The Middle English romance Off Arthour and of Merlin (AM) has been somewhat overlooked in terms of narrative because the main story consists of a sequence of battles considered repetitive and therefore boring. Although it is true that the outcome of the battles is predictable (King Arthur and his knights will prevail), the text includes detailed descriptions and specific word choices of how this happens: Arthurian knights win because they have excellent fighting knowledge. Among them, Ywain, fighting to free London from the Saracens, demonstrates mastery of the blade from various binds (the time and position where opposing weapons are engaged). His skill is confirmed by the importance given to the topic in fight books.
A unique copy of the romance AM is preserved in the Auchileck Manuscript at the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh under the signature Advocates’ MS 19. 2. 1. Written exclusively in English, it is of paramount importance for the history of English literature and literary taste in the first half of the fourteenth century. The manuscript is a miscellany of 44 secular and religious texts; among the former, there are eighteen romances. Linguistic, palaeographical, and internal evidence point to the origin of the manuscript being in London in the 1330s, where a rich merchant probably commissioned it.
Although in its current state the Auchinleck MS comprises 331 leaves of 250×190 mm, codicological studies of both the manuscript and fragments thereof have revealed that it originally contained at least 386 leaves of 264×203 mm. The manuscript was compiled on vellum by five or six scribes in 48 quires of eight leaves each (with the exception of one gathering of ten). Scribe α acted as the “editor” of the manuscript and wrote most of it. He also copied AM.
Although only surviving in the Auchinleck ms (fols 201rb-256vb), AM originates in late-thirteenth century London. The text, written in rhyming couplets and 9938 lines long, was introduced by an illumination, which has unfortunately been cut out (like many from the same manuscript). As a result, ten lines on the other side of the folio have been lost. A further 200 lines towards the end have also been lost due to a missing leaf; the text is otherwise intact and clearly readable.
The first third of the romance is concerned with the antecedents to Arthur’s reign and it is a close translation of the French Lestoire de Merlin. The remaining two thirds are more autonomous and describe Arthur’s early reign as a sequence of protracted battle scenes, starting with kings of various territories in Great Britain (whose leader is Lot) rebelling to Arthur’s right to rule. Although Arthur wins two battles, the Rebel Kings still refuse to recognise him as their leader. However, the British internal fights must cease when each king, Arthur as well, must fight separate battles against external invading forces: Danes, Irish, Saxons and Angles, who in the text are typically collectively named ‘Saracens’. The text focuses on two armies: one led by Arthur and the other by Gawain. Despite being Lot’s son, Gawain recognises Arthur legitimacy to rule. While Arthur is fighting in Leodegan’s lands (Leodegan is Guinevere’s father), Gawain, together with his brothers Gueheres, Agrevein, Gaheriet, and with his cousins Galathin and Yvain, leads an army in Arthur’s name to protect London. The romance ends with Arthur and Gawain being successful in freeing those key territories.
London is prominent in the romance. However, it is not described in detail and its political relevance is only inferred. Arthur holds court there for important and lavish occasions: he gives a feast ‘ƿat last ful fourten niȝt’ (l. 3582) and a tournament in honour of Ban and Bohort (two of his late father’s allies) joining his legitimacy cause; it is also there that he celebrates his second victory against the Rebel Kings with another 14-days long feast. Furthermore, London is where he prepares against the Saracens’ invasion by ordering that every town should be supplied with food and by appointing a constable for each of them; Arthur focuses on London first, choosing Sir Do, an earl who already has experience in running a town, to administer it, rather than a knight who had distinguished himself in battle.
The text also offers some clues on the considerable size and cultural aspects of the town. The number of pack-horses (700), of carts (700), and of wagons (500) that were meant to supply London with food (but were robbed by Saracens instead) speaks of a large population. As a big city, London has a lot to offer, which is why Gawain, his brothers, and cousins decide to reside there for months after the first battle.
The population itself, and perhaps a glimpse of its political structure, only makes an appearance during the first battle for London. Seeing that Gawain and his army are bravely fighting against the Saracens but that they are greatly disadvantaged in numbers (1200 against 7000), Sir Do gathers the aldermen at the assembly point at Aldgate and quickly convinces them to raise their banners and go in support of Gawain with an army of 5000 men in total (both citizens and knights) ‘[f]or alle chaunce Londen to kepe’ (l. 5126). Conversely, neither Sir Do nor the aldermen are mentioned as leaders of a London contingent in Gawain’s army in the second battle outside the town. The focus there is solely on Arthurian knights and their skills.
Unsurprisingly, Arthur, Gawain, and the other Arthurian knights win against the invaders. However, the text does not assume that they are better a priori: it demonstrates it by employing specific choices in vocabulary and fight descriptions. King Arthur and his knights are very skilled fighters and they have a deep knowledge of fighting practices.
During the final battle for the control over London, Gawain admires Yvain’s fighting skill: ‘He [Gawain] hadde wonder of his [Yvain’s] pruesse | Þat so leyd doun hard and nesse’ (ll. 8165-66). ‘Hard and nesse’ is interpreted by Macre-Gibson as ‘every sort of adversary’, meaning both strong and weak ones (‘nesse’ means ‘weak’, ‘pliant or yelding’). However, it is improbable that Gawain would commend Yvain for killing weak opponents; instead, it is much more likely that this sentence refers to Yvain’s ability to work from strong and weak binds. Simply put, depending on the circumstances, when two swords clash, the opponent can put a lot of pressure on the bind (i.e. a strong bind) or very little (i.e. a weak bind). A follow-up attack from a specific bind will not necessarily have a positive outcome if executed from a different one. Immediately performing a successful attack depending on the type of bind is not easy; it requires understanding of blade mechanics and training. In the late-fourteenth century glosses to Liechtenauer’s verses, the anonymous author of Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum, ms 3227a writes that knowing how to act according to the situation (whether it is a weak or a strong bind) is essential.
Vor, noch, swach, stark, indes: an den selben woerten leit alle kunst meister lichtnawers und sint dy gruntfeste und der kern alles fechtens […] Dy weile her denne ieme noch an syme swerte ist, […] zo sal her gar eben fuelen und merken ab iener […] an syme swerte weich ader hert, swach ader stark sey.
[Before, after, weak, strong, indes: on these words lay master Liechtenauer’s entire art and they are the basis and core of all fencing […] While he [the fighter] is still on [the opponent’s] sword, […] he shall quite precisely feel and note whether the other is soft or hard, weak or strong on his sword.]
Just a couple of lines before Gawain’s assessment of his cousin’s fighting skill, the audience is told that Yvain kills many enemies in various ways: he cuts two enemies at the waist, decapitates other two, and inflicts fatal wounds to a fifth. This demonstrates that Yvain is able to employ different and successful techniques depending on the circumstances. By mentioning that he can use to his advantage both strong and weak binds and that he kills all his enemies, Yvain’s fighting skills are emphasised: he clearly knows what he is doing.
In Off Arthour and of Merlin, Arthurian knights save London from the invaders not because they are implicitly better fighters, but because they demonstrate better fighting skills and knowledge. This is achieved through the choice of specific vocabulary that finds parallels in fight books, and therefore by creating links and associations between two literary genres that approached martial culture from a different perspective. For Yvain, this is expressed through his mastery of the bind.
Macrae-Gibson, O. D., ed., Of Arthour and of Merlin, 2 vols (London: Oxford University Press, 1979)
Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalbibliothek, ms 3227a <http://dlib.gnm.de/item/Hs3227a> [accessed 18 August 2020]
Bliss, Alan Joseph, ed., Sir Orfeo (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966)
Byrne, Aisling, ‘West and East: The Irish Saracens in Of Arthur and of Merlin’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 55 (2011), 217-229
Hanna, Ralph, ‘Auchinleck ‘Scribe 6’ and Some Corollary Issues’, in The Auchinleck Manuscript: New Perspectives, ed. by Susanna Fein (York: York Medieval Press, 2016), pp. 209-221
Liedholm, Astri, A Phonological Study of the Middle English Romance Arthour and Merlin (Ms Auchinleck) (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1941)
‘nesse’, in Middle English Dictionary [online], <https://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/middle-english-dictionary/dictionary/MED29350/track?counter=1&search_id=4141698> [accessed 18 August 2020]
Pearsall, Derek, and Cunningham, I. C. (eds), The Auchinleck Manuscript: National Library of Scotland Advocates’ MS 19.2.1 (London: Scholar Press, 1977)
Ramey, Lynn Tarte, Christians, Saracen and Genre in Medieval French Literature (New York and London: Routledge, 2001)
Sklar, Elizabeth, ‘Arthour and Merlin: The Englishing of Arthur’, Michigan Academician: Papers of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts, and Letters, 8: 1 (1975), 49-57
Schmidt, Herbert, Sword Fighting: An Introduction to Handling a Long Sword, trans. by David Johnston (Atglen: Schiffer Publishing)
 O. D. Macrae-Gibson, ed., Of Arthour and of Merlin, 2 vols (London: Oxford University Press, 1979), II, p. 9; Astri Liedholm, A Phonological Study of the Middle English Romance Arthour and Merlin (Ms Auchinleck) (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1941), p. xxi.
 In The Sayings of the Four Philosophers there are ‘Anglo-Norman macaronics’ and Latin insertions are present in The Harrowing of Hell, Speculum Gy de Warewke, and David þe King (Derek Pearsall, and I. C. Cunningham (eds), The Auchinleck Manuscript: National Library of Scotland Advocates’ MS 19.2.1 (London: Scholar Press, 1977), p. viii).
 Alan Joseph Bliss, ed., Sir Orfeo (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), pp. ix-x; Laura Hibbard Loomis, ‘The Auchinleck Manuscript and a Possible London Bookshop of 1330-1340’, in Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, 75: 3 (1942), 595-627, p. 601; 627; Macrae-Gibson, II, p. 62; Pearsall and Cunningham, p. vii.
 A recent study proposes that the writing hand identified as the sixth actually should be understood as a second moment in scribe α’s writing (Ralph Hanna, ‘Auchinleck ‘Scribe 6’ and Some Corollary Issues’, in The Auchinleck Manuscript: New Perspectives, ed. by Susanna Fein (York: York Medieval Press, 2016), pp. 209-221).
