Posts Categorized: Nonfiction

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43.1 SNEAK PEEK: PANELÁK STORIES by DANIELA KUKRECHTOVÁ

The summer issue of Indiana Review is out now! Here’s a look at an excerpt from Daniela Kukrechtová’s nonfiction piece, “Panelák Stories.”

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Read the rest in Indiana Review issue 43.1, available for purchase here.


Daniela Kukrechtová is a Czech/US binational. She is a writer, scholar, and translator. She teaches American literature at Emerson College. Her scholarly work has been published in journals such as African American Review and the CEA Critic. Her poems and translations have appeared in Hollins Critic and CIRCUMFERENCE: Poetry in Translation and her nonfiction in Persephone’s Daughters.

Art by Arghavan Khosravi.

Review – Beloved Beasts: Fighting for Life in an Age of Extinction, by Michelle Nijhuis

Reviewed by Laura Dzubay

In a late chapter in Beloved Beasts: Fighting for Life in an Age of Extinction, Michelle Nijhuis shares a quote from legal scholar Holly Doremus: “Nature advocates have obtained much of what they have asked for, but they have not asked for what they really want.” The climate crisis has recently begun taking its long overdue place in the spotlight of international concern, and in that context, Doremus’s observation highlights something crucial: that we only have so much time to choose the future we want.

Read more…
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42.2 SNEAK PEEK: SEARCHING FOR RANI by RAKSHA VASUDEVAN

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Raksha Vasudevan is an Indian-Canadian economist and writer. Her essays have appeared in The Colorado Review, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Literary Hub and more. She is at work on a memoir.

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ANNOUNCING THE 2020 CREATIVE NONFICTION PRIZE WINNER

We are excited to announce “On Desire” by Caitlin McGill as the winner of the 2020 Creative Nonfiction Prize, judged by Bassey Ikpi. Many thanks to everyone who submitted their work and made this year’s prize possible!

On “On Desire,” Bassey Ikpi said:

“I’ve often felt like the word ‘beautiful’ is overused when describing writing. I tend to use it when I know I like the work but can’t find the correct collection of words to make the point. Maybe a sentence or two or a passage or three jumps and sticks with me and makes it enough to coat the entire thing with ‘beautiful.’

After reading “On Desire,” I want to take back 90% of the times I’ve used the word out of sheer laziness and nothing else. “On Desire” is architectural in the way it builds on itself, stacking foundation, and layer after layer of story into a slowly crafted structure. Each line is wonderful; passages poignant, but there was a moment, in the middle of reading, when I realized I’d been holding my breath. I was afraid to disturb the thing that was being constructed. At first,  It felt fragile and delicate, but then I realized how solid the writer was, how sure, how steady, how purposeful. How much I trusted them to tell this story. 

We’ve all had quietly devastating breakups, have all slipped out of love like an oversized jacket. We’ve all gathered pieces of our childhood and dragged them into confusing adult personality quirks. We’ve all been in these worlds where our pasts and our futures and our presents become a collage of our existence. “On Desire” turns those ‘ordinary experiences’ into a praise song. Into a poem. Into all these mixed metaphors I’ve collected. 

This non-fiction short story made me hold my breath in spaces… not due to fear but to feeling like if I could hold this breath in, maybe this sentence won’t end. I wanted to live in some of these lines as the writers skipped and danced across the page– each memory sliding from the past, into the present, laying claim to the future. When I began, I settled into an essay about a break-up, I was prepared for tears or pity, what I felt was relief, not just for the author, but for myself. Thinking of the times I’ve held on to a relationship out of guilt, or fear, to watch the writer free herself from the relationships (romantic and familial) and her expectations of the past, was triumphant. The story was good and ‘regular.’

But, my goodness, the writing made my heart skip a few times. I found myself reading pages over and over just to make sure I didn’t miss any bit of the intent. This was one of the best pieces of writing I’ve ever read. 

‘Beautiful’ is overused, but not here—it can not be stated enough.”

FINALISTS

Jonathan Gleason, “Gilead”

Mimi Tempestt, “blue black venus” 

Lauren Rhoades, “Solomon Story”

Lee Anne Gallaway-Mitchell, “The Devil’s Balls”

Alisha Acquaye, “Fruit Snack Fairytale”

The winner will be published in the Summer 2021 issue of the Indiana Review.

