Find literary magazine reviews on the NewPages Blog. These reviews include single literary pieces and an issue of a literary magazine as a whole.
If I were to give this issue of Southern Poetry Review a title, it might be “Profound Perspectives” or “Meaning in the Moment.” The poems in this issue find moments of awe in life events and transport them from the mundane through reflection to the place where art lives in all its weighty insightfulness and magic. The poets accomplish this with rich imagery, carefully controlled lines and stanzas, and an attention to the natural rhythm of language.
“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Robert Frost knew all too well that home is not always the place where one has chosen to be but is the place where one is, if not welcomed, at least allowed in. The poems in this issue of Poet Lore were meant to be together and fall under an umbrella theme of home; they deal with relationships of people and places inspired by or in reaction to the word home and all of its connotations. They explore the many manifestations of home in memories and observations tinged with bitter nostalgia, unapologetic and raw.
In her extended interview with George Guida featured in this volume of 2 Bridges Review, poet Kim Addonizio references Macbeth’s speech about how life is a poor actor, strutting and fretting about the stage for his brief moment of fame before fading away to nothingness. With these words, Addonizio seems to have set the unifying theme of this volume; on its pages, beginning with the cover, readers find writers and artists exploring the ways in which people strut and fret.
Let’s go back seventy-five years and meet ourselves again—because, as The Antioch Review has proven in its special anniversary edition, we did not hold the mirror closely enough back then, and we did not hear the message presented so clearly in the writings of people like Ralph Ellison, who laid before us in no uncertain terms our racial disparities and injustices, and in the poetry of that age. As Sidney Alexander explains in the poem “Prologue to Bolivar,” originally published in the autumn of 1944, we must “Roll back the dusty scroll, for no man lives / without his past: no man moves alone: / No man skates on time as if it were a film, but sees below him when the waters clear / the endless processionals of the dead.”
While reading the summer issue of The Sewanee Review, I decided to poke into some historical trivia. It was founded in 1892 and devoted to book reviews, theology, political science, literature and such. Poetry didn’t appear until 1920, and the Winter 1966 issue, at almost 1,000 pages, was devoted to T. S. Eliot.
The Spring 2016 issue of Kestrel, a journal of literature and art out of Fairmont State University in West Virginia, includes a broad selection of poetry, an entertaining collection of short stories, and a fascinating group of art works. I know, that sounds like a pretty clichéd opening; the content, however, does not permit using novel exaggeration and false praise. It’s just good work that needs noting quickly and energetically. The work is definitely energetic.
It’s overwhelming to think of the number of people we see daily and try to imagine their individual lives, their hidden stories. John Koenig calls the sudden realization of everyone having their own story “sonder,” and bioStories lends a hand in coping with sonder by giving readers nonfiction glimpses into the lives and stories of those around us. New work is added to the website weekly, with two PDF anthologies of this work released per year.
With Halloween around the corner, Jersey Devil Press’s new issue was especially enticing this month, promising to quench my thirst for spooky, strange stories to read in the dark.
Alfred Hitchcock once said: “No film is complete without a MacGuffin” because that’s what “ . . . everybody is after.” A MacGuffin, which is a literary device originating from Victorian England, is an object that moves the plot forward in a work of fiction. The MacGuffin, which is a literary magazine published out of Schoolcraft College in Michigan, is an impressive collection of poetry and fiction for your reading pleasure. The collected works of this issue explore a wide range of voices examining the human experience. Editor Steven Alfred Dolgin says: “I have long believed that there is a correspondence between our internal, subjective landscape and that of our external, objective landscape. The selections in this MacGuffin issue do nothing to deter from that perspective.” The landscape within this magazine is vast and exciting to explore.
The first issue of TQ Review defines itself as “a journal of trans and queer voices.” These are authors speaking from their experiences and divulging their fears. The authors don’t share victim stories or stories of triumph, but everything in between. These are the stories of people within the trans and queer communities laying bare their fears and vulnerabilities.
Nicole Kimberling has done the research and found that “some pumpkins would rather not be pie. Four out of ten gourds interviewed [ . . . ] stated they would much rather be processed into a savory dish.” Kimberling’s recipe for Pumpkin Mushroom Moussaka is just one of the ways Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet (LCRW) expands the definition of speculative literature. This issue combines dark themes with lighthearted wonder, and stunning world building with bizarre absurdism.
Continue reading “Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet – July 2016”
The cover of the Summer 2016 issue of The Stinging Fly keeps the waning spirit of summer alive for a little while longer with art by Lizzy Stewart. A bright blue background is adorned by a three-piece cross-section of a girl’s face in profile, the pink insides of her head packed with lush, green plants.