 Pearsall and Cunningham, pp. vii-xvi.
 Elizabeth Sklar, ‘Arthour and Merlin: The Englishing of Arthur’, Michigan Academician: Papers of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts, and Letters, 8: 1 (1975), 49-57 (pp. 52-54).
 In high and late medieval literature, it is not unusual to find that the term ‘Saracens’ designates any type of foreigners, rather than a specific group of people from the Near East. In AM, this idea of otherness is strongly connected to the emerging sense of a national language and identity present both in other parts of the romance (cf. ll. 21-22: ‘Riȝt is ƿat Inglische vnderstond | ƿat was born in Inglond’; Macrae-Gibson, I, pp. 3-5) and in other Middle English texts of the same period: ‘Saracen’ means ‘the Other’, ‘the non-British’ (Aisling Byrne, ‘West and East: The Irish Saracens in Of Arthur and of Merlin’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 55 (2011), 217-229 (pp. 218-19); Lynn Tarte Ramey, Christians, Saracen and Genre in Medieval French Literature (New York and London: Routledge, 2001), p. 8).
 Macrae-Gibson, I, p. 205.
 Macrae-Gibson, I, p. 246.
 Macrae-Gibson, I, p. 325.
 Macrae-Gibson, II, p. 193.
 ‘nesse’, in Middle English Dictionary [online], <https://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/middle-english-dictionary/dictionary/MED29350/track?counter=1&search_id=4141698> [accessed 18 August 2020]).
 Herbert Schmidt, Sword Fighting: An Introduction to Handling a Long Sword, trans. by David Johnston (Atglen: Schiffer Publishing), pp. 30; 132.
 Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalbibliothek, ms 3227a, fol. 20r-v.
 Transcription and translation are mine. The editorial principles are the following: abbreviations have been silently expanded, the letters u and v have been modified according to modern standards, and the punctuation has been made in accordance with the translation.
 ll. 8153-58 (Macrae Gibson, I, pp. 324-25).


Sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do to fight for the life we know we were created to live comes down to one single word. It can be the hardest word, but the start to a great adventure: YES.
In her debut memoir, Shawna Kaszer shares the story of her own ‘yes,’ inviting readers on an intimate journey across the country, and across her heart. Nearly ten years after losing her mom, Shawna found herself stuck, still dealing with the aftermath of her mother’s death. Faced with failed efforts to start a family of their own, and the many ‘somedays’ they were forced to put on the shelf during her mom’s illness, Shawna and her husband pack up their New York City apartment and take off across the country in an ’88 Bronco to find freedom from their past and hope for their future.
Despite her best efforts to remain present on the trip of a lifetime, memories buried behind closed doors begin to spill out on the open road, confronting her on sand dunes, beneath waterfalls, and amongst the wild as past and present are woven together on an epic road trip and an adventure within. With her husband by her side, their bucking Bronco takes them on a wild ride of redemption, to divine meetings with colorful characters, through extraordinary encounters and magical moments with God on a journey to find healing, wholeness, and hope restored.
I believe in the freedom to choose value for value, the power of exchange, the joy of generosity, and that the gifts of God are given freely. That is why here, exclusively on my website, I’m offering you the option to pay what you choose for ‘Mountains Into Roads,’ and why I have made the e-book available online for just ninety-nine cents. Because I want you to have this book, and I’m confident it will bless you! Pay what you choose below, or you can purchase the e-book on Amazon. I pray this book ignites a spark within that sends you out on your own great adventure of freedom, healing, and wholeness. – Shawna Kaszer


Your first novel, Tag, won the Media Wales Prize whilst your second, Life! Death! Prizes! was shortlisted for the 2012 Costa. The popular belief is that novelists toil in obscurity for years before being noticed, so what’s the secret to your success?
I began writing seriously in about 1998. And my first novel came out in 2008, so that is ten years of false starts, blind alleys and writing things that no one wanted to read. And in fact my first book came out in quite a small way - tiny print run - and remained pretty hard to get hold of even after winning that Welsh prize. It's only been the last couple of years that I have begun to find a readership. You just have to keep writing about what interests you, to tell the stories only you can tell, and hope it interests other people too. I try to be fearless in writing and I think my books aren't like those of anyone else. I like to write about ordinary people trying to show grace in difficult or strange situations. Under-achievers, daydreamers, people whistling in the dark - these are the people I know about and hopefully their stories resonate with lots of readers. Also, I still feel pretty obscure.
Was there specific pressure on you when writing your second novel given that Tag was a prize-winner?
No pressure. I wrote Tag assuming that no one would like it. And approached Life! Death! Prizes! the same way. If you start to worry about prizes, the market, or what people like - then you'll drive yourself mad. I just wanted to write a realistic - but hopeful - book about young men in small town England now. They are a much maligned group. And I felt I had the right story to tell and it wouldn't really let me go till I'd got it out. I felt more pressure with the third because I less time and more difficult subjects. (money, friendship, how to be happy, murder...)
You are fond of giving public readings and inter-acting with the audience. Is it crucial, these days, for an author to be visible and make public appearances rather than being a fashionable recluse like Salinger et al?
I'm a former drama teacher. And, therefore, a show-off. I'm also a good reader and a lot of novelists aren't (poets tend to be better) But I'm also semi-crippled by shyness, so there's always a tension in my live readings. I like conversations with audiences, they always know so much. I don't think it's essential to do it. I'm actually trying to develop more of an interactive show to go along with my latest book, rather than just do readings.
What about social media? You are active on Twitter so is this a good source for both communicating with readers but also in acquiring new readers?
I don't think a tweet has sold so much as a single book. In fact, I don't think even 1000 tweets sell even one book. I think people with 100 followers can sell as many books as those with 100, 000. I spend about twenty minutes a day on Twitter, seeing what people think about stuff, sharing that which seems more than usually interesting. Occasionally I join in with the conversation, though it can feel like shouting next to a waterfall. I think that Twitter, like Facebook, is probably past its peak. One day we will all look back and nudge each other and say 'hey, do you remember when we all used to tweet?' and there'll be an embarrassed sniggering. It'll go the way of Bebo, and ra-ra skirts... Facebook too is probably going - it won't disappear entirely any more than shop window advertisements in the local newsagents have, but in the end it'll begin to seem similarly quaint.
You also teach creative writing, but many say that it is an art which cannot be taught. What do you say to that? Did you attend any such classes before you were published?
It seems to me that there is 'creative writing' which is something that happens in colleges and other institutions, and then there is writing, which is what writers do. Sometimes they over-lap. I think you can save time by attending a course. I went on an Arvon course and that helped. I did an MA which didn't so much. What the MA gave me was a supportive gang and there was between us all an unspoken desire to impress and surprise one another and that helps too. Otherwise you simply have to read a lot. You also have to ask yourself constantly 'why should anyone read MY book, when there are so many brilliant others out there?' My classes are mostly about getting people to pay close attention to other books, and to the world around them. And then about giving opportunities to practice writing in ways they perhaps haven't thought about.
Finally, are you working on a new novel at the moment?
My third novel - Wake Up Happy Every Day - is published by Bloomsbury on March 13. It's a departure and a step forward for me. I think (hope) it demands more of a reader maybe. And I have just finished a rough draft of my fourth - and I'd actually like someone to come along and ask me to write another play. I'm busy now. (I also have a full-time job). I spent the first fifteen years of my adult life face down in my dinner or dazedly wondering where my shoes were - generally off my face in other words - or chasing girls, or haphazardly trying to help raise children. Quite a few of valuable years went by before I got down to any proper writing. I'm trying to make up for a lot of lost time... (though of course it turns out to have been material too...)


I didn't expect to have to talk to my daughter about death again so soon. We just had a conversation about it when Nana passed away six months ago. My wife's father, David (or "Campa" as my daughter calls him), had been in declining health for a little over a year now. He went into the hospital last Sunday, and never turned the corner to get better. Time in the hospital took its toll on his weakened body, and on Friday, he was moved to hospice and passed away a little over eight hours later.
I choked up as I told my daughter, while we were on our way to visit him in hospice, that this would be the last time she ever sees her "Campa". He was going away to heaven to be with Jesus, just like Nana did. Being only two and a half, her response to me was, "We need to hurry up if he's going away! I need to say goodbye." And say goodbye she did. She sang him the "ABC's," "Jesus Loves Me," and "I Love You A Bushel And A Peck." She gave him hugs and kisses, and she wasn't even scared. I was so proud of my little girl.
The service for him last night was great. So many people came out to support the family, and we heard lots of great stories about David's fifty-five years on this earth. I also shared a story about David, and I wanted you to be able to read it as well. David loved reading about his granddaughter on this blog, and I thought it would be a great tribute to him to share this story.
My Tribute To David
My relationship with David didn't get off to a great start. The first time I met him, he was driving his unmarked State Police cruiser into the parking lot of my high school. His daughter was late coming home from drama practice, and she was sitting in my car. We were talking about things that were important to high schoolers; things that, at the time, seemed important enough to make her late. Truthfully, I was working up the nerve to tell his daughter how I felt about her.
I eventually got the courage to ask David and his wife if I could date their daughter. As I sat at their kitchen table, I told them how I felt about her. I'm not sure you'd call what I received from David a "blessing," but after thoroughly questioning me about my intentions, he seemed willing to allow us to begin dating.
Let's fast forward through a few years of college, and I found myself at that same kitchen table with David and his wife. This time, I was asking permission to marry their daughter. I can't remember if he actually used the word "no," but it was clear that he didn't think it was a good idea to get married right out of college. We clearly didn't agree, and although we delayed our wedding a year to save money, we did eventually get married.
For a long time, I thought he was just being hard on me, and I couldn't understand what I had done to deserve it. I also couldn't figure out what I would have to do in order to earn his respect. It wasn't until I had a daughter of my own that I finally realized that the hard time he gave me had nothing to do with me and everything to do with protecting his only daughter. When I thought he was being tough on me, he was really showing his love for her.
