I will never forget the decency, kindness and camaraderie that have characterized NC’s inner workings. You are an astonishing tribe. I am eternally grateful.
THE LAST ISSUE - AUGUST 2017
- Adieu, Adieu
- El Paso Free Zone | Fiction — Michael Carson
- Love Letter from the Anthropocene | Essays — Maria Sledmere
- Peripatet | Essay — Grant Maierhofer
- wish images : asja, architectonics | Excerpt from My Red Heaven — Lance Olsen
- Dining at the Stockyard Trough | Excerpt from Lacking Character — Curtis White
- From Camp Marmalade | Poems — Wayne Koestenbaum
- Mother Tongue | On Doris Lessing — Victoria Best
- Notes Towards a Return | Essay — Fernando Sdrigotti
- Bees are the Overseers | Poem — Rikki Ducornet / with Allan Kausch Art
- Almost dies all the time | Short Story — Jowita Bydlowska
- Bill | Essay — Gary Garvin
- While contemplating suicide by the open window | Poems — Zsuzsa Takács, Translated by Erika Mihálycsa
- Numéro Cinq at the Movies | R. W. Gray’s Aidos
- Of Beginnings and Endings: Huck Finn and Tom Eliot | Essay — Patrick J. Keane
- Ode to Meaning, or The Joyful Apocalypse | The Art of Josh Dorman — Mary Kathryn Jablonski
- Two Sound Fetishists | Short Story — Kinga Fabó
- The Wrong Balcony | Review of Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast by Megan Marshall — Julie Larios
- Go Down To Hell | Boris Dralyuk Translates Poems by Alexander Tinyakov
- Uimhir a Cúig | Hollow: Short Story — Paul McVeigh
- Influence, a Day in the Life | Essay — Ralph Angel
- Slap Me With Mortality While I Am Strong | Poems — Ronna Bloom
- Valparaiso | Fiction — Jessica Sequeira
- The Wacky Beetle | Review of For Isabel: A Mandala by Antonio Tabucchi — Natalia Sarkissian
- Romesick | Essay — Erika Mihálycsa
- The Writing on the Wall | Fiction — S. D. Chrostowska
- Division and Multiplication | On Reading Fiction — Warren Motte
- Channeling Jane | Jane Austen the Radical & Jane at Home — Laura Michele Diener
- Invisible Ink | Memoir — Paul Pines
- Of Discrimination, Transculturalism, and the Case for Integration | Essay — Montague Kobbé
- Numero Cinco | The Dead: Poem & Interview — Maria Rivera
- Tokens | Fiction — Bruce Stone
- Verisimilitude: The Moral Aesthetic of George Saunders — Nowick Gray
- Adua | Novel Excerpt — Igiaba Scego, Translated by Jamie Richards
- Go Back to What? | Poems — H. L. Hix
- What the Heart Can Bear | Tamil Love Poems from Kuruntokai — A. Anupama
- What It’s Like Living Here — Paul Lindholdt in Spokane
- Imaginary Cities | Book Excerpt — Darran Anderson
- These Are Places God Wouldn’t Go | Short Story — Chika Onyenezi
- Strandbeests | Poems — Stephanie Bolster
- Last Call | Numéro Cinq’s August Issue Preview
- Top of the Page | Touchstones
“What do you know of life?” I ask him real soft, touching his lips with mine. “What does a man like you know of the sea?”
All will be love in the warming waters, the subduing horror, the coming of nothingness.
I walked, then, to put myself at the feet of living and submit to human beings, to open myself and fail to welcome entirely the lonely glints returned in eyes as I went past.
He crosses out that paragraph, writes in a choked scribble I am falling in love with lostness.
And she said, “Yes, I knew what he was like, but I thought he was kidding.”
reaching / toward narrative but not necessarily / approving of the reach
They were locked in airtight roles, waging a futile war to maintain a status quo that damaged and reduced them both. Compassion and sympathy – love itself – had no room to breathe,
…the most dangerous part of returning, that poetic possibility, the dangerous and fake nostalgia all poetry entails.
-In the charged company of thugs, the skull both breathes and barks.
