morrison represents landscapes as places of intimacy in The Bluest Eye, Jazz, and Paradise, uplifting the interior experiences of black women through narration in order to render place and community as subjective rather than objective. Portraying places with an intimacy that elevates subjectivity over fact, her settings are never indifferent or separate from the lives that they contain. In fact, they are interested and entwined.
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In his 1920 essay “The Storyteller: Reflections on the Works of Nikolai Leskov,” Walter Benjamin writes that a close look at modern experience “teaches us that the art of storytelling is coming to an end” (Benjamin 362). The oral... more
In his 1920 essay “The Storyteller: Reflections on the Works of Nikolai Leskov,” Walter Benjamin writes that a close look at modern experience “teaches us that the art of storytelling is coming to an end” (Benjamin 362). The oral tradition of the story, the tale which provides its readers with some form of counsel, and provokes them to retell it themselves, is a dying (or perhaps dead) form. The forces that are killing it are the forces which have leached the value from lived experience, namely “strategic experience by tactical warfare, economic experience by inflation, bodily experience by mechanical warfare, [and] moral experience by those in power” (Benjamin 362). After World War I, in an industrial society grasping to find its own direction and sense of meaning, it seemed impossible for the modern experience to offer the same kind of experiential wealth possessed and shared by earlier generations.
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African American print culture has been integral to creating and preserving African American history (Foster 715). Regarded as the first African American ethnology, Robert Benjamin Lewis’ 1844 Light and Truth; collected from the Bible and... more
African American print culture has been integral to creating and preserving African American history (Foster 715). Regarded as the first African American ethnology, Robert Benjamin Lewis’ 1844 Light and Truth; collected from the Bible and Ancient And Modern History, Containing the Universal History of the Colored and Indian Race From the Creation of the World to the Present Time acts as a guiding piece of print culture. By definition, an ethnology is “the systematic study and description of peoples, societies, and cultures,” thus creating an expectation of the book to tell the story of the “Colored and Indian” races (oed.org). Lewis writes a story of the universe’s creation and history, highlights nineteenth century African Americans of influence, and ends in praising Haiti’s recent revolution. This paper will utilize Lewis’ book as well as African American ephemera to explore the coverage of connections between African and Native American experiences in the nineteenth century. Looking through the cultural lenses of race and theology, the coverage of Afro-Native American issues came to fruition as a result of the historical widespread dislocation and oppression both peoples faced in the Americas.
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One of the most perplexing questions of the De Rerum Natura is the reasoning behind Lucretius’ use of both poetry and myth. Lucretius himself offers an explanation when he describes himself as “Turning the taste of honey into sound/ As... more
One of the most perplexing questions of the De Rerum Natura is the reasoning behind Lucretius’ use of both poetry and myth. Lucretius himself offers an explanation when he describes himself as “Turning the taste of honey into sound/ As musical, as golden, so that I/ May hold your mind with poetry, while you/ Are learning all about that form, that pattern, And see its usefulness” (Humphries, 119). This quote explains the famous honey-on-the-rim of wormwood analogy that Lucretius describes previously in which the honey represents the poetry, and the wormwood the healing philosophy of Epicureanism. Lucretius explains that in order to make his writing more convincing and more palatable, he adorns his Epicurean philosophy with poetry. While in and of itself a complex topic, there does seem to be a certain logic to that decision. However, Lucretius’ use of myth specifically remains somewhat of a mystery. What does myth uniquely offer that mere verse or poetic and imagistic passages cannot? Since myth and poetry share a bond in Classical literature and since the most fundamental sources for myth both for us and Lucretius were written in poetry, to a certain extent Lucretius’ explanation of why he uses poetry can extend to why he uses myth. However, Lucretius’ hostility towards religion complicates this matter, because just as myth and poetry share a bond, so does myth and religion.