The arrival of my daughter changed a lot of things about our relationship. His eyes would light up when she entered the room. He would beam with pride at her accomplishments. Our conversations became easier as we could always talk about her latest milestones. We shared a lot of smiles and laughs because of her, and David was often the first one to comment on this website when I wrote about her. I could tell that he respected me as a father, and that meant a lot to me.
A few months ago, I sat at that same kitchen table with David for one of the last times. I had grown to appreciate his zany sense of humor, but there was no humor in his voice when he asked me, "Matt, did I really say "no" when you asked if you two could get married?"
Not wanting to be rude, I began to say, "Well, I don't think you actually used the word 'no'..."
He cut me off, "I can't believe I did that!" Then he added with a laugh, "I'm really glad you didn't listen to me." He let me know that he was happy to have me in the family, and that he was proud to be the grandpa of such a wonderful, little girl.
I know, someday, I will be sitting at a kitchen table with a young man who is interested in dating my daughter. Now that David is gone, I will need to be twice as protective of my little girl's heart. Because I know, first hand, that David wouldn't have let him off easy. Thank you, David, for teaching me the importance of protecting those who are most important to you. And I promise, I won't let you down.


Some of my earliest memories involve my mother and I sitting on a flowered, 70’s style sofa reading the stories of Thornton Burgess and E.B. White in front of the large windows of our post and beam house. Burgess was a local author from Massachusetts and my mother tells me we frequented the Burgess Museum located in the town in which we lived. In particular from this era, I remember crying with my mother over the death of Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web. Sometimes my mom had trouble continuing to read aloud and we had to take a break to garner strength to go on. I think my mother taught me empathy through her emotional connections with Wilbur, Charlotte, Peter Cottontail, Jimmy Skunk, and many other characters. While these may have been the first times I cried over a book, they were certainly not the last.
At the age of three and a half, I became a big sister. My brother was born very prematurely and was in the hospital for quite some time before he could come home. During this time, my paternal grandparents spent a lot of time with me. Grandpa enjoyed reading me the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. Though the reading of stories did not make me any kinder to my new little brother (I would hit him over the head with my mother’s hair brush when she was not looking), I think reading helped me adjust to the new family dynamics.
According to my mother, we often went to the local library for story hour and regularly checked books out of the library. Along with the books, I frequently listened to musical versions of stories like Cinderella and Snow White on my little record player. My mom says I really loved to read and listen to stories, but I do not have many memories of this. Though they often read to me, my parents did not try to teach me how to read as they were not sure how to do so. They thought my teachers were better prepared for this task.
Jump ahead to the age of seven when I was in first grade and welcoming my second brother. We lived in a small town in Kentucky and I was a student in the class of Mrs. Neuman. It was in Mrs. Neuman’s class that I learned how to read. While I do not remember the process of learning to read, my mother tells me that I picked it up right away and never looked back. By the end of first grade, I was reading chapter books and helping my mom read to my brothers. One particular memory I have from this age is my mother reading E.B. White to my brothers and I, telling us to shut our eyes and imagine what the characters and the settings looked like. She told us the joy of reading was in the freedom to use and develop our imaginations. Given my brothers’ lust for life, these were some of the quieter moments in our household.
At age eight, my family moved again to a town in Massachusetts in the middle of January. I was the new girl in school with buck teeth, glasses and a Kentucky accent. During this adjustment phase, I was reading the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, L.M. Montgomery, and Margeurite Henry. These books took me away from the snowy, new town to places of wonder, beauty, and intrigue. In springtime, I discovered the joys of reading in the shade of the pine grove in our backyard and on the branches of the Weeping Willow just beside our carport – quiet, tranquil places away from my rambunctious brothers.
By third grade, I was well settled in to my new town and had formed a lovely relationship with the school librarian, Mrs. Wolkenbreit. In me, Mrs. Wolkenbreit recognized a voracious, curious reader who was open to many genres and ideas. She told me that I would have the responsibility of helping her choose books for the library’s collection. I needed to report back to her on all the books I was reading so she would know what books to choose for the library. At the time, it was the most wonderful thing anyone could have told me. I do not remember specific authors from that period, but I do know I was exposed to many types of books: novels, biographies, non-fiction, novellas, short stories, memoirs, and more.
The summer of my fourth grade year, I was finally allowed to ride my bike to a branch of the public library and pick out my own books. The librarian there was my summertime Mrs. Wolkenbreit. She remembered what kinds of books I liked to read and would have some selected when she thought I might be visiting her again. She always asked what I thought of the books I was returning and what I might like to read next. Beyond her kindness, I remember her fingers – always dry with paper cuts, but quick to pat me on the back. She was a part of my life for the next five years we lived in Massachusetts.
From fourth grade to seventh grade, I developed a deep curiosity about World War II, the Holocaust, the A-bomb, and the Vietnam War. I began reading books like Memoirs of Auschwitz, Number the Stars, The Devil’s Arithmetic, So Far from the Bamboo Grove, Fallen Angels and others. During this time, I asked a lot of why questions. In sixth grade a classmate of mine asked our teacher, Mr. Noel, how many people he had killed in Vietnam. Mr. Noel immediately sent Charlie to the principal’s office and left the room. This tense moment only fueled my need to understand how human beings could do such damage to each other. Something I think I still seek in the books I read today.
To take a break from these serious themes, I read the Nancy Drew, Babysitter’s Club, Sweet Valley High, and R.L Stine thriller series. Starting in third or fourth grade, I discovered my mother’s stash of Harlequin romance novels kept in paper bags in her closet. I would sneak a few into my room on a regular basis and hunt through them for the “steamy” parts. Much was learned from these books. Now I call these books pallet cleansers – a way to clear away or absorb the taste of the more serious books to prepare for further heavy reading.
In junior high school, I continued my exploration of humanity through John Grisham, Bryce Courtenay (particularly The Power of One), and young adult level romance novels like Dance With Me by Jahnna Beecham. Beyond these few authors, I do not really remember what I read during this period. I do not even remember what books were assigned for summer reading or in English class.
At the age of fifteen, my family moved again, to Rhode Island. Again, I was the new girl only this time I was no longer plagued by buck teeth, glasses or a southern accent. Sadly, that did not make the transition any easier. Instead, I was the “hippy, grunge” girl in a very “preppy” high school. The first year did not go well, with regular snubs from sports teammates and most other people. It was during this adjustment year that I was exposed to Shakespeare for the second time. In ninth grade, at my old school, we had read Much Ado About Nothing and Macbeth and I had really liked them. They were tough, but also really lovely. In tenth grade, at my new school in Rhode Island, we read Julius Caesar and I grew to hate Shakespeare. When we moved on to The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway, I began to wonder if I still liked to read. It seemed like my teacher was killing my love of reading. The Great Gatsby, Heart of Darkness and A Separate Peace, read the following year, began to renew my faith, but only a bit. School reading was just no longer fun.
Outside of school, I do not recall what I was reading in high school, but I know I was always reading. Following the birth of my second brother, I almost always had a book with me. When my family went on road trips, I brought a stack of books with me out of necessity. While my brothers poked, prodded, and tortured each other and my parents, I had my nose in a book. Survival instincts at their best! Sadly, many of those titles now escape me.
College was a time of copious reading. My freshman writing course, “Sex, Love, and the Twentieth Century Novel” introduced me to the likes of Zora Neale Hurston, F. Scott Fitzgerald (beyond The Great Gatsby), and James Baldwin. After the course, I explored more of their writings to my great pleasure. Given my major in Theatre and Dramatic Literature, I soon fell in love with plays while reading Arthur Miller, Shakespeare, Athol Fugard, Paula Vogel, William Wycherley, and many more. I also discovered the works of James Herriot, Barbara Dimmick, and David Sedaris. My junior year of college saw the beginning of my love affair with the Harry Potter series. Friends always asked me how I could read so many books while also maintaining good grades. My secret – reading for pleasure every night before bed, whether it was one page or a whole book.
In my twenties, I began to read much more. Fiction had always been my go-to genre, but some forms of non-fiction caught my eye. I read wonderful books such as Bachelor Girls by Betsy Israel and Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz – non-fiction books that explored history and human nature with humor and wit. In my fiction-reading world, I read Jasper Fforde, Gregory Maguire, Cormac McCarthy, and Jonathan Safran Foer to name a few. During this period, I also decided to read some of the “classics” I had missed in high school and college. I discovered The Grapes of Wrath, On the Road, Brave New World, The Count of Monte Cristo, and the Sherlock Holmes series. Over and over again, books from past and contemporary authors broke my heart, gave me hope, challenged my opinions, and brought me to new, unexplored places. My joy of reading had returned in great force and has not abated since.
In my late twenties and early thirties, I continue to read a variety of authors and genres. Some books that really stick out include On Foot to the Golden Horn by Jason Goodwin, White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar, and most things by Walter Moseley. A good friend of mine also recommended some graphic novels, including Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi (for whom I plan to name a daughter, should I have one) and Fables by Bill Willingham. As I move into my thirties, I have developed a deep interest in reading books that have been translated from other languages, or that deal with the migration/immigration experience.
Young adult literature reappeared in my life when I was about twenty-six. My best friend became a school library teacher and reminded me of the joys of young adult literature. I explored classic children’s and young adult authors including Lewis Carol, Roald Dahl, and Frank Baum while discovering new authors such as Markus Zusak, Philip Pullman, Sherman Alexie, Neil Gaiman, Douglas Adams, Suzanne Collins, Meg Cabot, and Scott Westerfeld. The authors listed here are my particular favorites because they transport me into other worlds, question my morals/values/opinions, ask me to dream bigger, command me to feel something, and often make me laugh while doing so. The strong feelings elicited by these authors cause me to rave about them to anyone and everyone I speak with about reading – my topic of choice at parties.
In the past ten years, I have also developed a strong relationship with my pallet cleanser authors. I am currently in passionate relationships with Jennifer Crusie, Mary Kay Andrews, Sue Grafton, Stella Rimington, Janet Evanovich (the Stephanie Plum series), John Le Carré and Kathy Reichs. Jennifer Crusie and Mary Kay Andrews serve as my adult pacifiers, reading them over and over again, particularly in times of great stress or sorrow. They are my friends – knowing just what to say to make everything better.
