Dear Editors,
Yesterday I had plans to meet a friend at a bookstore/cafe. Due to the idiosyncracies of the local bus system I was unable to attend a different meeting scheduled for earlier that morning, so I ended up at the cafe well before our planned time. I chose a few magazines to peruse while waiting, one of which was the latest edition of your publication. I was disappointed.
My purposes in choosing the Paris Review to read while waiting included:
1. To see if I wanted to buy it (if I could afford it)
2. To see if I could find the submission guidelines, and what sort of writing was included in this journal
3. To obtain more exposure to what would be considered "good" writing, as I follow the Paris Review on Twitter and understand it to be a quality literary journal. Perhaps this exposure would help in my ongoing New Year's resolution to be more creative.
I thought briefly about finding your website to see if I could find the titles of the stories and poems in your currrent issue for this letter/post, but I really can't be bothered. Call it apathy, if you like.
Upon opening this edition of the Paris Review, I immediately realized that I had already read the first story, as it is this month's Recommended Reading from the Electric Literature folks (whom I also follow on Twitter). So I moved on to the second story. A couple of pages into it I knew that I was not interested. A third story, about a character named Mr. Bruht I believe, appeared promising. Then I paused long enough to figure out that as stories go, it seemed rather long. As we were getting close to leaving the store I couldn't read the whole story, so I opted to read short excerpts to see if I wanted to pursue finishing it. Nope.
Simply put, I found these stories boring.
I read a few of the poems also. The poems by someone called Sonda or Sandra or something were choppy and downright obscure. I even showed these poems to my passionfruit-ice-tea-drinking friend, who also was flummoxed by them. Poetry presumably should not spell everything out for the reader (which is something on which I need to work if I continue to write in a format resembling poetry). Instead it should encourage the reader to become a poem detective, deciphering the poetry clues and discovering the poem's personal meaning for herself. But if the poem is too obscure, too opaque, too abstract, then the reader can not excavate any meaning for herself. The poem becomes worthless.
I did enjoy the poem Feathers by Stephen Dunn which was included in this edition. Although I didn't understand every line, I did at least get the overall feeling of the poem.
I only made it about halfway through the journal, so perhaps the content in the second half might be better than that of the first half. By the halfway mark I knew that I wasn't going to be finishing it.
This latest edition of the Paris Review ended up on top of the stack of magazines (knitting magazines, an interior decorating magazine having something to do with vintage items, and Somerset Apprentice) already gracing the table, in preparation to be returned to the magazine rack once we were done with our blueberry muffins.
What are my qualifications for reviewing your journal? None, really. My first two years of college, many years ago, were an attempt at an English degree which included various literature classes and which was ultimately unfinished. My Bachelor's degree and my current coursework are in the general area of psychology. I could be considered by some to be a voracious reader, and have been for most of my life. I obviously am a fan of Jane Austen, and another of my favorite books is 100 Years of Solitude. But I also read a plethora of mystery fiction and of the genre unfortunately referred to as "chick lit." On the bus I tend to stare aimlessly out the window instead of composing brilliant literary lines designed to amaze the world. I watch silly television. I don't listen to NPR. Perhaps my tastes are simply too plebian to allow me to enjoy your publication.
I definitely do not consider myself a writer, though I am attempting to include more creativity in my life (see previous posts). I am currently working on a story involving butterflies. Perhaps when I am finished with this story I will send it in to the Paris Review. My rejection letters so far include every single doctoral degree to which I applied. A rejection letter from the editors of the Paris Review will be an excellent addition to my collection.
Regardless of my lack of qualification to comment on the literary worthiness of your publication, I was still not compelled to pay the $14.95 purchase price. Instead, I bought a hair dryer at another store. See, I have long hair and I needed a hair dryer. Since this hair dryer was already on sale and I had an additional coupon, it cost about the same as your literary journal. It resides in my bathroom.
Thank you very much for your time. This is, after all, a rather long letter.
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