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Voyage to Enceladus
‘It’s in your blood.’
I let a moment of silence develop into discomfort. Staring down at the recruitment agent from atop the zamboni, I can almost see, in my reflection in her pale blue eyes, the pages of an old storybook her parents used to read to her. The round-cheeked Eskimo, face framed by parka mane, eyes crinkled into crescent moons by a delighted smile as he raises his modest catch from a hole in the sheet. My great grandparents left Nunavut around the year 2100, when the ice disappeared.
All the People are Poisonous if Eaten Raw
I took up the endeavour of reviewing these anthologies for my own pleasure, and for the sake of erudition. Both works were presented to me at the same time and both felt equally distanced from me at first (as often is the case when I, a relatively amateur poet, read seasoned authors). Yet, reviewing these collections prompted me to find ways of incorporating their novel sensations into the ones I have already fostered, and beckoned me to appreciate poems in ways I haven’t done before. I am thankful that they brought me out of my comfort zone – I feel like I have uncovered yet another facet of the literary realm.
Euphoria: Uncommon, but not Unreal
HBO’s Euphoria is one of the most highly discussed and popular TV shows currently airing. The cinematography, editing, music, screenwriting, and acting have all been praised to no end—and often for good reason. At the same time, the show has received its fair share of backlash due to the ages of its characters depicted (anywhere from sixteen to eighteen years old—high schoolers) in connection with the glorification of drug use, the oversexualization of underage women characters, and its sensationalized violence.
Atlanticide
AtlanticideHe came between us, but not like a secret love affair there’s nothing secret about him there’s no affair we can see him though he’s absence not his absence your absence. my absence. our absence from...
Space Ocean Leaves Humanity On Read: Literary Spotlight on Solaris
In the oeuvre of Polish science fiction author Stanislaw Lem, science itself is always under intense scrutiny. Predictably, considering their publication during the cold war, Lem’s novels reflect (to some degree) nuclear proliferation induced apocalyptic anxieties. However, Lem’s critique of the scientific enterprise focuses less on humanity’s capacity for technologically accelerated destruction and more on human faith in scientific rationality. What are the limits of human understanding? What happens when we reach them?
Only Gran
She had sleep for dinner. Sometimes for breakfast and lunch, too. Her older son would often wake her, screaming. Rediscovering her empty stomach, Agnes would wipe crumbs of dreams from her eyes and hold him through his fits. He was thirty-five years old, and she was approaching seventy. The younger son, who lived in the living room with his daughter, would leave early in the mornings and take his bike with him on the subway ride downtown where he zipped food from place to place. Agnes walked the older one to therapy sometimes, granddaughter in tow, even when it was blisteringly hot because she saved bus tokens that way. If he had another fit, she could splurge on transit. Sometimes she argued with the bus drivers, but they rarely got on for free.
Living in a Material World: The Vanishing of Print Journalism and Its Effects on Culture
The newspaper is a fascinating cultural object. The newspaper, in the exceedingly recent past, epitomized the dynamism of modern life. From the time of its invention, mechanized produc-tion was thought to enable the stripping of the senses and the speeding-up of time. The newspaper was an emblem of fast-paced modern life. That the newspaper is now a symbol of the past proves just how fast time has moved. To think of the newspaper now is to think of nostalgia.
A Literary Guide to Keeping the Holiday Spirit Alive
With the holidays come and gone, a new semester underway, and a fresh lockdown, I find myself in a bit of a slump. It’s too early to dream of spring flowers, yet too late for any more gingerbread or mistletoe— January, for me, felt weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.
The Phenomenon of “That Girl”
(TW: Discussion of eating disorders and restrictive eating)
This morning, I woke up at noon. Really, it was an accident; I hadn’t even gone to bed that late. I rolled over to grab my phone off the charger, and for some reason opened TikTok. I would not recommend this to be your first visual interaction in the morning. Immediately, I was served with your typical, bright-pastel, cheery music “Morning in the Life.” A beautiful woman, probably younger than I, waking up at 6am to immediately begin her beachside yoga routine, followed by an extensive skin care routine, lots of lemon water, and a five mile run.