My reading life has been one of depth and commitment, fluffiness and laughter, and sometimes both. Without books, I am not sure what kind of person I would be or what kind of dreams I would have for myself. Because of reading, I am a more articulate, empathetic, balanced, and creative person. Having traveled all over the world and into many time periods through the experiences of children, teenagers, adults and adults of all ages, fictional and real, I have lived a thousand blessed and full lives.


4 July 2013
The summer session one interns departed on Tuesday and the summer session two volunteers arrive today. That means today Karen and I will be joined by five new high school volunteers and one more coordinator, Maysam. Orientation starts today and then camps start on Tuesday. I am excited to see what summer session two has in store for us all.
With no volunteers here that meant I got to run alone for the first time since May. Although I don’t love running I do enjoy it, because it always helps me to relieve stress and clear my mind. This morning on my run I felt especially recharged and motivated. My strides were a little longer, my knees lifted a little higher, and my arms pumped a little faster. My pace even increased from my normal jog to something that felt more like a run. And yes this could all be because I am slowly getting back into shape, but I don’t see it that way. As I ran I felt inspired, therefore I pushed myself harder.
In honor of my inspirational run I decided to share some quotes and sayings that help me get through everyday with a big smile. Enjoy!
“You can’t really begin to appreciate life until it has knocked you down a few times. You can’t really begin to appreciate love until your heart has been broken. You can’t really begin to appreciate happiness until you’ve known sadness. You have to struggle up the mountainside to appreciate the breathtaking view at the mountaintop.”
“Life would be so different if you stopped allowing other people to dilute or poison your perception with their words and opinions. Happiness is derived from the way you see your own life. It depends on your thoughts, not on what you have or what you do not have, or by what other people think you should have.”
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sail. Explore. Dream. Discover.” -Mark Twain
“As we grow older, we realize what matters most. We discover ourselves. We find out what we want…what we need….what we deserve. As we mature, we finally say, “I don’t know everything.” As we age, our family and our true friends, they all become vital in our existence.”
“Just remember that yesterday doesn’t matter. Five minutes ago doesn’t matter. What you do right now and going forward is everything.”
“Once we realize that we are here for a much greater purpose that just for ourselves, a purpose to serve others, to live for others, knowing that the self and its ego is temporary and can only hinder one’s spiritual pursuits, than we can humble our minds and understand we are here by the grace of a higher force. We are so much smaller than what we claim ourselves to be, so it is important to remember that at any time of any day, our ego can be re-adjusted for the better or for the worse, and we can control the ego by allowing it to be without letting it be you.”
“Never waste your time trying to explain who you are to people who are committed to misunderstanding you.”
“The past is where you learned the lesson. The future is where you apply the lesson. Don’t give up in the middle.”
“We work on ourselves in order to help others, but also we help others to work on ourselves.”
“Don’t give up on your dream because it is not going in the direction you want. There are different routes to the same destination.”
“Extraordinary things are always hidden in place people never think to look.”
“Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves.”
“The measures of life will not be in what you accumulate but in what you give away.”
“Every act of kindness grows the spirit and strengthens the soul.”
“Worry less, smile more, accept criticism, take responsibility, listen and love, don’t hate, embrace change, and feel good anyway.”
“Treat everyone with the same level of respect; people will notice your kindness.”
“Have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”
“One day in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.”
“The nature of life is to change, but the beauty of life is to give.”
“Did you say it? ‘I love you. I don’t ever want to live without you. You changed my life.’ Did you say it? Make a plan. Set a goal. Work toward it, but every now and then, look around; Drink it in because this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow.”
“Be weird, be random, be who you are, because you never know who would love the person you hide.”
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler.” -Henry David Thoreau
“Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” ~The Dalai Lama
“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.”
~ Nelson Mandela
To the mind one day may seem ordinary, when another may seem remarkable. Really each day is ordinarily-remarkable. To see it you just have to open your mind heart and soul. Each day we all have the choice to put on a smile and be happy, and yes I realize that is not possible every single day, but we do have that choice. Sometimes the best way to see the positive is not to open your eyes, but to close your eyes, quite your mind, take a deep breath, and open your heart. -Haley
Oh yeah, Happy 4th of July, drink an American beer and shoot off some fireworks for me!


Programs presented by author/illustrator Yetti Frenkel give children an inside look at the life of a working artist. Presentations include readings of her books, slides of her work as an artist and muralist, and the process of creating a children's book from storyboard to finished product. By presenting a progression of early sketchbooks, Yetti shows children that drawing is a learning process like math or reading and that with perserverance they can also achieve their goals.
To schedule a program, or for more information, please contact Yetti Frenkel.
"The children were obviously enthralled with your presentation and fascinated by seeing the artwork of your picture books. Your lively reading and entertaining personal style were obviously appreciated by our young patrons- as well as by their parents and caregivers who later gave great commendations! With great polish and skill, you brought the picture book creation process alive much to the delight of our visitors, young and old." Paula Hayes, Supervisor The Rey Children's Room Boston Public Library Boston, MA
"Yetti had a genuine rapport with the classes and thoughtful answers to all questions. She showed her sketchbooks and explained to students that drawing is a learning process, like learning to read or do mathematical problems, and that they should not be frustrated if it takes a long time to learn how to draw. Part of her wonderful presentation was to explain the process of creating a book, from the original idea to a book on the library shelf. Several of my students had specific questions about her artwork and one even offered his original drawings to her." Karen Kosko, Library Media Specialist Haggerty School, Cambridge, MA
"I want to thank you for coming to the Children's Room and sharing your books and illustrations with us. It was a treat to hear the stories and see your beautiful, full-scale artwork and compare it to what we see in print." Lorraine Der, Children's Librarian Hamilton-Wenham Public Library
© Snow Tree Books 2004 - Site by IBFX Consulting


Opioid Replacement Therapy (ORT) is the medical procedure of replacing an illegal opioid drug such as heroin with a longer acting but less euphoric opioid, usually methadone or buprenorphine, that is taken under medical supervision. In some countries (e.g. Switzerland, Austria) patients may be treated with slow-release morphine where methadone is deemed inappropriate in the circumstances. In Germany, Dihydrocodeine has been used off-label in ORT for many years, however it is no longer frequently prescribed for this purpose. Extended-release dihydrocodeine is again in current use in Austria for this reason. Research into the usefulness of piritramide, extended-release hydromorphone including polymer implants lasting up to 90 days, dihydroetorphine and some other drugs for this purpose is in various stages in a number of countries at present. The prescription of medicinal heroin or morphine for long-term addicts, particularly those having difficulty with methadone programmes, is also done in some countries.
Some formulations of buprenorphine are manufactured in pill form with the opiate antagonist Naloxone to prevent addicts from crushing the tablets and injecting them instead of taking them sublingually (under the tongue).
The driving principle behind ORT is that an opiate addict will be able to regain a normal life and schedule while being treated with a substance that stops him from experiencing withdrawal symptoms and cravings, but doesn't provide strong euphoria. In many countries regulations require that ORT should be applied for a limited time only, as long as needed for the patient to consolidate his economic and psychosocial situation. (Patients suffering from HIV/AIDS or Hepatitis C are usually excluded from this demand.) In practice however only a small fraction of patients manage to attain abstinence.
ORT has been shown to be the most effective treatment for improving the health and living condition of patients. It is also the most effective in reducing mortality as well as overall costs for society. (e.g. those caused by drug-related crime, the prosecution thereof, the spreading of diseases, etc.)
- Heroin assisted treatment
- Michel et al.: Substitution treatment for opioid addicts in Germany, Harm Reduct J. 2007; 4: 5.


The walk. A short story.
The man woke to the sound of his dog whining. “Do you need to go outside, girl?” He reached over and touched her head gently. “Ok, come on, let’s go.” He rose from his bunk and went to the door. He picked up his rifle, which was sitting in its usual place, next to the door; and opened the door slowly, peeking out the crack between the door and the jamb.
“I don’t see any bears this morning,” he said to no one but the dog. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch. The dog followed him and then continued on down the steps and into the yard. She was walking slowly, even more slowly than usual. The man could tell her pain was getting worse—much worse than last month. “I am sorry you are hurting, girl, I wish I could take the pain for you.”
The man sat in the porch chair staring out at the familiar, but still beautiful scene; waiting for the dog to finish. As he sat there, he decided that today was the day to go over to the mountain. He went back inside and packed his bag and threw it over his shoulder, then he picked up his rifle and headed back outside.
The dog was lying in the shade, half asleep, but woke up as the man closed and latched the door to the cabin. She watched the man approach and started to get up as the man got close. “Come on, girl,” the man said. “We have a long walk.”
The dog followed the man slowly. It wasn’t obedience, she would have followed if he had said nothing. Maybe it was habit, as she had been following him for almost twenty years, or perhaps it was love. Who can say why a dog follows.
The man walked slowly down the hill toward the creek, the fall leaves crunching under his feet. He winced as he walked through a spider web, and then struggled to get it off his face. As he reached to pick up a stick to protect himself from other webs, he remembered all of the spring days he sat on the porch and threw sticks out into the yard for the dog to chase. He would throw the stick dozens of times and the dog would dutifully bring it back. Eventually the dog would tire and lay down in the cool grass, chewing on her stick as if it were a delicious bone.
The creek had standing water in it, but it wasn’t running, since it had been a few weeks since it rained. The man stopped in the middle of the creek and stood on a large slab of rock, looking back at the dog approaching the creek. She stopped as she got to the bank and looked down. In the past, she would have jumped down onto the flat rock with the man, but today she stopped and looked. She walked up the creek a few paces, then back down a few, looking for an easier path down.
The man walked over to her and sat on the bank of the creek. He reached around the dog’s neck and pulled her head into his lap. “You are a good girl,” the man said to her as he stroked her head. They sat there for a while, the dog remaining completely still, while the man continued to caress her head. “You are the best dog ever,” the man said.
