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Medium 9780253019028

To Be Where We Are

IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

JUST A FEW weeks ago I was thinking about the first time I read an issue of Transition.

A sepia-toned memory began to play in my mind: I have been at Bates College for only a week or so, and the school still seems so foreign to me that I sometimes wonder how I will escape if, no, when the urge strikes. I’m walking out of my first class of the day when my English professor hands me a magazine. “Read this,” she says.

I am actually a senior at Morehouse College. I’ve just returned from a summer working in DC, but I don’t have enough money to continue my education. I am effectively homeless, but my best friend has offered me a place on his couch. On my first night there, I notice a magazine on the floor. I pick it up, begin to read.

No, I’m a second year graduate student at Oxford, and I have fallen in love with literature. Or, more accurately, I have finally admitted to myself that I have always been in love with literature. I’m playing around on the internet one afternoon when I come across the archives of a magazine called Transition. I’ve never heard of it before. I click on a link.

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Medium 9780253012098


S. A. An-sky Indiana University Press ePub

FROM EIZERMAN, MIRKIN headed to Yegorova to ask her to hide Beryasheva on the night of her escape and to escort her to the nearest train station the next morning. He went with an assured look, serene and decisive, and pondered the surest and best way to arrange the flight. His thoughts were business-like, and Yegorova figured in them as one of his usual acquaintances. Somewhere in the recesses of his soul a complicated psychic process was occurring related to this matter, but he didn’t allow it to reach his consciousness. From the first moment he came up with the idea that Yegorova might organize Beryasheva’s escape, he decided, without reflection, all at once, firmly and sternly, that there was no need to hesitate before such obstacles such as categorical decisions and solemn oaths, no reason not to see Yegorova and not to think about her, and that now was not the time to fuss. He recognized absolutely that a meeting with her would afford him suffering, instead of joy. Once again, squeezing his feelings and thoughts in a vice, he forced himself to behave as the business at hand demanded.

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Medium 9780253001801


Robin Hemley Indiana University Press ePub

Ray constantly tamped down his self-doubts and dissatisfactions, but they kept reaching up like zombies out of the grave. And what was there to be dissatisfied about? He owned a moderately successful restaurant, Raisin D'etre (serving raisin- and grape- inspired dishes) on Railroad Avenue in Bellingham, frequented by artist types and professors and students from Western Washington University.

There were people he knew who would die to be him, but this did not help. What helped was a light box—he suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder—a prescription of Zoloft, and once-a-week visits to a therapist in Seattle. These helped enormously. But what helped the most was living life unselfishly, trying to give back to the community in which he lived. He and his wife Bridget, who worked as a realtor, donated their time and leftovers from the restaurant to a soup kitchen. He also allowed local artists to display their work on the walls of his restaurant, free of charge. Was this sufficient? He didn't know. Sometimes, he felt he wasn't being unselfish enough and this added to his sense of overall dissatisfaction. Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he died on some uneventful day, as he knew he would someday, overcome with petty worries about broken plumbing, or debt, or the waiter he knew he had to fire. In an instant, these worries would mean nothing. They would evaporate on his death. The debt would be paid by Bridget or it wouldn't. The plumbing would be fixed eventually. The waiter would continue to work there after new management took over, or he'd find another job, completely unaware that his old boss had intended to fire him, but had suffered a fatal heart attack instead from worry over it. And the boss? A spirit wandering in the afterlife, chasing his dissatisfaction, mourning everything in life he'd forgotten to be thankful for.

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Medium 9780253002365

Chapter Forty-Three

Gregory Schwipps Indiana University Press ePub

By Thursday evening it felt like it was fish or die. He’d sunk as low as he’d ever been, but he suspected that he could get even lower and probably would in the coming months. He needed to mow the yard, but tasks like that felt so pointless anymore it almost made you want to laugh. Like God was laughing in your face already. Maybe it wasn’t God, but it sure felt like someone was laughing. If he’d ever needed the river, truly required it like his next breath, it was now, so he lowered the rods into the boat and took inventory. Four fishing rods, life jacket, cushion to sit on, paddle, gas tank, landing net, cast net, bucket for bait, tackle box. There were other things but he knew he had them because they stayed in the boat. He tied the rods together and strapped them to a cleat before placing anchors on top of the life jacket and seat cushion so they wouldn’t blow out as he went down the road to the river.

