The ground beneath her welcomed each footfall gratefully. The grass was saturated with the most recent rain. The rains came more and more frequently these days which Martha knew, after twenty-nine years in this town, meant spring was approaching. Martha basked in the little sunlight that peaked out behind the thin, white clouds above. The smell of rain-soaked earth rose up to her nose with each step toward town. The bare trees were just starting to bud, small little things, hardly visible on the dark brown boughs. The clatter of wooden wheels on the road to Marly accompanied her into town.
Martha longed to take off her shoes, lift the hem of her blue dress and stomp off into the mud, letting it push its way between her toes.…
Author’s Note: In my recent reading and writing, I have been developing an appreciation for subtext and what remains unsaid in a piece of fiction. When writing ‘Changeling,’ I knew I wanted to write something about some brand of inimical folk mythology, but for me the heart of narrative lies in human interaction, so I made it about that: the subtext hints at the myth, though what is presented is the minutiae, the words and actions of the boy and his father.…
In most novels that have beautiful nature writing, nature only acts as a backdrop, a pretty painting and landscape to hold the real stories between people. I’d be spellbound reading those well-drawn details of beauty, of peace and green and spring. But The Overstory by Richard Powers takes it to another level, making those descriptions seem inadequate and superficial for something so grand and miraculous: trees. In response to the Overstory, the trees would say to the Romantic poets– Shelley, Byron, Keats, “You only like me for my looks? Nothing else?” Powers gives us that something else. He illuminates for us their history, biology, personifies their desires, fears, hopes, and very soul, beyond merely their commercial or aesthetic appeal. It brings forth the forest as an alive, dynamic system that’s buzzing with life and its own dramas at every moment, inside and underground.…
Arise, my darling; My fair one, come away! For now the winter is past, The rains are over and gone.
—The Song of Songs 2:10-11 (NJPS)
Jakob Wasserman’s soul scrutinized the members of the Burial Society as they began to clean under his nails and between his toes and to cut away several pieces of dried skin from his corpse. He asked the mal’akh ha-mavet if it would be all right to stay longer and observe the men working; he was curious. The angel consented and told Jakob they did not need to leave until after the burial.
The men preparing Jakob’s body were earnest about their work and meticulous in its execution. They had performed these purification rituals for many years. Even so, from time to time, Jakob would see what he believed to be an infraction of the correct procedure and wanted to bring it to the men’s attention.…
I got my first gerbil at age 10. They were exotic pets at the time, living primarily in the deserts of Asia. Where many school friends had hamsters, animals that are nocturnal, gerbils are daylight creatures. They are brown, fur covered, mouse-like rodents — but cuter — with long tails. When handling gerbils, you can harmlessly lift them by the base of their tail. I don’t remember from where we got him, but George came home for my birthday.
That summer I went to sleep away camp for the first time. During the month of July in 1969, I was at Camp Abelard in Upstate New York. Its predecessor was called Webatuck. A percentage of campers and staff that had been family at the abandoned grounds returned to what would now be called Abelard.…