If you’ve not yet been introduced to Saranac Review, consider this your opportunity. Published by the Department of English and its Writing Arts Program of SUNY College at Plattsburgh, I’m not sure what preconceived notions that might give writers and readers, but my first response after reading a good chunk of it was ‘surprising variety.’ Many of the works were surprising—either as non-traditional in their form or in leaving me pleasantly surprised by the feeling of satisfaction at the close of my reading.
Issue 64 of Gargoyle compiles art, nonfiction, poetry and fiction with no overarching theme. Gargoyle lacks an identifiable style, yet boasts memorable content, especially in nonfiction and poetry.
Instead of an editor’s note, Lalitamba begins: “This journal is an offering. May all beings be joyful and free.” Lalitamba (meaning Divine Mother) features nonfiction, fiction, poetry, and art speaking to a diversity of religious and spiritual traditions. Lalitamba opens us up to belief in all its forms, especially our connection to other beings across difference.
Nimrod International Journal has a history of devoting issues to underrepresented voices; Mirrors and Prisms continues this work, featuring only writers of marginalized sexual orientations and gender identities. But queer authors does not always mean queer subject matter. Editor Elis O’Neal states, “In this issue, you’ll find work on all subjects [ . . . ] we wanted to honor the breadth and depth of writing by our contributors, rather than limit their writing to a single aspect of their lives.” Nimrod takes a person-first approach to queer authorship.
Continue reading “Nimrod International Journal – Spring/Summer 2016”
Leave logic at the door when you step inside stories laid out for you in this issue of Pacifica Literary Review. They have just enough normality to allow you to accept the absurdities.
“Authors, take note,” suggests John Gillikin. “Write. Submit. Rinse. Repeat. Hone your craft [and do] not be ashamed of a rejection letter.” This piece of advice appears in a long editorial “From the Corner Office” at the end of the Winter 2016 edition of The 3288 Review, a lit magazine still in its infancy and boldly asserting its preference for works written by West Michigan authors. As a Michigan native myself (though not West Michigan), I was prepared to trudge through yet another literary forest of deer hunting tales, great blue herons reigning over marshlands, lake lore, fish lore, winter lore, how a tree is a metaphor for everything and the spirituality of an autumn leaf, or the typical boy-meets-woods-meets-boy-meets-a new version of himself on the journey and now he has written something equal to Thoreau’s Walden.
If I had to pick one word to describe Water~Stone Review #18 it would be: Story. Regardless of genre, nearly every piece in this issue has some sense of narrative, of back story, of foreshadowing; there are stories told to us, shown through careful detail, and trolled through symbolic imagery by the many authors in this hefty annual—which is a factor also worth note. The editors of Water~Stone have a unique sensibility in their selections as an annual publication. It’s almost a shame from the review standpoint to have to read the entire publication in a short period of time, because I felt I should slow down and let each piece sink in before moving on and, in some cases, reread and re-reread works that deserve the attention—even with so much new waiting to be read. That speaks to good submissions as well as good editing in selection.
weirderary is that kid in high school who, when called weird, would smile proudly and say, “Thanks.” weirderary is the weird things you do at home when you think no one’s watching. weirderary is exactly the kind of read I’ve been looking for.
West Marin Review’s 2015 issue Editor’s Note draws attention to the journal’s lack of overall theme, though readers will quickly see Volume 6 is tied together by the social climate and by strong, absorbing writing, with lots to love in both poetry and prose.
This issue of Creative Nonfiction focuses on the sacrament of marriage. But if you think you’re in for an issue of romantic tales and happily-ever-afters, keep in mind that this magazine is nonfiction. While the wedding itself and much of a marriage can be happy, real life happens, and like anything lasting or worthwhile, it has its ups and downs. This issue explores many angles of marriage including “non-traditional” marriages, spur-of-the-moment marriages, fifth marriages, same-sex marriages, marriages that work, those that don’t. Paul Roden and Valerie Lueth’s (of Tugboat Printshop) beautiful and intricate woodcut prints are featured throughout the issue to tie it all together.
Passages North is a vade mecum. A canon. A bible for literati. An authority. A serious digest. A volume that induces wallet-cracking extra-baggage charges. This annual journal sponsored by Northern Michigan University publishes short stories, fiction flashes, modular and traditional essays, and poetry—loads and loads of poems of every possible breed: ghazals, sonnets, pantouns, free-verse, coupleted-cantations—diversity in form, theme and content receive open-armed welcomes at Passages North. From Pushcart winners to first-timers, from experimental to toe-the-liners, this volume is hefty hefty hefty, and by following the editorial compass of publishing only what deserves “merit,” they have produced a book to please the masses. If you can’t find something that thrills and rocks your sacrum, email me, and I’ll give you the number of my therapist, or maybe we can photoshop your name onto my prescriptions.