They sat there for a few minutes until the man reached back and put his hand under her tail and picked her up. He carried her up the creek a few yards and put her down by a clear pool of water. “Are you thirsty, girl,” he said as he put her down next to the pool. He wished he could carry her the entire way to the mountain. But he knew he couldn’t, she was just too heavy.
The dog walked into the pool and began to drink. The man stood and watched her patiently as she wandered around the pool drinking the cool, clear water. She eventually got her fill and approached the man. He reached down and rubbed her ears, and then headed down the creek, picking out the high spots, while the dog followed.
The sun was filtering through the leaves making the forest much darker than it had been while they were still in the yard. It was a hot day, hotter than normal and, while the forest blocked the sun, it also kept in the humidity. The man brushed the sweat out of his eyes and continued walking.
He finally reached a spot in the creek that provided an easy way up the hill. He started up the hill, zig-zagging slowly so the dog could keep up with him. Before he reached the top, the forest ended and a large grassy field appeared.
The man and the dog had been here many times before. They often crossed this field when they were hunting. He remembered bringing her up here the first time she saw snow. As they cleared the trees and the dog saw the large open field of white, she took off running through the snow. She ran directly away from the man, then turned to run in big circles. The man watched her for several minutes and then called her. She made one more lap and ran back to him. That was the day he decided she was the best dog ever. Most puppies would have ignored a call, but she never ignored him. It was as if she wanted to be near him as much as he wanted to be near her.
A fly landed on the man’s face and brought him out of his trance. He brushed it away and began walking again. The grass was taller than the man’s waist. He left a trail of bent stalks, as the dog got lost from view. The stalks waved in the breeze, but the movement of the grass caused by the dog could still be easily seen. “I’m over here, girl,” the man said. He stopped walking and called her as she continued her slow progress through the grass.
As the dog approached, the man sat down in the grass and called her. She quickened her pace as much as she could and laid down next to the man. They sat there for a while so the dog could rest again. But it wasn’t long before the gnats made it uncomfortable for both man and dog. The man stood and looked toward the other side of the field. “Come on, girl,” he said. “let’s keep moving.”
They continued down the other side of the hill toward the lake, stopping occasionally to rest. The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the lake. The man walked along the bank slowly as the dog followed him. He stepped onto the dock and walked out to the end. He dropped his bag, laid his rifle on the dock, and sat down, his legs hanging over the edge of the dock.
He opened his bag and took out a small bundle. He moved the bag away and laid the bundle on the dock, where he unwrapped it to reveal a stick with fishing string and a hook, and several dry minnows. The man baited the hook and dropped it into the water.
He loved to fish. He and the dog had come here often. Usually, the dog would jump into the water and swim while the man was fishing. Of course, this always made it harder to catch a fish, but the man didn’t mind. Eventually, the dog would get tired and come up on the dock and give the man a chance to catch a fish.
But, today, the dog didn’t go swimming. She laid on the dock next to the man and tried to sleep. The pain seemed to come and go. She would sleep for a while and then half-awaken with a quiet yelp, only to quickly fall back asleep again.
The man pulled the hook in and threw it back out again. Normally, fishing was just something to do while he sat on the dock and enjoyed the view of the mountain on the other side of the lake. But today he really wanted to catch a fish.
He continued to cast and pull the hook back in until he finally caught a small lake trout. He cut the head, tail, and fins off and cleaned it out. He wrapped the filets and string up in the cloth and threw what he had cut off into the lake.
He put his bag and rifle in his row boat and then helped the dog get in, before he climbed in and untied the boat. The man paddled across the lake toward the mountain. He paddled slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry. So, even though the lake wasn’t very big, it took him a while to get across. As he reached the bank, he heard a flock of geese fly overhead. The dog looked up expectantly. “Not today, girl. It’s getting late. We need to keep moving.”
The man started up the mountain trail, with the dog following behind. He walked the trail for about a mile until he found the cairn that marked the spot where he needed to head into the forest. He built the cairn several years ago. He and the dog came up here and found just the right spot together.
The man picked up another stick, remembering his encounter with spiders in the forest near his cabin. He headed into the forest, following the blazes on the trees he had made years before. The last cairn was in a clear area under a large oak tree. The man sat down next to the cairn and looked down at the lake. His eyes found the dock and then scanned up the hill. He could see his cabin, a small wisp of smoke still coming out of his chimney.
“Look, girl, there’s the cabin, right there,” the man said pointing. “Isn’t this perfect?” He pulled the dog in and hugged her. “You are the best dog ever,” he said. He laid his rifle on the ground and opened his bag. He gently opened the bundle containing the fish and cut it into pieces. He held a piece in front of the dog’s nose and she gently ate it from his hand. He continued to feed her until the fish was gone.
“Let’s just sit for a while, huh, girl,” the man said. He sat there, petting the dog and rubbing her ears as she laid next to him with her eyes closed and her head in his lap. She was a good dog. A brave dog. The man wished they could be together forever. But they couldn’t. He knew that. It wouldn’t be fair.
The man put his fishing gear back in his bag and then got up slowly. The dog was still lying on the ground, her eyes closed. The man threw his bag across his shoulder, and grabbed the rifle. He took aim and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang loud in his ear, and echoed all around him. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, with the echo reverberating in his mind.
The man looked down at the dog’s body, and was glad she was no longer in pain. But he would feel the pain of her loss for the rest of his life. He had managed to take her pain on himself after all.


Copyright © 2001 by Deborah Wyrick, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. Copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that the editors are notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
Doris? She's the one who's always reading War and Peace. That's how I know it's the summer, when Doris is reading War and Peace.--Philip Roth, Goodbye, Columbus, 7
- A few weeks ago, I took my car to the repair shop to get a new tire. I'd come equipped for the wait with a book -- Jessica Hagedorn's Dogeaters. When I paid the bill, the clerk-mechanic noticed the book's rather garish cover and asked me what I was reading. After I told him, he shook his head. "You must teach up at State," he said. "Don't you all ever read anything fun, even in summer?"
- Well, it is summer, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere, and we academics are faced with the dilemma of summer reading. Do we emulate Roth's Doris and attempt to tackle 'should-read' (or 'should-have-read') books -- serious, profession-specific or otherwise 'important' texts? Or do we succumb to what we in North Carolina call 'beach books' -- big-print, mass-market paperbacks that usually involve romance or murder? Like many of my students, my mechanic believes that reading is either work or fun, and never the twain shall meet (unless perhaps in a book by Mark Twain). It's hard to avoid being infected by this culturally dominant false choice, and I feel guilty when I exceed a self-imposed limit of two best-selling thrillers per summer month. But working in postcolonial studies provides an easy solution. As Dogeaters itself suggests, there are many recent and relatively recent novels in our field that are both escapist and substantive, that mix dollops of crime, suspense, and love with innovative style, political critique, and historical-cultural information. In this essay, I recommend three such novels, plus some new non-fiction and, for good measure, a couple of films. To honor the relaxation regime controlling American summers, I refrain from mentioning any books of literary criticism and theory.
- Rajeev Balasubramanyam's novel, In Beautiful Disguises (2001), layers comedy, social satire, and myth upon a coming-of-age narrative. Its heroine is an unnamed South Indian teenager who escapes an unsavory arranged marriage by running away to The City (presumably Delhi) and working as a maid. There she joins a gaggle of obstreperous servants who manage the household of Mr. Aziz, his horrid French wife, and their dissolute son. (If you've ever wondered what would have happened if E. M. Forster's Aziz had hooked up with Adela and lived [un]happily ever after, In Beautiful Disguises is the book for you.) She also escapes mundane reality by believing she's a film-star-in-training -- specifically, an avatar of Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's -- and by weaving her life with strands from the Ramayana -- for instance, Hanuman and his legions become performing orangutans at the municipal zoo. Balasubramanyam writes with an entrancingly light touch, but the novel moves toward darker sensibilities when the heroine returns to her home. If she is the Ramayana's female paragon Sita as well as Holly Golightly, is the demon-ruled land of Lanka the 'authentic' rural countryside rather than the corrupt urban environment? Or is it an interior topography contoured by identity-fantasy and gender confusion? In Beautiful Disguises does not resolve all the issues it raises, and the book somewhat strangely elides matters of class and caste (perhaps disclosing the diasporic position of its author), but it is nonetheless an accomplished and ambitious debut novel.
- Identity performances of a different kind structure Anchee Min's Becoming Madame Mao (2000). This astonishing historical novel, a product of careful research as well as of artistic vision, portrays the serial reformulations of the Great Helmsman's first (actually, third) mate from a poor concubine's daughter to a Shanghai actress to a revolutionary cadre to the 'white boned demon' directing the Cultural Revolution. Min sees Madame Mao's life as a sequence of roles drawn from Chinese opera, suggesting how fictional artifice can offer seductive templates for self-actualization in the real world. Another source for Min's Madame Mao is Taoist philosophy: the relationship between Mao Zedong and his wife becomes the dance of yang and yin, a dance of exquisite postures more than of passion, a dance that whirls out of balance due to Madame Mao's 'masculine' ambition and to Mao's 'longevity program,' which required frequent intercourse with virgin girls. Despite the potential for burlesque or for vilification, Min demonstrates a certain sympathy for, even attraction to Madame Mao. To young proletarians like Min, who worked for a time in Madame Mao's opera troupe, the Chairman's wife could be seen as a glamorous, strong-willed, modern woman whose vengeful excesses were not evident until later. Even though Min now lives in the U.S., and this book evenhandedly presents its protagonist's monstrosity as well as her vulnerability, it also recreates the spell Madame Mao cast over millions of Chinese young people. Part of its ability to do so stems from its narrative style. Min combines first-person, third-person, and free-indirect discourse in surprising and supple ways, keeping readers in suspension between empathy and objectivity. She also invests her prose with the texture of translation (although the book was written in English) through unusual turns of phrase and sentence rhythms, delicate allusions to Chinese classics, and references to folk beliefs and practices.
