Letter from the Editors: Twinkle Twinkle, Little Stars
Ho Lin
We are all lost stars / trying to light up the dark. A Hallmark sentiment, perhaps, from a Hallmark-like song in a Hallmark-like musical (Begin Again, in case you’re interested, featuring Keira Knightley as a down-in the-dumps folk-rock singer). Still, as we once again enter autumn’s dark days, poised on the brink of yet another pivotal election (these things never go away, do they?), it seems apropos to distill the hurly-burly of our messy political and intellectual lives into melancholy sentiments. What else better represents where we are right now than a cavernous, blank night sky with tiny pinpricks of light, as far away from each other as we ever were?
Life’s a bitch and then you die. So says a common bumper sticker. A bit blunt, perhaps, but we prefer it to Don’t like my driving? Dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT. Yes, life’s a bitch these days, both the noun and verb. If it weren’t for the bitching, we’d probably just give up entirely and huddle in our rooms, with nothing left to do but await the next cataclysm. Aye, there’s the rub – life’s a bitch and then you die, but for the rest of us who must keep going, there’s much to reflect upon, document, and unleash on the world.
We're waiting for the worm to turn / We're waiting for everybody else to come around to our way of thinking. The lyrics are from an old pop song by the band Bourgeois Tagg, and what may have sounded happy and affirmative in 1985 seems vaguely sinister today. Battle lines have been drawn – depending on your views, you will either get what you deserve, or someone else will get what’s coming to ’em. We here at Caveat Lector, being more jaded and cynical sorts, suggest this rejoinder: We’re waiting for everybody else to see that there are a multitude of ways of thinking, and always will be. Things end and begin again, our echo chamber reverberates, and past, present and future mingle. Those looking for final answers will have to await their final minute – the rest of us will attempt to keep calm and carry on, with full recognition of the unresolvability of life as we know it.
In our own attempts to Begin Again, this issue is about celebration and mourning, looking back and forward. Actor Raymond J. Barry offers a no-holds-barred account of his mother’s life in “Barbara Constance Barry.” Peter Whitfield tackles a subject no less gargantuan than the history of California’s literary scene in his review of Jack Foley’s encyclopedic tome Visions and Affiliations. Co-editor Christopher Bernard’s “Collapse,” Jesse Minkert’s “Protector” and Dale Wakonen’s “Epitaph for a Fool” contemplate the end of everything with wry perspective. Ivan Argüelles, as is his wont, makes a definitive statement for carrying on in “A Career in Poetry,” and in his trio of poems, Robert Daseler confronts past and future with a mix of dread, imagination and curiosity.
Finally, we honor a very real beginning and ending in this issue: this month our colleague Mark Russell Gelade celebrates the publication of his first book of stories, under the Caveat Lector imprint: Navigating by Stars. Lest you think we’re biased, we point you to this Harvard Crimson review, which lauds Gelade’s “emotional, compelling, and poetic prose,” but if we might say so ourselves, this collection of polished miniature gems is highly recommended. On the more solemn side, we also note the recent passing of contributor Andrew Coburn, who provided us with much mirth and thoughtfulness in his prose pieces "Lilac" and "Greeters,"
Shine on, you crazy diamond says Pink Floyd, and we here at Caveat Lector hope you find your own diamonds in the rough, and add them to the firmament.
Ho Lin is the co-editor of Caveat Lector. His collection of short stories China Girl is now available on Amazon in paperback, hardcover and e-book formats. More on his work can be found at holinauthor.com.
Image: From cover of Mark Russell Gelade's Navigating by Stars
Cover image: Sagrada Familia (by Ho Lin)