INTERVIEW WITH 2020 CREATIVE NONFICTION PRIZE JUDGE, BASSEY IKPI

Indiana Review is accepting submissions for the Creative Nonfiction Prize until October 31st, 2020! In this interview with 2020 judge Bassey Ikpi, Nonfiction Editor El Williams invites her to talk about literary techniques and influences in her essay collection, I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying, and what excites her about creative nonfiction.

New York Times Best Selling author Bassey Ikpi is a Nigerian-American, ex-poet, current writer, constant mental health advocate, underachieving overachiever and memoir procrastinator. She lives in Maryland and is working on various creative projects.

In your book, I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying, the POV switches from essay to essay, oftentimes changing from first to second person perspective in a single piece: What power do you feel shifting POV has on a reader’s imagination or emotional response?

I think it does a few things depending on the story being told and why: some of the stories needed to feel immersive. I wanted the audience to live in the experience with me. I also wanted them to be able to activate empathy by placing them as close to the experience as I could. There are essays where I’ve been told that the reader was exhausted after a certain point and, yes, I too was exhausted living it. I want you to know what it feels like for people who live lives with this longer than just between the pages of a book.  It also gives me the opportunity to tell a full story based on how I see it. For instance, I needed to tell the story as completely as I could. In the writing, I found myself telling myself the same lies and half-truths I’d always told myself, so giving myself permission to distance helped tell a fuller story. There were times when in the middle of the writing, a part of me would say, “You forgot to mention how…” and rather than editing those out or rewriting them once they were written, I kept them.  I would love to say that it was more deliberate than that but it wasn’t. Many of those essays were born out of free writes in the moment; me needing to find some grounding and centering as I was experiencing anxiety or insomnia or what have you. But once I saw how effective it was, I gave myself permission to write as it came instead of worry about making it standard. The plan was always to go back and change the tense and clean up the pronouns and make it look “normal,” but I tried to do that and it changed everything about what I wanted. It just didn’t work and it would have been a lesser book had I done that. 

Which writers inspire you and what does their work teach you?

A lot of writers inspire me, for this book: 

Lorrie Moore taught me how to tell a short story. 

Melissa Febos taught me that poetry can live in prose. She taught me that the truth can be told both unvarnished and beautifully carved. She taught me to tell the truth but edit with kindness. Melissa taught me about freedom in writing.

Megan Stielstra taught me that the “ending” of a sentence or a paragraph or a book didn’t need to be smooth. That a thought, or an emotion, can hang and sit with the reader while the writing has moved on. It was because of her book that I didn’t feel the need to write the “last essay.” I left when I was done and with the idea that there is more to the story than fits in the pages.

J. California Cooper taught me about beauty in brevity. She taught me that some of the most impactful moments can be contained in just a few short sentences.

Ntozake Shange taught me that my two loves, writing and dance, were lovers and I could have them both.

Toni Morrison taught me to write for myself and for my people. No matter who those people are.

Nana-Ama Danquah taught me about telling the truth despite the fear. Telling your story for the sake of the story and nothing else.

Kiese Laymon taught me to be fearless. He gave me permission to write the story ugly.

Many people taught me many things. I’ve learned a lot from a lot of people but these are what came to my mind when I read this question. I’m sure I’ll think of about 95 other people tomorrow and want to edit this. 

While reading creative nonfiction, what excites you the most and why?

Beautifully crafted sentences and brilliant, or clever, turns of phrases that take a moment I’ve experienced many times and turn it on it’s side, exposing something I’ve never seen. Or when I read something and say, “I didn’t know how to say that. I didn’t know what that was until I read it.” I love feeling like the author is showing me something that I forgot to look at. I love having my breath catch or escape with worry or compassion or anger or frustration. I want to live in it with the writer. I want to read something beautiful and ugly and authentic and lived in. 

I know your collection of essays was published last year and is still fresh, but what’s next for you or what are you most excited for that is happening in the near future?

I’ll be honest, I didn’t enjoy the publishing process or anything that came after it. It made me very tense so I’m not in any rush or hurry to write another book. I think this was the book I was meant to write and I don’t have much else to say. I couldn’t be happier with what I wrote and I think it’s okay to let it live.

I did enjoy recording the audiobook so I’m going to be doing some more around that later.

I can’t say too much about some of the other things but I’m excited to see what other shape this book can take.