Good Creatures, Small Things
short story from Cate Fricke
With the already too-intense sun of Tucson scorching away my reason, I went in search of cool, soft stories of mild climes, and found Cate Fricke’s story instead—a dark tale that dragged me through the thickets to be buried in the snow. Squinting my eyes and looking askance at the story, the slightly old-fashioned and lilting language brought to mind sweet pastorals of a bygone era. But let’s be clear: this is a horror story, an elegant, heartbreaking horror story. Fricke unspools the story into thickening threads of sadness, and will not leave you with much hope. Maybe, like me, after it you’ll just be happy to return to your everyday life, hale and grateful for the reassuring brightness of a blinding hot day.
Visit The Masters Review to read the story.
Contributing Editor / Reneé Bibby
Foreign to Oneself
nonfiction from Amanda DeMarco
‘Foreign to Oneself’ by Amanda DeMarco, is an essay on translation, voicelessness, and alienation. It’s comprised entirely of found text from 18 sources, but the reader doesn’t know where one piece of found text fuses into the next. The only manipulation is the replacement of various words and phrases with “translation,” “translator,” and “translate.”
The result is a stunningly gorgeous and seamless meditation. If there’s one quote (a quote of a quote) that gets at the dizzying depth of this piece, it might be this one:
“For literature repeats itself. (In 450 b.c., Bacchylides wrote, “One author pilfers the best of another and calls it tradition.”) Likewise the only true reading is re-reading, and homecoming is the flight from flight.”
It’s as much a fourth-wall breaking moment as it is a comment on art making as it is a tender moment of lyricism. Using collage to get at a polyvocal quality is a simple idea, but ‘Foreign to Oneself’ takes that idea to such a incredible extreme. It’s how we get this moment of insight into a translator’s work …
“For the translator, the book is the world, because what is beyond it does not exist for her; it could not even exist for her. Thus, the difference between reading the world and living in it breaks down and woe to the woman who does not recognise which story she is living in.”
… and it’s how we get this triumphant, affirmative call-to-arms near the end: “There is nothing you can throw at me that I cannot metabolize, no thing impervious to my alchemy.”
Visit Asymptote to read the essay.
Contributing Editor / Andrew Sargus Klein
poetry from Colette Arrand
“These dreams are how I pick up my reputation as a liar.”
I believe Colette Arrand is one of the most important poets in the community right now. The Georgia-based poet/editor runs The Wanderer, a journal that features queer/trans/femme/gnc poets! Most who know her humorously unique while deftly revelatory subjects (Wrestlers, Pokémon, HGTV & more) are palatable touchstones for the often indescribable reflections Arrand offers readers.
This poem featured in EOAGH, from her series based on Pokémon, is structured between confession & wistful nostalgia. Not a longing for the animated fiction, but the fictions created & manifested for the self. The sentences run on with an interlocking nature, ultimately playing back into themselves though consistently moving the reader forward. Arrand’s work is without pretense yet deeply methodical in voice & subject.
Visit EOAGH to read the poem.
Contributing Editor / jayy dodd