I would watch her plump, small mouth talk and talk and think of penises she sucked and I would get jealous. I wanted to kiss that mouth.
Sometimes, even if there is no explanation in the words, or the explanations do not explain, at least I find a container and the possibilities of containers that might provide a context…
While contemplating suicide by the open window | Poems — Zsuzsa Takács, Translated by Erika Mihálycsa
To bear the unsayable agony / of the lovers seated on an anthill…
That quality of vulnerability is what Rob was after in the film. The word “aidos” (reverence, shame) bursts with complex implication.
…overloading of the book with cultural value that had led to feel-good white liberal complacency regarding race.
My goal is to generate a feeling of joyful apocalypse.
Her anachronistic organs cramped; as with heart and soul. Her love organs could not interlock, her working organ went kaput. If a glance could kill! Alas, it couldn’t.
The Wrong Balcony | Review of Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast by Megan Marshall — Julie Larios
…working hard on both poetry and her love life, less so on her reputation.
Lovely new coffins are headed my way, / full of the finest young men. / Pleasure to see them, simply a joy –
At that, the girl’s father jumped up, lifted the boy from his chair, snapped him in half over his knee, and threw him on the fire.
For the artist, wasting time, which the French perfected, is called discipline.
Slap me good and hard with mortality while I’m strong. / My body wants to run as though it’s seen a ghost.
Three times during the night, her face turns to mine. It’s always the face first, or is it the hands, so subtle they make the drawing near of all else both possible and necessary.
The journey during which truths are revealed.
Rome is burning. Every day it catches fire somewhere. On the edges a spark blazes up in the vibrating air, in its place a blue ghost-flame quivers and burns a hole into the map.
They were known principally for the clarity of their communication, having abolished speech, leaving them only writing.
She wonders if the Red King was a figure in her dream or if she was a figure in his dream.
Every biographer, in possession of the exact same sources, must find an entirely different character.
I wanted to possess Captain Midnight’s decoder, the latent, undisclosed landscape of potentials, things in their nascent state on the way to being realized.
Atticus Finch and Sven Mary share a desire to defend the outcasts of their respective societies.
beneath the enormous sky of Anáhuac, / they walk, / they drag themselves, / with their bowl of horror in their hands, / their terrifying tenderness.
He reads his life’s unfolding as if it were an entry in a dictionary of North American childhood, a dictionary with a narrative logic and sensibility, as if every experience were representative…
Key dimension of Saunders’ realism is the absurdism embedded within it: a natural discovery given the inherent absurdities of American culture.
Zoppe knew that the best escape route was through his head. That was the place where he found all the lost scents of his childhood.
Go back to storm warning and rain delay. / Go back to parchment, papyrus, vellum. / Go back to land line and gravel driveway. / Go back to blent, unbent light, pre-prism.
She is the poem that has drowned my soul to its last drenched flower.
In the business of Indian-white relations, place names remain as blunt reminders of our ancestors’ legacy of conquest.
The future will be old. It may be bright and shiny, terrible and wonderful but, if we are to be certain of anything, it will be old.
He lured him to the back of his hotel and butchered him. When they found the head, it had tears in the eyes.
The middle is rife with references. / Can only really be named long long after, / when end begins to whinny its arrival. / And no one will want that name.
This is the Last Call issue because it is the final issue.
A retrospective series of touchstone texts, pieces that define the magazine’s underlying aesthetic, the ideal toward which we have always aspired.