Mow the yard! Might as well paint the barn while he was at it. Maybe put some oil on the back door hinge so it’d stop squeaking. Pour new limestone in the tool shed. Reorganize his workbench. Build miles of new fence. Oh yes, there were many tasks to be done now that the water was coming. Make it real nice for the fishes. He pictured catfish swimming around their murky kitchen, strips of wallpaper peeling and waving in the current. A big flathead playing solitaire at the table while its mate drifted down the stairs. A channel cat resting on the couch, staring at the television.

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Medium 9781574413199

Jenny, with Bulldog

Geoff Schmidt University of North Texas Press PDF

Jenny, with Bulldog


n the end, Jenny Cantwell was left alone with a dog. He was a white bulldog, and a dwarf, the product of severe in-breeding.

She’d felt lonely one Sunday after dinner in Chase with her sons

Cooper and Hawthorne, and on the way home she’d seen a sign on the highway that said BULLDOGS FIVE MILES. At the five-mile mark, she saw a sign taped below a mailbox at the head of a long dirt driveway: BULLDOGS FOR CHEAP HERE.

She’d driven down the lane to a farmhouse, the yard littered with machinery she didn’t recognize, and she’d been a farmer’s wife for years. When she got out of the car she heard them snuffling and growling in a pen beside the kitchen door. A young woman who’d had the pretty beaten out of her by life had come out of the kitchen and shown her the dogs. Jenny picked the smallest one, thinking it a puppy. She paid fifty dollars. The lonely feeling passed almost as soon as she’d gotten back to her new duplex in

Centerville, and she never bothered naming the dog.

She could never get him clean. Some lingering infection the vet couldn’t cure prompted him to rub his rump feverishly on her new white walls, leaving distasteful discolorations low down on the wainscoting. Sometimes he would have seizures. He would be happy and panting and rubbing up against her walls and then something would click off in his head and he would freeze and stare at some fixed point in space with his head weaving slightly.

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Medium 9780253019028


IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

translated from French and introduced by Sarah Jessica Johnson

LITTLE ENOUGH IS known about Louis-Armand Garreau. His fictions tell us that he was an anti-slavery Frenchman and intimate examiner of antebellum Louisiana. His patchy biography reveals a man whose political writings necessitated a life of on and off exile from France. By the 1830s, Louisiana was a known and fairly stable haven for French and francophone refugees of many backgrounds; political outcasts were common contributors to the multilingual literary world of the newly American state. Garreau’s short story, “Bras-Coupé,” translated here for the first time into English, is a graphic and nuanced depiction of plantation slavery in New Orleans, capturing the multi-ethnic, multilingual, immigrant-saturated city and its environs.

Published in France in 1856, “Bras-Coupé” retells a popular local legend based on actual events of the 1830s: Then, a slave named Squire escaped from a plantation and lost an arm in the process. He continued to evade the police in a standoff that lasted years. Quickly dubbed “le Bras-Coupé” or “The Severed Arm,” Squire and his supposed “encampment of outlaw negroes near the city” resisted capture for enough time to reanimate intense local fears of slave revolt. Additionally—and importantly for this literary history—the continuous newspaper reporting of the prolonged stalemate built up a legend that would go on to be retold by late-nineteenth century authors George Washington Cable and Lafcadio Hearn. The former would feature Bras-Coupé’s story in two chapters of his magnum opus The Grandissimes: A Tale of Creole Life (1880), while the latter would respond to Cable in his newspaper column with a report meant to set the historical record straight, titled “The Original Bras Coupe” (1880).

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Medium 9780253018175

The Girl in the Surf

B.J. Hollars Break Away Book Club Edition ePub

You may have heard of these pictures before: the ones of the girl in the surf on Plum Island. At least, I’d always heard the figure was a girl, though when I actually saw the photos I came to understand otherwise: she is a woman, and while she is a breathing woman in one frame she has stopped breathing in the next.

The photos were taken by Marc Halevi, a photojournalist on assignment to capture the highest tides to have reached Plum Island, Massachusetts, in over half a century. Instead, he captured the effects of those tides—a woman drowning.

What we know of the woman’s last moments we know only from Halevi’s photos and witness testimony. The woman was believed to have been drinking that day and, prior to the drowning, reportedly mumbled, “Let the ocean take me.” Yet when the water did take her—gripping a beer bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other—people began wondering if her death was intentional and, more to the point, whether Halevi might have prevented it.

