How many of our mirrors are the dead, casting back from the graveside what we practiced on them in life? Guilt gnaws in the ear like henbane, the green ache of a long-knit wound still sullen to the touch as…
I. When my father was about to die he told me about a ghost he had seen. II. My father was a good man in a general sense, but he was restless and knew nothing about parenting. Long stretches of…
Welcome to the second issue of Interfictions: A Journal of Interstitial Arts, an extension of the Interfictions anthology series published in conjunction between the Interstitial Arts Foundation and Small Beer Press. As writers with one foot in the academic world…
I, Henry Lien, declare: 1. I am the former Trustee of the Trust of Thornton J. Hess (the “Trust”). Except where noted, the following facts are of my own personal knowledge and, if called as a witness, I could and…
In the spring of 2013, the CSUN chapter of Sigma Tau Delta hosted a student conference titled Worlds Between. Early in the day, one student presenter, Karlee Johnson, remarked that an interstice is not a “void to get lost in…
Between populist fictions and avant-garde experiment there are a series of hinterlands of stylistic and conceptual excess where the two meet and interact. I argue that these liminal spaces mirror both the linkages and critique of globalisation, and they also…
“A novel is a tricky thing to map.” So says the twelve-year-old narrator of Reif Larsen’s The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet (2009). Certainly, this book can’t be easily tacked to any of the usual genre categories, although it could…
You see, there is a plane of raw thought, and a plane of working that raw thought into something the world outside of your head may recognize as real, most of the time in the form of language. …
[Audio clip: view full post to listen] The night is dark and winter is filled with both. I cannot see for all this waiting. There is more emptiness than light radiating down through the universe, the great Void echoing…