“My mother taught me that the dead are among us—look closely and you’ll begin to notice them everywhere . . . The world is full of codes and keys, maps and legends. You wake up one morning, and ask yourself, How is it all connected? The question haunts you for the rest of your life.” (Karen Dietrich’s “Air and Water”). Here lies one of my favorite passages from this issue of River Teeth, a collection of creative nonfiction. And how is this writing all connected? It is, after all, deemed worthy to all fall beneath the same covers. I think it’s the human experience, and the raw need to make an understanding of life’s experiences and mysteries.
In this technological age, the ping of a new email can at times seem exhaustive, from weekly ads from every place you’ve ever shopped, to growing piles of submissions and chainmail forwards from your mom. But one email to look forward to is the bimonthly announcement for a new issue of Ragazine.CC. Returning from their six-month hiatus, Ragazine.CC brings more to the table than ever before.
The Spring 2016 issue of Zone 3 opens without preface or fanfare, allowing the writing to speak for itself.
The Black Warrior Review (BWR), published out of the University of Alabama Tuscaloosa, mixes the bizarre with the familiar in issue 42.2. Best summed up by Megan Milks in their chapbook “The Feels”— a legitimization of queer pairing in fanfiction communities—this issue expands “what is possible in both the actual world and the world of the text.”
Continue reading “Black Warrior Review – Spring/Summer 2016”
The May/June 2016 issue of Kenyon Review is so of-the-moment with its new section of “EcoPoetry,” wherein each poet gives a personal take on the deterioration of the world’s environment. Poetry Editor David Baker showcases 31 poems “awash with warning,” he says. “The devastation and peril often feel so massive they are already beyond words. But in important ways poetry is always about what is beyond mere words, just past our grasp and our understanding.”
“A short story should always move forward in time!” and “Use strong action verbs” and “Only leave the words that do the most work emotionally” are phrases former students of Alan Cheuse may have heard often. “He pushed for more drama, more emotion, fewer words,” writes Phoebe Editor-in-Chief Amanda Canupp Mendoza. “He wanted us to live up to our full potential not only as writers, but as humans.” In July of 2015, Alan Cheuse passed away and this issue, in collaboration with Alan Cheuse Literary Review, opens with a special section dedicated to the late George Mason University professor.
Issues of The Aurorean give readers glimpses into the seasons, the Spring/Summer 2016 issue sporting a bold, bright cover photograph of magenta petals. The flyleaf is a light, complementary pink, bringing forth the fresh feelings of spring and new flowers.
Carl Heyward’s “Box/SING” is featured as the cover art for the 10th issue of Posit. The colorful, chaotic mixed media collage has been aptly chosen to greet readers, representing the work found in the new issue: the poetry, prose, and art all sing while pulling no punches.
Epiphany’s mission statement describes the word epiphany as a “moment of sudden revelation.” Combine that with this issue’s theme—pent up humanity—and the options are tantalizing. Writers respond with reflections on the various meanings of ‘pent up’: feelings that are restrained, confined, or bottled up. Some of those feelings may ultimately, though not always, explode.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) is getting a lot of attention lately in The Atlantic, The New Yorker, Harper’s and other publications featuring reviews of Paul Mariani’s book The Whole Harmonium: The Life of Wallace Stevens. So what better time to check out The Wallace Stevens Society’s publication titled—you guessed it—The Wallace Stevens Review, which not surprisingly carries a review of Mariani’s book.
Continue reading “The Wallace Stevens Journal – Spring 2016”
The design of The Conium Review itself has a simple beauty. The design element of octopus tentacles wrap the outside white cover, and is repeated inside for each story title page. On the flipside of the story title pages, readers see what was on its other side, backwards and fading, as if looking out from inside a shop’s window—inviting readers to enter into the story to look at it from the inside out.
If you’re looking for something to read that departs from the literature written about white folk by white men, you need to pick up a copy of the latest issue of Apogee. Rife with culture and social commentary and a myriad of international authors both male and female, Apogee delivers a collection of fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and art that I simply did not want to end.
The fiction in TriQuarterly ranks among the best today, but whereas many journals contain excellent fiction of one variety, TriQuarterly’s strength lies in its diversity. Jonathan David’s hilarious “The Sub” tells the story of a horrendous substitute teacher through (mostly) anonymous letters from the students themselves. “The Sub” is (intentionally?) reminiscent of Donald Barthelme’s classic “The School.” The latter’s strength lies in how the stakes are raised, the former’s is in the variety of voices, the smart and the not-so, the misbehaving and the apple polishing, the liars and the too-honest.
Tin House continues their run of excellence with this superb issue – one of their finest. The hot-button piece is Steve Almond’s collection of responses to the hate mail he received as a result of quitting his position at Boston College in protest of Condoleezza Rice being named commencement speaker. The e-mails are shocking, and Almond’s responses vary from whip-smart to insightful to hilarious to scathing all the way to heartbreaking. Almond’s concern for Tom and Katie’s baby in the face of being compared – no, equated – to bin Laden and Zarqawi is touching.