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Medium 9780253010247

Chapter 10

Jesse Lee Kercheval Indiana University Press ePub

We went back to belleville, climbing the steep streets toward the shadowy heights of the Buttes Chaumont. But we didn’t get that far. We turned into a neighborhood of apartment blocks, more bad postwar urban planning. We stopped at the end of one dark street, in front of an especially faceless six-story block. Ilya looked at the bells, picked one, rang it two, three, then four times. A crackle came from the speaker. “Who?” a male voice said. I could hear music behind him, pounding away.

“It’s me,” Ilya said. “Let us in.” The buzzer on the front door sounded, and we went in, crowded into an elevator barely big enough for the two of us.

Ilya pressed the button for the basement, and the elevator sank with a sickening jerk. As soon as the elevator stopped and Ilya stepped out with me behind him, a man bounded up and grabbed Ilya around the neck with one arm. I jumped back, hitting my head on the open elevator door. “You came,” the man said. It was Nolo, the African from La Sirène. “Good, good,” Nolo was saying, “And you brought a girl. Better and better.”

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Medium 9781574412789

Chapter Two

Jane Roberts Wood University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter Two

• 1


obert Alexander Moore V, called Cinco by his friends and

Bobby by his family, sits on the back steps of his house. Bobby is seventeen and, even with a lazy eye, can see well enough. He is planning to run away and join the navy. And another thing: He is planning to ask Dixie Balderidge to the Silver Key Gypsy Dance.

He can’t tell his folks about that, either.

The War is driving everybody crazy. Everybody but Dixie’s mother, who was crazy before the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. Last week after meeting Dixie in the Applebys’ old carriage house—she had to climb out a window to meet him—it was about to storm, so he had cut across the backyards. With Mrs. Appleby real sick in the hospital, real sick, the Appleby house was dark almost all the time, and it was safe to cut across. Mrs. Appleby didn’t like kids cutting across her yard—wearing a trail, she called it. But cutting across, he had seen a dark blue something, like a scrap of night sky, up in a tree. Going close, he saw it was his English teacher! “Hello,

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Medium 9780253010476

Chapter 38 Twenty Fifth Year

William Williams Indiana University Press ePub

It is now several months since my Sinecer friend died, from which time I have not put pen to paper untill now, being May of my Twenty fifth year, having rather Indulged my melancholy humour to much and finding Nothing worthy recording, the time passing on in a sort of Sameness day by day. But I shall remark that Bell’s Wife has determined never to have another husband any more while She lives, as she says, and indeed she seems to Be resolved theron as my Wife thinks, too.

My Son Owen has been gone with Harry on a Visit Among our Indian neighbours above two months On the great business of Getting him a Wife, for his Passion for European Women has subsided a considerable time past. So that I am at this present time of writing In a scituation almost as forlorn as I was twenty years ago as to my own colour.

I must not forget to Observe that Rory the other day found a Young Faun in the back Woods and brought it home to my wife. She insists on rearing of it altho I am not much for it. Yet we have seen no Tigers now for years. Nor do I think they frequent our Quarter, altho our Woods are grown almost as ample as ever. But it May be the constant fires and frequent chopping in the Wood may have caused them to abandon these parts. And indeed their abscence is the best company, As we have Goats breeding among us frequently.

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Medium 9789810861131

Snakes and Dragons by Vittoria D’Alessio

Goodwin, Temari & Hoye (Editors) Monsoon Books ePub
"Snakes and Dragons" by Vittoria D’Alessio

A romance short story set in Singapore, first published in "Love and Lust in Singapore" (Monsoon Books, Singapore)

It’s a sweaty hike and the path is steep but the woman attempts it all the same, slogging up the hill with her child in tow. The boy drags on her arm, sobbing to be carried. Through his blond curls, his scalp glows pink.
‘I’m toy-errred,’ he wails. ‘I’m zorrr-sted.’
The woman responds soothingly, her voice floating up to the pool deck some fifty metres away, where Ambrose stands admiring her, beer in hand. She’s a lovely looking specimen. Great legs. Tanned but only lightly, and for this, he pays her regard: white expats in Singapore have this perverse habit of griddling their skin until it resembles barbecued pork. But this woman, she’s got class—she understands that less is more. Ambrose smiles. Yes, and look how well this maxim can be applied to what she’s wearing too. Just a bikini top and thigh-flashing denim shorts. And indeed why not? This is a private members’ club nestled discretely in the jungle—she’s free to wear what the hell she likes … See All Chapters
Medium 9781771870023

Windy Height

Worrell, P.J. Thistledown Press ePub

Windy Height

AMELIA O’DEA HAS LIVED SEVEN LIFETIMES on the wild and craggy tip of the Beara Peninsula, so long that her spirit has fused with the landscape. She is the old woman of Beara, An Cailleach Beara.