- An even more bravura linguistic performance is Ernesto Mestre's The Lazarus Rumba (1999). Writing contrapuntally between American English and Cuban Spanish languages, cultures, and histories, Mestre spins a magical narrative of a contemporary Cuba forever lost and longed for by its exiled citizens. The most War and Peace-like of the books I discuss here -- at least in length (486pp.) and scope -- The Lazarus Rumba is impossible to encapsulate in a paragraph. It contains multitudes: of characters (contortionists, santeros, revolutionary heroes, talking roosters); of plots (dealing with romance, with murder, with revenge, with enlightenment); of tones (sensual, realist, phantasmagoric, satiric). And of genders -- Mestre turns the gay-straight polarity into a spiral of fluid sexualities that wondrously replace the customary gendered metaphors underpinning the nation-state. Such replacement also intervenes in Cuban literary history. Mestre's hybrid creations (hybrid in ethnicity as well) challenge Rubén Darío's suffering female motherland, Fernando Ortíz's gendered and racialized binary of sugar and tobacco, Nicolás Guillén's two grandfathers. At the same time, Mestre's baroque style and linguistic parody affiliate with Cuban literary predecessors such as Alejo Carpentier and Guillermo Cabrera-Infante. Like the Afro-Cuban orisha San Lazaro/Babalu-Aye, the crippled leper whose wounds are licked by dogs and who represents the ambivalent force of disease and its remedies, The Lazarus Rumba lacerates conventional perceptions only to heal them with new and empowering knowledges.
- For pure escapism (one ostensible purpose of summer reading), I find non-fiction as serviceable as fiction. Michela Wrong's In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz (2001), for instance, presents a world as absorbing and surreal as any fictional locale -- the world of Mobutu Sese Seko's Zaire. The book depicts the Zairean kleptocracy as an opera bouffe that veers toward Kafkaesque nightmare, Mobutu presiding over the mix like a crazed and largely invisible Wizard of Oz. Wrong's reportage pays admirable attention to ethnic and economic politics, yet its bemused irony contains a whiff of gonzo journalism. In this, she joins the growing group of reporter-stylists who transform job assignments into compulsively readable, self-reflexive, highly mannered narratives (Bob Shacochis's over-the-top account of the second U.S. occupation of Haiti, The Immaculate Invasion , being a notable example). Wrong's book might have been titled "In the Footsteps of Mr. Conrad" or "In the Footsteps of Mr. Stanley," as it revisits the odd positionality of the 'foreign correspondent'; for centuries, Western writers have been crucial in producing knowledges of Central Africa, in speaking for its inhabitants, and in fashioning its histories. One therefore may wish to read Footsteps along with other contemporary Western accounts of the Congo and its neighbors (unfortunately, I've not been able to locate contemporary African accounts). Adam Hochschild's King Leopold's Ghost (1998) succeeds not only because of its meticulous, compelling historiography but also because it focuses on Western (mis)uses of the Congo. Philip Gourevitch avoids the 'speaking for' trap in a different way. His stunning account of the Rwandan holocaust (We Wish to Inform You . . . 1999) is composed largely of eye-witness narratives, and it resists molding that particular chaos into a shapely historical plot.
- Sometimes, even holding a book violates vacation relaxation protocols. On those occasions, renting a movie provides a pleasant alternative. For people introduced to the extravagant world of Asian martial arts films via Ang Lee's much heralded Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), I recommend the real deal: Tsui Hark's Once Upon A Time In China (1991). Starring Jet Li (the only living man who looks good in a queue), Once Upon A Time In China chronicles the exploits of Wong Fei Hung, an actual folk hero from the late Ching era. A traditional healer as well as a martial artist, Wong was associated with protests against foreign trade practices, dramatized in this film as U.S. attempts to hoodwink poor Chinese laborers into servitude and to kidnap Chinese women for overseas prostitution. The film's ideology is as subtle as an eye gouge (albeit appropriate cover for postcolonial scholars who might otherwise be reluctant to enjoy choreographed mayhem), but the humor characteristic of the genre redeems the plot from unbearability. Yet no one watches 'kung fu movies' for the plot -- it's the fighting that counts.
- The fight sequences in Once Upon A Time in China are fabulous, and frequent, and occasionally fearsome (as in the struggle between an imprisoned woman and her captor). Jet Li's combination of grace and strength is unparalleled; an elaborately inventive ladder-fighting scene eclipses the famous tree-fight in Crouching Tiger; the thematic conflict between Western and Chinese values takes satisfyingly bellicose form in fights between gun-wielders and martial artists. The film's ample supply of gore and its semi-salacious depiction of violence against women, however, may be unpalatable for some viewers. In that case, Once Upon A Time In China II (1993) would be a better rental. This sequel (also starring Jet Li as Wong Fei Hung) sanitizes its predecessor's violence while retaining its dazzling action. Unfortunately, the plot has lost its Manichean edge, as the villains in China II are fanatic White Lotus sect members and the maliciously meddlesome Westerners are relegated to the background. Loosely based on the Boxers, the White Lotus group -- headed by a crazed shaman who engages Wong Fei Hung in a marvelous fight waged on a teetering stack of tables -- is both anti-Western and anti-non-White Lotus Chinese. Dr. Sun Yat Sen makes cameo appearances, and one supposes that the film's political message has something to do with the lost promise of Sun's revolution. Nonetheless, like Once Upon A Time In China, China II is terrific entertainment, its masterful display of martial arts enhanced by sophisticated filming, beautiful sets, and award-winning music.
- An infinitely more serious work now out on video is Bahman Gohbadi's A Time For Drunken Horses (Zamani barayé masti asbha), the first Kurdish-language film to reach international markets. Using non-professional actors (many from the Ekhtiar-dini family) and a documentary film technique, Gohbadi tells a moving story of Iranian Kurdish orphans living on the border with Iraq. Young Ayoub (Ayoub Ahmadi) is responsible for his three sisters and his severely handicapped brother Madi (Madi Ekhtiar-dini), who circulates through the film as a sort of floating signifier of misery. The plot involves the children's sacrifices for each other and particularly for Madi, who needs an operation to prolong his life. The oldest sister acquiesces to an arranged marriage on the soon-to-be-broken promise of help for Madi, and Ayoub joins a band of adult smugglers in order to earn enough money for Madi's medical treatments. The bleak winter landscape underscores the film's restrained evocation of border politics, the unseen presences of trade embargoes and landmines and national ideologues and systemic poverty; locked into the documentary camera's dispassionate point-of-view, we are reminded of our own complicity in the harsh conditions assaulting these Kurdish children. Nonetheless, the film's crystalline ending rescues it (and us) from utter desolation. A Time For Drunken Horses has won a variety of awards, including the Camera d'Or at Cannes.
- Of course, I hope your summer (or winter) reading includes this issue of Jouvert. You can virtually vacation in Historic Waikîkî, courtesy of Andrea Feeser, or in a satirically envisioned Toronto, courtesy of Donald Blais. You can travel through a transnational Caribbean via Cynthia James's analysis of works by Paule Marshall and Erna Brodber. You can explore cultural controversy in India: Monika Mehta discusses Bollywood-related film and music censorship; Nandita Ghosh examines the three-languages policy and its impact on Indian journalism and English-language fiction writing; Sharada Nair re-contextualizes teaching canonical English poetry within present-day Indian history. You can journey south to Australia, from whence Carolyn D'Cruz looks at another cultural controversy, the question of who can speak for Aboriginal peoples. You can enjoy the powerful poetry of Mohammad Tavallaei, whose spiritually and politically charged work suggests the complexities of contemporary Iran. Finally, you can plan the rest of your vacation reading with the help of reviews by Charles William Miller (Rethinking Indigenous Education), Tabish Khair (Mapping Subaltern Studies and the Postcolonial), Benjamin Noys (Monsters and Revolutionaries), Mala Pandurang (Before I Am Hanged), and Robert Clarke (The Cultures of Globalization).
- Allow me this opportunity to thank Tom Lisk for his crucial and continuing support of Jouvert. As Head of NC State's English Department, Tom backed this project from the start, providing the resources necessary to launch and sustain the journal. Tom is stepping down as Head; he will devote his time to teaching and writing. The entire Jouvert community owes him a deep dept of gratitude. I'd also like to thank my colleague and good friend Jim Morrison for his important contributions to the journal. Not only has Jim written articles for Jouvert (on Hitchcock's Ireland and on Roland Barthes's "On Cinemascope"), as an in-house editorial board member he has reviewed many manuscripts and has been a key policy advisor. Jim has accepted a new position at Claremont McKenna College in California; I wish him every success, and remind him that he'll keep receiving manuscripts for review thanks to the wonders of e-mail attachments. Speaking of Jim, let me offer a final summer reading recommendation. Although Jim's recently published memoir, Broken Fever (2001), cannot be categorized as 'postcolonial' (unless one considers Detroit, Michigan, to be a far country), its lyrical, moving, frequently humorous evocations of otherness should find appreciative readers in all parts of the world.
- Ang Lee, director. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Distr. by Columbia Tri-Star, 2000. In Mandarin; subtitled.
- Balasubramanyam, Rajeev. In Beautiful Disguises. New York: Bloomsbury, 2001.
- Ghobadi, Bahman, director. A Time for Drunken Horses. Distr. by The Shooting Gallery, 2000. In Kurdish; subtitled.
- Gourevitch, Philip. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda. New York: Picador, 1999.
- Hagedorn, Jessica. Dogeaters. New York: Penguin, 1991.
- Hochschild, Adam. King Leopold's Ghost. Boston/New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1998.
- Mestre, Ernesto. The Lazarus Rumba. New York: Picador, 1999.
- Min, Anchee. Becoming Madame Mao. Boston/New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000.
- Morrison, James. Broken Fever: Reflections of Gay Boyhood. New York: St. Martin's, 2001.
- Roth, Philip. Goodbye, Columbus. 1959; New York: Vintage, 1987.
- Shacochis, Bob. The Immaculate Invasion. New York: Viking, 1999.
- Tsui Hark, director. Once Upon A Time In China. Distr. by Media Asia, 1991. In Cantonese; dubbed.