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In both the claustrophobic text of Giovanni’s Room and the tiny room itself, David reckons with his alienating terror of the flesh. This terror, in Baldwin’s words, is “really a terror of being able to be touched” (Goldstein 70). From... more
In both the claustrophobic text of Giovanni’s Room and the tiny room itself,
David reckons with his alienating terror of the flesh. This terror, in Baldwin’s
words, is “really a terror of being able to be touched” (Goldstein 70). From
whence did David’s terror spring? And what are the implications, in James
Baldwin’s criticism of the “American dream of love,” of David’s succumbing to
this terror? I hope to explore these questions and also the ways in which David
wields his fear and hatred against those who love, or try to love him as
punishment for their failure to adhere to the impossible demands of his white
American masculinity and the imagined white familial construction. Against a
backdrop of postwar alienation and detritus in the streets of Paris and of his
psyche, David’s transplanted national and personal turmoil has physically and
ontologically deadly implications. But only in the stifling air and excess
romanticism of Paris can we see that it is ultimately the fleshy embodiment of his
father, women, and queer, immigrant others that condemns them to abjection
and ontological displacement. Their excess is a mere symptom of their inherent
incapacity and thus, failure, to realize the American dream of love—in David’s
eyes, the most grievous sin.
David reckons with his alienating terror of the flesh. This terror, in Baldwin’s
words, is “really a terror of being able to be touched” (Goldstein 70). From
whence did David’s terror spring? And what are the implications, in James
Baldwin’s criticism of the “American dream of love,” of David’s succumbing to
this terror? I hope to explore these questions and also the ways in which David
wields his fear and hatred against those who love, or try to love him as
punishment for their failure to adhere to the impossible demands of his white
American masculinity and the imagined white familial construction. Against a
backdrop of postwar alienation and detritus in the streets of Paris and of his
psyche, David’s transplanted national and personal turmoil has physically and
ontologically deadly implications. But only in the stifling air and excess
romanticism of Paris can we see that it is ultimately the fleshy embodiment of his
father, women, and queer, immigrant others that condemns them to abjection
and ontological displacement. Their excess is a mere symptom of their inherent
incapacity and thus, failure, to realize the American dream of love—in David’s
eyes, the most grievous sin.
Research Interests:
My dad got a DUI months ago – second one since my mom left. Since his license is still suspended, every weekday at 5am I gotta pick him up from the cough drop factory. I always get there early and he’s already waiting for me in the same... more
My dad got a DUI months ago – second one since my mom left. Since his license is still suspended, every weekday at 5am I gotta pick him up from the cough drop factory. I always get there early and he’s already waiting for me in the same spot. This Wednesday is no exception.
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IT was 6 o’clock in the morning, and the sun had just risen, as it always did, at the same time, for each day and every day. Destined to be subsumed by window curtains, the sunbeams silhouetted the patterns embedded deep within the... more
IT was 6 o’clock in the morning, and the sun had just risen, as it always did, at the same time, for each day and every day.
Destined to be subsumed by window curtains, the sunbeams silhouetted the patterns embedded deep within the linen—an ephemeral portrait of suspended time. The sunlight crept into the gaping crevice between the curtains, and it conspired as it had each day and every day to wake Marshall up before the screen in the otherwise bare room drowned it out. But as always, the booming sound of the speakers and the overwhelming light of the pixels would render such nature subservient to the manmade commands of urgency and immediacy.
Destined to be subsumed by window curtains, the sunbeams silhouetted the patterns embedded deep within the linen—an ephemeral portrait of suspended time. The sunlight crept into the gaping crevice between the curtains, and it conspired as it had each day and every day to wake Marshall up before the screen in the otherwise bare room drowned it out. But as always, the booming sound of the speakers and the overwhelming light of the pixels would render such nature subservient to the manmade commands of urgency and immediacy.
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When Henry found out that in a matter of months the Earth would be destroyed by an asteroid, he did not think he was going to die. It happened like this: On the bumping, slightly sweaty bus ride home from school, a fifth grader with a... more
When Henry found out that in a matter of months the Earth would be destroyed by an asteroid, he did not think he was going to die. It happened like this: On the bumping, slightly sweaty bus ride home from school, a fifth grader with a snot nose named Jenny Fincher leaned over the back of her seat to face Henry and his best friend, Michael. She wore her hair in two braids with matching purple hair ties and she smelled faintly of peanut butter.
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The night I first learned that Teddy Kilpatrick had been kidnapped, I saw his mother stumble down to her mailbox in her bare feet at three in the morning. This was odd, even for a strange, single mother in an ugly, angry little mining... more
The night I first learned that Teddy Kilpatrick had been kidnapped, I saw his mother stumble down to her mailbox in her bare feet at three in the morning.
This was odd, even for a strange, single mother in an ugly, angry little mining town with only a handful of miners to rub together. So I stubbed out my cigarette and called out to her. Her head jerked around so savagely that even at a distance I was startled. Her hair floated around her face like she was underwater, her mouth creasing into a greasy little smile.