Tampa Review does not look like a literary magazine. The size and shape of a children’s storybook, this hardcover journal elicits the same expectation of entertainment – some pictures, stories, perhaps a lesson or two. There are plenty of pictures, in all types of media. Charlee Brodsky photographs calves and feet, and Jim Daniels describes them in poetry in a series of four connected works. Daniels opens “Glow” with the memorable lines, “The scarred knees of the world / imagine their prayers might be / forgiven.”
An exceptional collection as is typical of this attractively presented journal.
I’ve always enjoyed the poetry magazine Rattle for its modernity and humor, its willingness to mix the political, the sublime, and the silly. Each issue, in addition to a selection of poems, reviews, and interviews, contains a special tribute section, and this issue’s theme is The Greatest Generation. I loved the plainspoken-ness, the bald, unbeautified statements made in the poems of these elder writers, who maybe don’t have it all figured out, as Nan Sherman in “Don’t Ask Me Any Questions”:
So this magazine rambles, big deal! We all do, and for this magazine, it’s a positive quality. What’s original about this magazine is that a portion of the short stories and poems are inspired by artwork and photography that can be found on the magazine’s website. In this issue, it’s the short stories that stand out. Some of the pieces are thought provoking, like “Short Letters I’ve Been Meaning to Write” by Dave Korzon.
Editor of Poet Lore Rick Cannon describes the sound of a poem’s beauty as “a steady hum.” I don’t think he could have described it any better. A consistent vibration sounds through the pages of this sleek, perfect-bound journal.
There’s a division in literary magazines that’s becoming more pronounced as time goes on – there are those that treasure new voices and are a beacon of hope to the unpublished, and then there are those that serve as a seemingly untouchable golden palace upon a hill to be envied from afar. Both are viable, and as journals proliferate, this division was inevitable and necessary. The Paris Review is one of the most blindingly golden palaces in all the land, with a statue of George Plimpton standing watch, perhaps in the uniform of his Paper Lion days.
A Canadian acquaintance recently bemoaned the state of American small publishing to me: why, even in San Francisco – clearly the New New York of the Lulu.com era – is it impossible to find work in publishing? I had no answer for him. Canadians are indeed a lucky bunch. For a land with such a sparse prospective audience, there is an abundance of funding for the arts. Thus, we shouldn’t be surprised to find it more exuberant about its own import. The New Quarterly has devoted an issue to the topic of “The Artist as Activist.”
“I want to tell you about the skunk cabbage” is the first line in “The Book of Spring,” a poem by Sam Taylor. If a writer can make me want to go out and embrace a skunk cabbage, I believe that’s some pretty good writing.
GUD is a splendid collection of the unexpected, surprising, and unsettling whose greatest common denominator may well be all of the above. From the sci-fi and fantasy with which the magazine abounds, “Moments of Brilliance,” by Jason Stoddard – “Illumination: I am a biological machine, designed for this specific task” (1984 and then some!), to “Trying to Make Coffee” by William Doreski, whose attempt results in a cloud of chlorine gas (eerily timely on a day in which the headlines relate this substance as the latest hazard in Iraq), to “The Infinite Monkey Protocol” by Lavie Tidhar, and this wisdom: ‘”The first law of computer security,’ he said, ‘is don’t buy a computer. [. . .] The second law of computer security’ he said, ‘is if you ever buy a computer, don’t turn it on.'”
Continue reading “Greatest Uncommon Denominator – Spring 2007”
Dedicated to sisters and to dreams, this issue of Glimmer Train offers its readers, in addition to a dozen stories, an interview with author and winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the Pen/Faulkner Award, Michael Cunningham. “What would you say to new writers working on their first stories or novel?” asks Sarah Anne Johnson. His advice: “Have patience. Don’t panic.” Know what type of a writer you are, he seems to say, and be yourself. Writers published in this issue seem to have already passed this test; they know themselves. They create stories which are good because they are allowed to expand on their own terms.
upstreet’s second effort champions the minimalist aesthetic: an all-black cover is graced only with the journal’s name and issue number. There are no pictures to be found anywhere.
Reviewed by Ever wondered where the word “cocktail” came from, or been annoyed by some corporate entity referring to itself as a “family?” Have you pondered what dictionary publishers ought to do in regards to including words that are registered trademarks of companies with overzealous lawyers?
A rich, resonant read, WHR’s academic foundations are never far from the surface. I’m torn between wanting them to be flaunted shamelessly, and keeping it in check with a list of self-conscious characters (character formation found, it seems, in the world of realism). In both cases, the world is defined by a set of objects; for example, DaVinci = academic; Guns n’ Roses = quotidian.