Vol, VIII, No. 6, June 2017
- The Book of the Night | Nonfiction — Cynthia Huntington
- The Invented Part | Novel Excerpt — Rodrigo Fresán, Translated by Will Vanderhyden
- Something out of Nothing | Review of The Invented Part by Rodrigo Fresán — Benjamin Woodard
- Starts With a Bang… Ends In a Whisper | An Epistolary Romance — Sarah M. (∞) & Bernard Hœpffner (•)
- Consciously Amateurish | Review of The Sarah Book by Scott McClanahan — Jason Lucarelli
- Caps | Short Story — Fernando Aramburu, Translated by Brendan Riley
- Uimhir a Cúig | Dunamon: Poems — Jane Clarke
- O Pioneer! | Review of 1944 Diary by Hans Keilson — Dorian Stuber
- Signs for Lost Children | Novel Excerpt — Sarah Moss
- A Place of Healing | Review of Signs for Lost Children by Sarah Moss — Rohan Maitzen
- The Nightingale Won’t Let You Sleep | Novel Excerpt — Steven Heighton
- Vertical Resonance | Review of The Nightingale Won’t Let You Sleep by Steven Heighton — Richard Farrell
- The Singular Elegance of Trees | Paintings — Katie DeGroot
- Waiting for the Turn | Poems — Erin Lillo
- Alice Munro’s “Baptising” & James Joyce’s “The Dead” | Plotting with Multiple Antagonists — Russell Working
- When Death Comes Knocking | Poems — Clint McCown
- Arising | Short Story — Josh Emmons
- Din of Silence | Review of A Moral Tale and Other Moral Tales by Josh Emmons — Michael Carson
- Memo from Brooklyn: The Novels of Jay Neugeboren — Domenic Stansberry
- Loosening the Elements of Cohesion | Poems — Darren Bifford
- Painter & Poet: Studies in Creativity — Victoria Best with Miranda Boulton & Kaddy Benyon
- Living in a Story | Review of Huck Out West by Robert Coover — Daniel Green
- Childhood — Mark Foss
- Ripper | Memoir — Trinie Dalton
- River Oaks | Fiction — Tom Howard
Vol. VIII, No. 7, July 2017
- Man Behaving Badly | Henry Miller & Tropic of Cancer — Victoria Best
- Portland | Fiction — Gary Garvin
- A Conversation with Grant Maierhofer | Interview — Germán Sierra
- Don’t Be A Body | Short Story — Grant Maierhofer
- The Black Lace Veil | Short Story — Fleur Jaeggy, Translated by Gini Alhadeff
- Sacred Inertia | Review of I Am the Brother of XX & These Possible Lives by Fleur Jaeggy — Joseph Schreiber
- Do Not Feed the Ism | Review of Typewriters, Bombs, Jellyfish by Tom McCarthy — Andrew MacDonald
- methodical, intentional, mechanical | Adam Daily Art & Interview — Mary Kathryn Jablonski
- Desire, pain, pleasure | Essay — Stephen Brockbank
- Only & the Beast | Poems — Kate Hall
- What It’s Like Living Here — From Patrick Findler in Goris, Armenia
- The Death of the Perfect Sentence | Novel Excerpt — Rein Raud, Translated by Matthew Hyde
- The Great War | Poem — Sydney Lea
- The Other Side of Language | Poems — Linda E. Chown
- What It’s Like Living Here — Heather Ramsay in Ryder Lake, BC
- Numero Cinco | Please Insert Coin | Verse Excerpt — Ricardo Cázares
- Unspeakable | Fiction — Daniel Davis Wood
- A Sixties Childhood — Nowick Gray
- Keeping Promises | Review of one of us is wave one of us is shore by Geneva Chao — A. Anupama
- 36 Eddy Street | Childhood — Paul Perilli
- Research for the Larger Project | Poems — Maggie Smith
- From Ernesto | Novel — Umberto Saba, Estelle Gilson Translation
- An Incomplete Life | Review of Ernesto by Umberto Saba — Melissa Considine Beck
- Deep Listening | Poems and Prose — M. Travis Lane
- Perfection | Fiction — Richard Kelly Kemick
- Guard Against the Hours | Poems — Miles Waggener
- Childhood | The Foot of the Bed — Mary Brindley
- I am the big heart | Poems — S. E. Venart
- Through leaded panes | Memoir — Dawn Promislow
- Singles Bar for Zombies | Poems — Mark Sampson
- The Voice inside the Voice | Character Thought in the First Person Novel — Erin Lillo
- The Grand Design: Paintings of John Hampshire | Art & Text — Mary Kathryn Jablonski
- Pray, Hope, Dream | Poems — Richard Jackson
- Time Control in the Personal Essay — Rosanna Gargiulo