This was odd, even for a strange, single mother in an ugly, angry little mining town with only a handful of miners to rub together. So I stubbed out my cigarette and called out to her. Her head jerked around so savagely that even at a distance I was startled. Her hair floated around her face like she was underwater, her mouth creasing into a greasy little smile.
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these faulty eyes do watch and see the filthy world of you and me they gaze upon half formed idols that twist and meld into fear and life we, everlastingly unsatisfied with nature as it sits still yap at the remnants of babylonian... more
these faulty eyes do watch and see
the filthy world of you and me
they gaze upon half formed idols
that twist and meld into fear and life
we, everlastingly
unsatisfied with nature as it sits
still yap at the remnants of babylonian gardens
the filthy world of you and me
they gaze upon half formed idols
that twist and meld into fear and life
we, everlastingly
unsatisfied with nature as it sits
still yap at the remnants of babylonian gardens
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the dying hydrangea
turns a light green before withering
to brown.
turns a light green before withering
to brown.
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I still remember the way your bed used to smell. I wish I liked remembering it more than I do. I remember breathing that earthy musk—those electric, strawberry fields—deep into my belly. I remember pushing the soft crook of my nose into... more
I still remember the way your bed used to smell. I wish I liked remembering it more than I do. I remember breathing that earthy musk—those electric, strawberry fields—deep into my belly. I remember pushing the soft crook of my nose into their soil tides. I remember inhaling the ghost that your skin pressed into those sheets that day you left. After all, that was the day you left me. Of course, you never actually left. You were still right there beside me, naked and swaddled firmly into my body by the womb of our mattress. But I know you left then. I could see it in your eyes.
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All poems are about people.
There are no poems just
about the sea or sweating sun
There are no poems just
about the sea or sweating sun
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I come from a lineage of broken homes and survival tactics.
Men
who fed their families with crop
tilled from seed to sickle.
Men
who fed their families with crop
tilled from seed to sickle.
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The Good Fortune Asian supermarket in Quincy, Massachusetts on Sunday mornings was more hectic than an American mall on Black Friday. Personal boundaries were disregarded as shoppers reached over one another to sink their hands into... more
The Good Fortune Asian supermarket in Quincy, Massachusetts on Sunday
mornings was more hectic than an American mall on Black Friday. Personal
boundaries were disregarded as shoppers reached over one another to sink their
hands into weathered wooden containers filled with ginger. Bits of meat and bone
splattered all over bloody aprons as butchers efficiently fulfilled the requests of
shoppers fighting for spots in front of smudged glass cases.
mornings was more hectic than an American mall on Black Friday. Personal
boundaries were disregarded as shoppers reached over one another to sink their
hands into weathered wooden containers filled with ginger. Bits of meat and bone
splattered all over bloody aprons as butchers efficiently fulfilled the requests of
shoppers fighting for spots in front of smudged glass cases.
Research Interests:
Black rocks of your i-
rises, from blue-green gold fleck
and red vein, they rose.
rises, from blue-green gold fleck
and red vein, they rose.
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I don’t know if you’ve ever stepped on a snail before; I don’t know how much of a universal experience it is. I don’t know if it’s something that only happens in warm climates, or when it’s wet out, or at night. What’s the geographic... more
I don’t know if you’ve ever stepped on a snail before; I don’t know how much of a universal experience it is. I don’t know if it’s something that only happens in warm climates, or when it’s wet out, or at night. What’s the geographic range of the snail? I imagine it’s global, but I could of course be entirely wrong. (I’m wrong about a lot of things, I’ve gathered, but for some reason you don’t seem to think so.) So I don’t know if what I’m about to describe is entirely relatable, but it’s something that I remember with a clarity I rarely find in myself these days.
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I celebrated my 20th birthday at home by throwing up in my hand in front of a guy who’d been crushing on me since the last week of our senior year of high school and he said, “Did you just throw up in your hand?” and I said, “No,” and... more
I celebrated my 20th birthday at home by throwing up in my hand in front of a guy who’d been crushing on me since the last week of our senior year of high school and he said, “Did you just throw up in your hand?” and I said, “No,” and then went out to the front lawn to throw up some more. Somehow, within the hour, not only my hand but also the backside of my jean shorts were covered in vomit and I was sitting on the stoop of the house while one sober friend handed me a napkin and one drunk friend insisted that I take another shot. “It’ll make you feel better,” she slurred. Later, I’d find the shorts encrusted on the floor of my room, as stiff as if I were still wearing them, with no memory of how they got that way.
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I am four years old. I am waiting on the front porch of an abandoned town house on Main Street. Kids toys are scattered across the lawn and I faintly smell what only could be tobacco. My mom clutches my hand and tells me what to say, the... more
I am four years old. I am waiting on the front porch of an abandoned town
house on Main Street. Kids toys are scattered across the lawn and I faintly smell
what only could be tobacco. My mom clutches my hand and tells me what to say, the
perfect rehearsed line for the single mother waiting behind the door. “Don’t worry,
she won’t get mad at you because you’re just a little girl,” my mother whispers to me.
This is what she always said.
house on Main Street. Kids toys are scattered across the lawn and I faintly smell
what only could be tobacco. My mom clutches my hand and tells me what to say, the
perfect rehearsed line for the single mother waiting behind the door. “Don’t worry,
she won’t get mad at you because you’re just a little girl,” my mother whispers to me.
This is what she always said.
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The heat slaps her face. She turns to her side in order to move her back away from the floor she’s sleeping on. The thin mattress makes the tile floor feels like a layer of dirt. The only sound in the room comes from a fan. It makes a... more
The heat slaps her face. She turns to her side in order to move her back away from the floor she’s sleeping on. The thin mattress makes the tile floor feels like a layer of dirt. The only sound in the room comes from a fan. It makes a humming noise throughout the night. Dao makes out the shape of the fan in the dark. A clock hangs on top of the fan. 6:30 AM. Late.
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Though the sonnets and lyric sequences in Claudia Emerson’s “The Late Wife” and “Impossible Bottle” are, at times, nearly imperceptible, it is precisely this opaque quality of her poems that demonstrate the poet’s fluency in the form and... more
Though the sonnets and lyric sequences in Claudia Emerson’s “The Late Wife” and “Impossible Bottle” are, at times, nearly imperceptible, it is precisely this opaque quality of her poems that demonstrate the poet’s fluency in the form and mastery with which she obscures it. Her distinct way of orienting and disorienting the reader is encapsulated by her two lyric sequences, Letters to Kent from “The Late Wife” and Anatomies from “Impossible Bottle,” the former engaging with the death of her husband’s late wife from lung cancer, and the latter reconciling with Emerson’s own terminal cancer in its final stages. It is in her way of calling on the familiarity of the sonnet and continuity of the lyric sequence, while simultaneously manipulating, veiling and even thwarting the form, that Emerson achieves what Keats calls the “Negative Capability”: “when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason” (British Library). Through subtle erasures and alterations of each sonnet’s shape, metaphor and rhyme, Emerson maintains a mystery about how one recognizes what is being communicated in her poems while motioning us to enter the apprehensions of the speaker, as we apprehend the blank spaces of the poem’s page. This paper will explore how Emerson achieves the “negative capability” through the sonnet form in “The Late Wife” and “Impossible Bottle,” and further, to show how the “The Late Wife” set a groundwork for Emerson to use the sonnet as metaphor itself in Anatomies, her lyric sequence from “Impossible Bottle.”
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One of clearest strands running through Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fiction is a reflexive concern with its own capacities and limitations as a medium. The author’s 1846 collection Mosses from an Old Manse, for instance, often reads like an ars... more
One of clearest strands running through Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fiction is a reflexive concern with its own capacities and limitations as a medium. The author’s 1846 collection Mosses from an Old Manse, for instance, often reads like an ars poetica: such stories as “Drowne’s Wooden Image,” “The Artist of the Beautiful,” and “The Birthmark” all take as their principal subject the feasibility of the artistic endeavor, and the materials necessary for its success. Yet unlike his contemporary Edgar Allan Poe, who outlined a creative process in “The Philosophy of Composition” and “The Poetic Principle,” Hawthorne had little interest in philosophizing parallel to his literature. The critic is therefore left without any formulation of his aesthetic ideas with which to sort out the questions raised by his fiction, and so the picture left of Hawthorne’s understanding of his medium is “full of apparent ambiguities and self-contradictions” (Gupta 310). To educe any coherent system of aesthetics from his literary works, then, “one has also somehow to clear the obscurities and remove or explain away the contradictions” (310) that abound between them. The project of this essay will be to resolve one such contradiction between “The Artist of the Beautiful” and “The Birthmark,” with the aim of unifying, in part, Hawthorne’s scattered aesthetics. Specifically, one intuits the success of the artist in the former story and his failure in the latter, but they seem to achieve much the same end: both apprehend, if but momentarily, the “immortal essence” (“The Birthmark” 130) of beauty in their works. My question is therefore—does this tension indicate a discrepancy in Hawthorne’s aesthetic vision? If not, what is the error the protagonist of “The Birthmark” commits, and what does it reveal about Hawthorne’s theory of art?
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This paper intends to argue that Heathcliff’s dominating and unforgettable presence in Wuthering Heights is the result of a series of maneuvers by Emily Brontë, in which she secures and sustains sympathy for her otherwise unredeemable... more
This paper intends to argue that Heathcliff’s dominating and unforgettable presence in Wuthering Heights is the result of a series of maneuvers by Emily Brontë, in which she secures and sustains sympathy for her otherwise unredeemable protagonist... Brontë seeks to challenge conventional assumptions about narrative storylines, first by goading us into a sense of complacency and persuading us that we know precisely where this story will go (after all, if the beginning resembles a Bildungsroman, Heathcliff must be a hero), only then to continually expose and defy these generic assumptions at every turn. In this way, Brontë seems to make a broader point about the ways in which standard features of fiction often remain inapplicable to reality, and that life itself (with all its unknowable mysteries and confusing twists and turns) generally frustrates expectations and resists interpretation. Lastly, I will explain why Brontë’s deception possibly lies at the heart of critics’ long-standing fascination with Heathcliff, as well as suggest that the deception is partly responsible for the initial unenthusiastic response to Wuthering Heights, making those early reviewers believe the story would “never be generally read” (North British Review 136).
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To put it bluntly, Kazuo Ishiguro isn’t particularly fun to read. His characters suffer, and their suffering, whether by direct cause or symbolic energy, tends to determine the fate of their novel-worlds. When figuring Ishiguro’s... more
To put it bluntly, Kazuo Ishiguro isn’t particularly fun to read. His characters suffer, and their suffering, whether by direct cause or symbolic energy, tends to determine the fate of their novel-worlds. When figuring Ishiguro’s individual works into a macroscopic constellation, however, the manner by which their suffering is expressed appears to evolve. As Ishiguro ages and transforms as a novelist, so does his literary depiction of pain. Ishiguro’s first few novels present pain as a psychological plot device; however, as his writing matures into different genres and narrative voices, pain seems to accordingly crystallize into a more corporeal motif. This migration of portrayal from the internal and narrative to the external and stylistic, in effect, works to make the pains of his novels more obvious and accessible. Furthermore, the evolution of pain throughout Ishiguro’s works necessitates a responding evolution in how his characters both acknowledge and treat such pain. Ishiguro’s novels accordingly seem to explore the comparative impact and efficacy of varying forms and relationships of pain—an ongoing, ever-evolving experiment in how pain may be best expressed, managed, and, ultimately, felt.
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Shirley Jackson’s Gothic novel The Haunting of Hill House (1959) tells the tale of four seekers who reside in the titular house rumored to be haunted. Among these figures, the focal character is Eleanor Vance. From her tendency to... more
Shirley Jackson’s Gothic novel The Haunting of Hill House (1959) tells the tale of four seekers who reside in the titular house rumored to be haunted. Among these figures, the focal character is Eleanor Vance. From her tendency to obsessively—almost oppressively—overthink every word and action, whether it is her own or that of others aimed at her, it can be surmised that she possesses a “solipsistic self-centeredness” (Pascal 465). In fact, Jackson’s narrator describes her as a figure who has “spent so long alone, with no one to love” that she faces both the difficulty to “talk, even casually, to another person without self-consciousness” and an “awkward inability to find words” at all (Jackson 6-7). As a result, this narrator is tasked with the burden of tracing not only her “capricious emotional whims,” but also her unsaid and all-consuming thoughts throughout the entirety of the narrative. This is a particularly onerous undertaking, given that the novel can be construed as a reversal of the conventional Bildungsroman in that Eleanor, rather than grow into adulthood, develops her “hitherto latent capacity for immaturity” and descends into childishness (Pascal 477, 480). At first glance, although the literature and film share in their use of the third-person point of view, careful examination reveals that both mediums must intertwine a less impartial and more intimate point of view in order to depict the entirety of Eleanor’s essence, while capturing other figures that inhabit the eponymous house. In this paper, I will argue that while the novel’s narrator must necessarily ventriloquize much of Eleanor’s experience, the filmic form enables the narrative voice to be refigured into voice-overs and cinematographic choices, thereby granting Eleanor a greater presence, while maintaining some distance and objectivity in perspective.
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Sara Ahmed, in her book Living a Feminist Life and her article “Feminist Killjoys (And Other Willful Subjects),” claims the figure of the feminist killjoy not as a derogatory term, but rather as a role that can be positively embodied if... more
Sara Ahmed, in her book Living a Feminist Life and her article “Feminist Killjoys (And Other Willful Subjects),” claims the figure of the feminist killjoy not as a derogatory term, but rather as a role that can be positively embodied if only we “take the figure of the feminist killjoy seriously/” One way to take this figure seriously is to use it as a lens through which to view Yeong-hye, the protagonist of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian. Throughout the novel as Yeong-hye abstains from eating meat—and eventually all food—and from partaking in social routines in which she no longer finds joy or meaning, her actions are most accurately explained through her embodiment of the figure of the willful feminist killjoy. Ahmed invokes this figure to respond to accusations that feminists kill the joy supposedly present in situations and in people by “being willing to get in the way” and point out where inconsistencies and sexism lie (Feminist Life 66). Yeong-hye is willful because she is one of those “who are willing to put their bodies in the way” of happiness and well-being if it comes at the expense of her own happiness and well-being (“Killjoys 7). Yeong-hye puts her body in the way by claiming control of it through choices involving grooming, self-presentation, and diet. Even as her claims to control are contested and misrepresented as only medical disorders, Yeong-hye willfully resists further attempts at controlling her that are disguised as treatment and healing. Due to her location within the familial, patriarchal, and habitualistic systems that dominate her financially stable, modern-day South Korean society, Yeong-hye’s actions can be read as an embodiment of the killjoy’s willful feminism.
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The Vietnam War, homosexual extramarital affairs, and the Japanese geisha. These three seemingly unrelated phenomena all collide when reviewing the multiple artistic endeavors that sprouted out of Giacomo Puccini’s Madama Butterfly... more
The Vietnam War, homosexual extramarital affairs, and the Japanese geisha. These three seemingly unrelated phenomena all collide when reviewing the multiple artistic endeavors that sprouted out of Giacomo Puccini’s Madama Butterfly (1904). This opera, based on the 1898 short story by John Luther Long, tells the tragic story of a young Japanese geisha and her American naval officer lover, who fathers her child before returning home. As one of the most frequently performed operas, Madama Butterfly has interested a variety of artists, spawning a long list of adaptations from an assortment of mediums including plays, musicals, movies, comic books, and even rock band albums. Two of these works, David Henry Hwang’s M. Butterfly (1988) and Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s Miss Saigon (1989), are of particular interest for retelling the story of Puccini’s opera in unique ways through different theatrical mediums. Both shows opened, and also had revivals, around the same time. In fact, in the fall of 2017, one could see both Miss Saigon and M. Butterfly on Broadway and then travel just a few blocks to the Metropolitan Opera to see Puccini’s masterpiece that started it all 113 years earlier. However, this original masterpiece has been scolded, by scholars and laymen alike, for perpetuating stereotypes of Asian women as weak, submissive, hyper-sexualized, and enchantingly exotic. Regardless, it remains one of the most commonly performed operas and has spawned successful artistic endeavors such as Miss Saigon and M. Butterfly. In this paper I hope to examine these two adaptations and their 2017 productions against Puccini’s original work in order to elicit a greater understanding about the possibilities and practices of adapting problematic storylines for contemporary audiences.
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Jordan Peele is the ultimate storyteller of narratives about interracial relations between Black and White people through humor. Peele draws significantly from his lived experience as a biracial man to illustrate the competing narratives... more
Jordan Peele is the ultimate storyteller of narratives about interracial relations between Black and White people through humor. Peele draws significantly from his lived experience as a biracial man to illustrate the competing narratives that one must reconcile if one does not fit neatly into the Black-White racial binary. He does not directly tackle racism, but rather racialism, the belief that the human species is divided into defined “races” with distinct characteristics and capacities. Peele elicits laughter by exposing the absurdity of race in America, as racialism compels people of color to modulate their performances of racial stereotypes depending on their environment. Peele taps into his experiences a biracial man to indirectly call White audiences to acknowledge their complicity in perpetuating racial performances, without being too confrontational.
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This essay will not attempt to justify Jim Carrey as either brilliant or crazy though; it will leave that interpretation to the fans, critics, and paparazzi. Instead, using film theory and the Netflix documentary Jim and Andy: The Great... more
This essay will not attempt to justify Jim Carrey as either brilliant or crazy though; it will leave that interpretation to the fans, critics, and paparazzi. Instead, using film theory and the Netflix documentary Jim and Andy: The Great Beyond (Chris Smith, 2017) among other interviews with Jim Carrey, this paper will relate Carrey’s acting career to excerpts from Joan Copjec’s Read My Desire and Imagine There’s No Woman, as well as Slavoj Žižek’s The Sublime Object of Ideology to show how method acting relates to Lacanian critiques of the subject and ultimately concludes that everybody has an inner-actor navigating a part in this performative world.
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Marie de France has mystified literary critics with the loaded symbols and thematic twists of “Guigemar” for decades, but this is no new reaction to Marie’s work. This lay has frequently caused frustrated outbursts on the page, leaving... more
Marie de France has mystified literary critics with the loaded symbols and thematic twists of “Guigemar” for decades, but this is no new reaction to Marie’s work. This lay has frequently caused frustrated outbursts on the page, leaving critics to make unsupportable assumptions and discredit Marie’s authority as a writer. Yet in the prologue of “Guigemar,” Marie is ready to face her slanderers. Alfred Ewert has claimed that the “prologue to Guigemar ‘discusses subjects foreign to the lay it introduces’” (Lee 192). To assume this is to insult Marie’s craft by questioning whether she simply does not know how to write a lay. Since lays are so short, nothing is here by accident, so we must carefully examine parts that puzzle us. Rupert Pickens has declared Guigemar a homosexual, but we have no textual evidence for this (Lee 196). We simply know Guigemar is indifferent towards women; therefore, Guigemar breaks gendered notions of knighthood. Because Guigemar’s sexual behavior fails to meet the medieval masculinity quota, he exists within a liminal space just like Marie, a female writing in what was, during her time, the masculine sphere of literature.
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In Marguerite Duras’s The Lover, a fifteen-and-a-half-year-old white girl pursues a sexual relationship with a twenty-seven-year-old Chinese man. The novel begins with the image of the young girl crossing the Mekong river on a ferry where... more
In Marguerite Duras’s The Lover, a fifteen-and-a-half-year-old white girl pursues a sexual relationship with a twenty-seven-year-old Chinese man. The novel begins with the image of the young girl crossing the Mekong river on a ferry where she meets her lover: “I’m fifteen and a half. Crossing the river. Going back to Saigon I feel I’m going on a journey” (9). Leah D. Hewitt claims “the river-crossing represents the ritual passage from childhood to womanhood via sexual initiation” (112). Similarly, Marilyn R. Schuster reads the river-crossing as a sign of the narrator “leaving her childhood to become a woman” (120). Like most scholars, both Schuster and Hewitt presuppose that the nameless narrator is a woman. However, reading the narrator as a woman fails to account for crucial ambiguities in the text. What about the fact that the narrator claims her younger brother’s dead body as her own? What about the scene with the man’s hat in which the narrator’s body transforms? What about Duras’s decision to depict the narrator as a distraught child? Reading the narrator as a trans*gender child accounts for these ambiguities, whereas reading the narrator as a cisgender woman does not.
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There are people who, in their small wisdoms, inflict their own pain. Rather, they articulate it. They speak through the skin, their minds translating symphonic grief into the prattle of bloody train-lines.
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I’ve always imagined that to my sister, I’m a child. She’s always telling me that when she pictures me in her head, she only pictures 6th-grade me with braces, even though we see each other in college nearly everyday. And I, for some... more
I’ve always imagined that to my sister, I’m a child. She’s always telling me
that when she pictures me in her head, she only pictures 6th-grade me with
braces, even though we see each other in college nearly everyday. And I, for
some reason, can only see the 10th-grade version of her mixed with what she
looks like now. Pierced nose, thrift store outfits, untamed hair that she’s always
pushing back to tell you about why she hates men today.
that when she pictures me in her head, she only pictures 6th-grade me with
braces, even though we see each other in college nearly everyday. And I, for
some reason, can only see the 10th-grade version of her mixed with what she
looks like now. Pierced nose, thrift store outfits, untamed hair that she’s always
pushing back to tell you about why she hates men today.