To Amelia, the need for a cable car to Dursey Island is a mystery. It is Ireland’s only cable car and attracts tourists following the Ring of Beara. While they wait for their ten-minute ride, they snap photos of the sign: “ATTENTION. You may be required to relinquish your seat should a sheep from Dursey Island be in need of a veterinarian.” They board the cable car and dangle over Bantry Bay until they reach the more-or-less-uninhabited Dursey Island (Population: 6). Those who have the good fortune to share passage with a sheep and a shepherd never mind the stench. It is a tourist’s dream, photos to show friends back home how quaint and old-fashioned Ireland is at the end of the twentieth century.

To Seán Quinn, the cable car to Dursey Island is a paycheque and a means to remain on the Beara Peninsula, unlike his classmates who have emigrated to Australia or Canada to find work. Seán drives twenty minutes from Castletownbere each morning to perform his duties as the operator of the cable car. And each evening, he returns home to his perky bride, Josie, who smothers him with kisses, runs his bath, and tickles him under the bottom edge of the towel he wraps around his burly self.

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Medium 9781574412406

5. In Mem

Aimee La Brie University of North Texas Press PDF



real-life survival tips: In the Wilderness, At Home, When You

Find a Lump.

Other tips: In a lightning storm, stay away from open fields and don’t carry an umbrella. If a tornado approaches, run to the nearest ditch and lie face down. The tornado may pass. You might hear a moment of pure silence in the eye of it. If a ball rolls out onto the street, look both ways and ask yourself, Is the ball more important than your own life? Don’t climb a ladder wearing socks. Don’t remove an arrow on your own. Find out your allergies as soon as possible. A simple bee sting could be the end of you. Don’t act scared about performing mouth-to-mouth on an ugly person. This is life and death we’re talking about here, not a beauty contest. By all means, don’t spread honey all over your body and lie down on a fire ant hill.

When Mrs. Pototnick first introduced Mem to the class, she said, “And this is Memory who will be staying at school for awhile until her mom gets better.” This sounded to Mem like at

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Medium 9780253019608

3 A Pious Fund

Gronemann, Sammy Indiana University Press PDF


A Pious Fund


The Lehnsen family was drinking its morning coffee.

The Regional Court Director was reading the daily newspaper, the Deutsche

Tageszeitung, with a furrowed brow—his wife was dedicating herself with devotion to her meal—Elsa was amusing herself by fabricating funny little figures out of bread crumbs, toothpicks, and tissue paper—Heinz had already left the table to sit in a rocking chair off to the side and was smoking one cigarette after another.

“Don’t forget, Heinz!” his mother said. “Check to see if there’s anything in the


“Ghastly!” Elsa said. “Now we only hear if there’s anything new when Heinz comes back from court!—This Tageszeitung Papa is reading!—Don’t you think,

Mama, that our intellects are atrophying?”

“I have to do this for my position!” the Director said, listening only with half an ear.

Elsa laughed.

“And people speak of the unworldliness of judges!” said Heinz. “We have sworn off reading Theodor Wolff and converted to Oertel, who single-handedly makes us happy. We have to make sacrifices for our beliefs.”

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Medium 9780253203175

Red Star: A Utopia

Alexander Bogdanov Indiana University Press ePub

Letter from Dr. Werner to Mirsky

Dear Comrade Mirsky,

I am sending you Leonid’s notes. He wanted them published, and you, as a man of letters, can arrange that matter better than I. He himself has gone into hiding. I am leaving the clinic to try and trace him. I think I shall probably find him in the mountains, where the situation has lately become critical. By exposing himself to the dangers there he is evidently indirectly trying to commit suicide. He is obviously still unstable mentally, although he impressed me as being near complete recovery. I shall inform you the moment I learn of anything.

My warmest regards,

N. Werner

24 July 190? (illegible: 8 or 9)



It was early in that great upheaval* which continues to shake our country and which, I think, is now approaching its inevitable, fateful conclusion.

The public consciousness was so deeply impressed by the events of the first bloody days that everyone expected a quick and victorious end to the struggle. It seemed as though the worst had already occurred, that nothing more terrible could possibly happen. No one had realized how tenacious were the bony hands of the corpse that had crushed and still crushes the living in its convulsive embrace.

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