- Tsui Hark, director. Once Upon A Time In China II. Distr. by Media Asia, 1993. In Cantonese; dubbed.
- Wrong, Michela. In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz: Living on the Brink of Disaster in Mobutu's Congo. New York: HarperCollins, 2001.


It used to anger me.
Now, it doesn’t even faze me.
Rejection started early.
From never being invited to birthday parties. To not being invited into conversations.
I was never bullied. Nobody was ever mean to me. It didn’t however mean that I was included. It was in a sense, just as bad.
And it’s followed me throughout life. Whenever someone else was in control of my faith, I was rejected.
I always did very well in school. I was always good in anything that had metrics, anything that could be quantified. Things that could be quantified could be used to gain ground and fight rejection. That is how I got into a good school, ivy league university, research programs.
But when it comes to friends, love, jobs. All things founded on subjective merrits, I loose. (Sure you can be a better candidate at either one of those based on merits, but not get chosen anyway).
And coming second, means you were the first, the first to lose.
Academia taught me to not take rejection so harsh, to distinguish criticism from beratement. But it didn’t teach me how to handle my CV being thrown in the trash before it was read. Or to process my coworkers going for dinners and drinks without inviting me, being rejected from a romantic partner.
Time and endless amounts of rejection taught me that.
And it taught me this: being rejected for who you are can be a merit for self analysis. But it can also be a reflection of the person rejecting projecting its negative perceptions, racism, sexism and a million other variables you can’t control.
The worst thing about these types of rejections, when they come in abundance, you start to internalise and normalise being rejected, so you do it to yourself. You start with self-rejection.
You don’t work on that idea you really believed in
You don’t ask the person you like out for a date
You don’t apply for your dream job
So, the lesson here is to take rejection for what it is. And not make it who you are. Because once you do, you’ll enter a rejectionship with yourself and that never ends well.


Trends and Patterns in Intergenerational Mobility in Education (with Jason Fletcher). Journal of Human Capital. 2020.
High Schools and Educational Mobility (with Jason Fletcher)
Work in Progress
Neighborhoods, Well-being, and Families (with Margarida Madaleno)
Parental Investments in Residential Location and Parenting Behavior
Parental Involvement and Neighborhood Quality: Evidence from Public Housing Demolitions in Chicago
I present novel estimates showing how parental involvement responds to changing neighborhood quality. To estimate causal effects in the presence of residential neighborhood selection, I exploit the mass closure and demolition of public housing projects in Chicago. I derive an instrumental variable for neighborhood quality, based on the spillover effects of demolitions on other neighborhoods. On average, parents compensate for decreased neighborhood quality by increasing parental involvement. Hence, without accounting for parental mediation, existing estimates may understate the direct impact of neighborhoods environment on children. These parental responses are mainly driven by non-discplinary parenting. In contrast, non-parenting household activity does not respond to changing neighborhood quality. Finally, there is evidence of heterogeneous neighborhood quality effects: most notably, parents with low initial involvement decrease parental involvement even more when neighborhood quality decreases. Within a neighborhood, socioeconomically advantaged parents compensate more when neighborhood quality declines.
[Back to Top]


I recently finished my second journey through Toni Morrison’s “Beloved” and her magical realism is still flawless. “Beloved”, the titular character, enters the narrative first as a disembodied feeling of haunted anger connected to 124 Bluestone Road, a small house on a low-traffic road somewhere in Ohio. The narrator plays her hand immediately:
“124 was spiteful, full of a baby’s venom.”
Here the reader is immediately notified that something isn’t right here, that the house itself lives in some way, and that the spirit is that of a child.
However, as the story moves on, Beloved (the character) becomes more corporeal until, at the end of the book, she fades back into the house’s memory. She becomes “just weather”, an event that washes over a place from time to time then leaves again. This is a perfect, layered analogy for Toni Morrison’s grappling with the harrowing history of the main character’s life (Sethe).
I can’t help but feel that on my first read-through I missed some of the depth that Toni Morrison put into this book, both in its dialogue and in the nuances of what Beloved represents to the different characters (spoilers ahead). It isn’t simple and it can’t be reduced to one thing.
Yes, Beloved is the ghost of a child that Sethe killed in order to save her from a fate worse than death (letting slaveholders, or slavecatchers, make her less than human). Surely this is the first layer, but in reading through this book a second time and listening to the way the characters interact with each other and themselves, the emotions are immensely complex. The anger, loneliness, and sorrow are intermingled with a confusion of how or what to direct those emotions towards. I think it is more than just Sethe’s daughter that haunts Sethe. I think it is Sethe’s completely justified anger at the world and the slavers that destroyed her life to a point where she would rather her infant bleed out and rest in death than to go through what her mother had to go through.
It is Sethe’s daughter that haunts her, yes, but it is also Sethe that haunts Sethe; An African-American woman in a society that will not allow her to address her ghosts, because they still — on a systemic level — will always haunt her even through the people she meets on a daily basis.
“Sweet Home” (the plantation where she was held captive as a slave) is another layer of the haunting, added to the pile of things that led Sethe to mentally dissociate from her own life, including the betrayal that she feels towards existence and the apprehension she feels even towards allegedly generous and kind white people.
Perhaps it is even more than that though. Toni Morrison is so skilled at making her characters multi-dimensional that seeing a single motive in any action of the characters leaves me feeling like I have missed something. The dialogue is laced with layers that go beyond just the specific character and into the ethos of what it meant for Sethe to be a combination of freed slave, mother, lonely, and black. In many ways it is a brilliant, passionate exploration of human intersectionality.
Perhaps the most layered part of the book, however, are the phases of Beloved’s character and how Beloved aggressively (and dangerously) forces Sethe to change how she interacts with her past. Written into the dialogue is the eerie, scarring realization that the past is something that really couldn’t ever be forgotten, just pressed back into the landscape of the characters’ lives like Beloved as she becomes, in the final paragraph of the book, the weather and the grass.
“Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly.”
Beloved, like the bitter evils of slavery, rape, dehumanization, torture, and helplessness inflicted upon Sethe, is something that sinks into the land and taints it, rising up every now and again like brisk wind to remind Sethe of the evils that she suffered — and suffers. When it rains and the damp smell lifts from the earth and then recedes when the sun has dried it again, so too the past rises up, so too Beloved exists.
In all of the horror though, there is growth. When we first meet Sethe, she is hunched over, the tree-like whipping scars on her back brilliantly written to carry a tangible weight in the words themselves. At the end of the book, Sethe has in some ways risen up from that weight, left with enough of it to not forget, but she is as free as she ever can be. Beloved has left, perhaps signaling Sethe’s process of working out how to relate to her past and what it means for her future, and working out her mixed feelings of guilt and love towards her murdered daughter, guilt at her morbid actions mixed with a burdened duty that she felt driven to the act. She feels that she can only truly love her Beloved in death, as letting her live would not have been love. In some ways she does not want to let go of Beloved. As a ghost, she can have a relationship with her daughter that she never had, albeit one riddled with guilt.
Toni Morrison leaves us here, with Beloved sinking back into the landscape; more at peace, but never gone. We are left without simplistic answers, without a full recovery, but with a character that has grown despite the evils inflicted on her, without cheapening those evils as mere catalysts for her growth.
If I could have met Toni before she passed away, I would have asked her about the pain she experienced to be able to pen this narrative that feels close enough to her to be brutally real, but distant enough to be well-crafted, timeless, and meaningful.
I will never tire of this book, and, I think, until there is no longer a need for this heart-breaking story to be told, I hope it will not tire of me either, and I hope that its lessons — and its characters — never leave me.


about the book
In 2009, writer Sandy Allen got something in the mail from their uncle Bob. It was his autobiography, typed on sixty pages in all-capital letters. Bob was a self-described "hermit" who lived in the desert in northern California. Sandy didn't know Bob well. On the phone, Bob said he wanted to get his story "out there" because it was "true." In A Kind of Mirraculas Paradise: A True Story about Schizophrenia, Sandy shares Bob's story with the world.
AKOMP is written in two fonts. In one font, Sandy tells Bob's life story faithfully to his account. He was a Hendrix-obsessed kid coming of age in tumultuous late sixties Berkeley, CA. His world was forever changed when one day in 1970, at about age sixteen, he was driven to a mental hospital, locked in a cell, injected with drugs and thereafter, as Bob put it, "labeled a psychotic paranoid schizophrenic." In a second font, Sandy interlaces familial, historical, and medical contexts, seeking especially to better understand the 'label' he received.
The result is an utterly unique and electrifying work, one that has changed the conversation about schizophrenia and about mental illness generally.
Hardcover, ebook, paperback now available from Scribner
Buy online from your favorite local bookshop via Bookshop or from any bookseller, today. Or get it from your local library!
read by Sandy Allen and actor Pete Simonelli
Also out in French from Belfond
Top Work of Journalism of the Decade (nominee) – NYU Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute
40 Best Nonfiction Books of 2018 – Esquire
21 Books to Read in 2018 – The Week
“This book is an act of radical empathy through which the author—and, vicariously, the reader—enters intimately into a life that would otherwise be unintelligible.”
– Anne Fadiman, author of The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down
“To pay great attention and devote steady care to the perspective of another is, in itself, almost miraculous—especially when the Other has been cast as mad and dangerous.[Sandy] Allen has brought forward [their] uncle’s life, rendering in exquisite detail what his experiences as a stigmatized, struggling man allowed him to see. This is a truly original piece of work. I urge you to read it.”
– Adrian Nicole LeBlanc, author of Random Family
"I know the decision to write this story wasn't an easy one.... I’m really, really grateful that you did 💖 Thank you for bearing witness. Thank you for being kind, and curious, and thorough, and honest. Just, thank you. 📚😭
– Heben Nigatu (host, Another Round)
"Timely . . . An excellent contextualized first-person narrative of schizophrenia . . . My hope is that it will become a classic and universally read by all psychiatrists."
– Howard L. Forman, MD, Psychiatric Times
"Thrilling writing . . . The interest and the quality of the story make honesty about each aspect of this strange life worth including . . . A watershed in empathetic adaptation of 'outsider' autobiography."