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A memory of Spain comes back to me: I am eight years old, standing four floors up on the wrought-iron balcony outside our flat; it is springtime. I know this because spread out below me is the downstairs neighbor’s wide balcony, its... more
A memory of Spain comes back to me: I am eight years old, standing four floors up on the wrought-iron balcony outside our flat; it is springtime. I know this because spread out below me is the downstairs neighbor’s wide balcony, its jasmine and tritoma and bougainvillea all in bloom.
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The counter is full of splashes of blood, spread like red confetti about to be used by a child during crafts time. I don’t even remember, how many times I had to watch the explosion of blood from the pig’s head splashing on the counter... more
The counter is full of splashes of blood, spread like red confetti about to be used by a child during crafts time. I don’t even remember, how many times I had to watch the explosion of blood from the pig’s head splashing on the counter like a volcano. I do remember the loss of Mitso
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Nothing can be simpler than a cup of tea. Leaves and water, the
testimony of the earth. Reduced to nothing more than a whisper of comfort,
on a bench in the snow
testimony of the earth. Reduced to nothing more than a whisper of comfort,
on a bench in the snow
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He hit stop, took the headphones hung around his neck, plugged them in and pressed play. The scratchy, whispering silence of empty tape filled his ears, then the descending, bass tones of Sense of Doubt took over. Coming through the... more
He hit stop, took the headphones hung around his neck, plugged
them in and pressed play. The scratchy, whispering silence of empty tape filled
his ears, then the descending, bass tones of Sense of Doubt took over. Coming
through the foam pads of his headphones, the sound was like a transmission
from another planet. Like there were millions of miles of light and stars, rocks
and gas it had to travel through before reaching Earth, the US, California, San
Diego, 219 Clearcreek Place.
them in and pressed play. The scratchy, whispering silence of empty tape filled
his ears, then the descending, bass tones of Sense of Doubt took over. Coming
through the foam pads of his headphones, the sound was like a transmission
from another planet. Like there were millions of miles of light and stars, rocks
and gas it had to travel through before reaching Earth, the US, California, San
Diego, 219 Clearcreek Place.
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When he reaches the gate and begins to unlock the padlock leading to the dumpster, the noise stops. As the doors open, two girls and a boy dash past him, and he looks towards the center of the small square made by the fences, where a dog... more
When he reaches the gate and begins to unlock the padlock leading to the dumpster, the noise stops. As the doors open, two girls and a boy dash past him, and he looks towards the center of the small square made by the fences, where a dog lays in a pool of blood.
She often dreamt of clean red lines, black cats, stars, flags, and a maxim as bright-burning as any constellation in astral configuration: “Come, comrades: it is not too late to seek a better world.”
Remember the first thing they taught you. A is for apple. B is for boy. Remember the way you felt, staring, in horror, at the glossy red laminated fruit hanging above your teacher’s head. Remember how worried you were that you would... more
Remember the first thing they taught you. A is for apple. B is for boy.
Remember the way you felt, staring, in horror, at the glossy red laminated fruit
hanging above your teacher’s head. Remember how worried you were that you
would have to memorize every single image that matched every single letter.
How could you ever get all the way to Z? How would you even make it down
the line to U? A is for apple, B is for boy … A is for apple, B is for boy … A is
for apple, B is for boy …
Remember the way you felt, staring, in horror, at the glossy red laminated fruit
hanging above your teacher’s head. Remember how worried you were that you
would have to memorize every single image that matched every single letter.
How could you ever get all the way to Z? How would you even make it down
the line to U? A is for apple, B is for boy … A is for apple, B is for boy … A is
for apple, B is for boy …
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the creator smiles
because they have made something
it breathes and thinks
like them
it has a soul
an element outside of elements
because they have made something
it breathes and thinks
like them
it has a soul
an element outside of elements
Research Interests:
"Everyday--just about everyday--I have a routine. I’ll wake up, but not properly 'wake' for the next hour or so. I’ll drift from steady awareness to soft, warm darkness, close to how you imagine the eyelids wavering when sleepy and... more
"Everyday--just about everyday--I have a routine. I’ll wake up, but not properly 'wake' for the next hour or so. I’ll drift from steady awareness to soft, warm darkness, close to how you imagine the eyelids wavering when sleepy and watching films: the mouth of darkness that kisses and swallows the image, and then opens again to breathe before diving back into the colorful voluptuousness."