– Jo Livingstone, The New Republic
“A book of many strange and often oddly beautiful pieces that together combine into a story that will make you tremble. [AKOMP] is a resurrection of sorts, a profound retrieval of a life from beyond the veil with which so many of us obscure the realities of illness and family, loneliness and intimacy.”
– Jeff Sharlet, author of The Family
"It is an odd thing, paranoia. It’s easily lampooned and culturally accessible, but it’s seldom experienced or portrayed so elegantly as Allen does here."
"In a searing new memoir, a niece tries to make sense of [their] uncle's mental illness."
“[They call] the beautiful final product a cover version—rather than a translation—and it is a marvel.”
"Insightful . . . Allen offers readers an incredible glimpse into the life of a person battling with schizophrenia."
"A glimpse of how schizophrenia looks and feels from the inside."
“Deeply affecting . . . Evokes what it’s like to try to make sense of a troubled loved one from afar . . . The picture of a distinct but impenetrable life”
“[A] compelling debut . . . Allen is a skillful writer."
– Library Journal (starred review)
"Allen has crafted a fearless narrative about what it is really like to grow up under the weight of mental illness . . . Honest, heartbreaking, and often humorous, this remarkable book offers a window into an experience of mental illness that many people often never get the chance to see through."
“Compulsively readable . . . A fascinating and important work.”
""[AKOMP ] is an extraordinarily empathic journey into the mind and lived experience of a man who struggled to understand and explain his life . . . I urge you to let Allen introduce you to [their] uncle Bob."
“Shows a burgeoning critical mental health gaze . . . [Sandy] allows Bob’s story to flow without neatly fitting into one model of thought around what it means to be diagnosed with schizophrenia."
– ISPS UK
– for The Boston Globe with Kate Tuttle, president of the National Book Critics Circle
– for The Cedar Rapids Gazette with Rob Cline ("A unique and effective effort to honor [their] uncle’s story while placing it in a larger context . . . Allen asks [their] readers to expand their notion of what is 'normal.'")
– for The Daily Iowan with Haley Triem
– for The Essay Review with Nicolás Medina Mora
radio & podcast appearances
– This American Life – "Applied Bob Studies"
Produced during the pandemic by Bim Adewunmi for the "How to Be Alone" episode, a piece on the ways Sandy looked to their Uncle Bob's story as a road map for how to survive isolation
– KCRW's "The Organist" a feature on AKOMP and outsider art (featuring Uncle Bob's music)
Since the book's publication, Sandy has continued writing and publishing about mental health, in pieces such as:
The Cut - "It's Not Just Britney"
In the wake of Britney Spears speaking out against her conservatorship, an essay on the broader problem of coercive psychiatry
99% Invisible – "The Kirkbride Plan"
A long radio story produced by Sandy about the surprising history of mental health care in America
Guernica – "Out of the Maze"
The story of Sandy encountering the painting on the AKOMP paperback, and about grappling with whose truths to listen to, when it comes to "mental illness"
Mad in America – "Media Errors in Covering Mental Health: Advice to Fellow Writers and Editors"
A long essay looking back on a previous experience of reporting about police violence against a psychiatric patient, and the errors that media tend to make when covering these topics
Gay Magazine – "'That's So Crazy': Why the we talk about mental health matters"
An essay about a month Sandy tracked instances they heard people use words like "insane" and "crazy" and what this language reveals about our attitudes towards people diagnosed with psychiatric disorders
Lit Hub – "The Challenge of Book Tour as a Nonbinary Author"
Sandy reflects on coming out as nonbinary after their book initially published
BuzzFeed Books – "How Pie Keeps Me Steady"
An essay about a small thing that helps Sandy, and about how writing AKOMP changed their thinking around 'self-care'
Powell's Blog – "The Madness Shelf" –
An essay about Sandy reading all the books they possibly could "about schizophrenia" and what that did and didn't yield
CNN Opinion – "This Toxic Lie Hurts Society's Most Vulnerable"
An op-ed calling out the bigotry of the NRA and GOP's as they blame people with psychiatric disabilities for gun violence
January 15, 2019 // Iowa City, IA
Prairie Lights (Paperback launch), 7PM
January 17, 2019 // Bronx, NY
Albert Einstein College of Medicine (Grand Rounds), 10:30 AM
January 25, 2019 // Brooklyn, NY
Books Are Magic (w/ Kevin Nguyen), 7:30PM
February 7, 2019 // St. Paul, MN
Subtext Books 7PM
February 19, 2019 // Oakland, CA
East Bay Booksellers (w/ Rahawa Haile), 7:00 PM
January 24, 2018 // Brooklyn, NY
Greenlight Bookstore (Hardcover launch w/ Meredith Talusan), 7:30PM
January 27, 2018 // New York, NY
You Get a Spoon, 4PM
January 30, 2018 // New York, NY
House of Speakeasy, (w/ Elif Shafak, Christopher J. Yates, and Michael Wolff), 7PM
January 31, 2018 // Portland, OR
Powell’s Books, 7:30PM
February 1, 2018 // San Francisco, CA
Booksmith @ The Bindery (w/ Esmé Weijun Wang), 7:30PM
February 3, 2018 // Marin County, CA
Book Passage, (w/ Anita Badejo), 1PM
February 7, 2018 // Los Angeles, CA
Skylight Books (w/ Amanda Chicago Lewis), 7:30PM
February 8, 2018 // Providence, RI
Brown Bookstore (w/ Lucas Mann), 6PM
February 9, 2018 // Cambridge, MA
Harvard Book Store, (w/ Matthew Spellberg), 7PM
February 13, 2018 // Kingston, NY
Rough Draft Bar & Books (w/ Elmo Keep), 7PM
February 22, 2018 // New York, NY
NYU Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute (w/ Robert Boynton), 6PM
March 5, 2018 // Coral Gables, FL
Books & Books, 8PM
March 9, 2018 // Tampa, FL
The Hub (University of Iowa Nonfiction Writing Program alumni reading), 6:30PM
March 18, 2018 // Woodstock, NY
The Golden Notebook, 3PM
March 26, 2018 // Annandale-on-Hudson
Bard College 6:30PM
March 29, 2018 // South Hadley, MA
Odyssey Bookshop (w/ Adrian Nicole LeBlanc), 7PM
April 5, 2018 // Chicago, IL
Women & Children First (w/ Jessica Hopper), 7:30PM
April 6 // Iowa City, IA
Carver College of Medicine, 12PM
Mission Creek Festival Lit Walk, 7PM
April 9, 2018 // Minneapolis, MN
Moon Palace Books, 7PM
April 10, 2018 // Excelsior, MN
Trinity Church panel on Mental Health in Literature (w/ Marya Hornbacher and Andy Steiner), 1PM
April 18, 2018 // Missoula, MT
Fact & Fiction (w/ Anne Helen Petersen), 7PM
April 22, 2018 // Los Angeles, CA
Los Angeles Times Festival of Books (Memoir: The Unexpected Hard Stuff), 11AM
May 14, 2018 // Brooklyn, NY
Franklin Park Reading Series, (w/ Alexander Chee, Gregory Pardlo, Hanif Abdurraqib, and Mike Scalise), 8PM
May 17, 2018 // New York, NY
Susan Eley Fine Art “Self and the Other” Literary Salon (w/ Akwaeke Emezi), 7PM
May 21, 2018 // Brooklyn, NY
POWERHOUSE Arena (Memoir Monday w/ Nuar Alsadir, Minda Honey, and Tom McAllister), 7PM
September 2, 2018 // Spencertown, NY
Spencertown Academy of the Arts Festival of Books
October 12, 2018 // Fairfax, VA
George Mason Fall for the Book Festival 6:00 pm
October 26, 2018 // Iowa City, IA
The Examined Life Conference, 12:45PM
October 28, 2018 // Austin, TX
Texas Book Festival (w/ Melissa Stephenson), 3:30PM
November 18, 2018 // Miami, FL
Miami Book Fair (w/ Jean Guerrero), 12:30PM
about the author
Sandy Ernest Allen (he/they) is a queer and trans journalist and author. His work tends to focus on gender and mental health, especially when it comes to debunking false constructs of normalcy. His debut book, a critically acclaimed work of nonfiction called A Kind of Mirraculas Paradise: A True Story about Schizophrenia (Scribner) was long-listed as a top work of the decade by NYU's journalism school. Sandy has appeared on This American Life and produced stories for 99% Invisible. He has written for many publications, including Esquire, The Cut, Bon Appétit's Healthyish, CNN Opinion, Them, and BuzzFeed News, where he was once a features editor. Though no longer on social media, he writes a newsletter about staying alive on earth called What's Helping Today. He lives in the Catskills.
Photo credit: Louie Tomás
Website designed by Andy Dubbin


The Palestinian Writing Workshop’s (PWW) Book & Storytelling Project is publishing five new children’s books (in Arabic) using local Palestinian writers, illustrators and printer. This effort will produce 1000 copies of each book (5000 books total); 300 books will go directly to the 60 Nabulsi’s who will be trained in storytelling (see below). The creation of these locally produced books are one of a kind as there are very few locally written children’s books (most children’s books in Palestine are from Jordan, Lebanon, other nearby countries, or English-only books from abroad).
The PWW is training women and men to read aloud (storytelling) using these books (and other books) in libraries and public centers in five Palestinian cities (Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Hebron, Nablus, Ramallah). Approximately 60 participants will be trained in each city. Participants will also be encouraged to take these books into homes and villages to do storytelling.
Why storytelling and reading aloud?
- Among other things, reading aloud builds word-sound awareness in children, a potent predictor of reading success.
- The nurturing and one-on-one attention during reading aloud encourages children to form a positive association with books and reading.
- Reading aloud is a proven technique to help children cope during times of stress and tragedy.
- Reading aloud in the early years exposes children to story and print knowledge as well as complex words and ideas not often found in day-to-day conversations or other media.
- Reading aloud gives children the opportunity to practice active listening.
- The value of the book is enhanced as an essential tool for knowledge and entertainment.
Below are the five new covers for the five new books: