The Rialto Books Review Vol.025--AVAILABLE NOW
The Rialto Books Review Vol.025 is now available for purchase. We are more than ordinarily excited to bring you this edition, which features seven new pieces, each of them excellent and a huge pleasure to read.
We begin with “The Hanoverians” by Kevin LaTorre, a dreamlike exploration of a wedding from the perspectives of several guests. As the narrative shifts from perspective to perspective, the kaleidoscopic event takes on a form of more depth, revealing family tensions, imprisoning expectations, and the hope for renewal.
“The Elephants” by Briana Wipf revolves around the arrival of the circus outside an American town in the summer before WWII, and one young girl’s confrontation with banal evil and the vagaries of friendship, rendered in exquisite and breathing detail.
“Man Made” by Maria Verdo lets us into the mind of a man confronting the end of a life lived in isolation, and tells of the unlikely friendship which gives him the courage to face life’s most fearful hour.
The poem “Portents of Old Age” by William Collen takes a lyrical lens to meditation on the signs of life’s impending twilight, and by its mixture of form and musicality with everyday details and quiet joys, renders fresh again our most ancient poetical techniques.
“The Headlines” by Samuel Schaefer is the story of a young man who excels at his work in a local newspaper, but finds himself stumped for a headline when a farmer’s cows begin getting sick. What begins as a minor setback turns into an event which forces him to realize the conflict between human tragedy and catchy phrases.
Lydia Pejovic’s “The Lemon Tree” introduces us to a woman suffering from near-constant morning sickness. As the narrative develops, it becomes clear that her physical condition is a reflection of her dissatisfaction with the choices she has made in life; and when her past collides with her present, she is forced to reckon in real life with what had previously been confined to her head.
“Ribbit” by Ashley Beresch closes out Vol.025, a surreal and refreshing story about a young boy who would prefer to be a frog.
Again, we are thrilled to bring you The Rialto Books Review Vol.025. Please enjoy the following excerpts and consider taking notes on Papertrail to start a discussion about the Review with your friends!
The Hanoverians
by Kevin LaTorre
Their wedding took place without incident at five-fifteen that evening, though from the time the bridal party arrived until the last figures reeled from the reception hall, no guest could feel the time passing. This is the haloing effect of January sunlight in southeastern Florida, which drapes all times of day with the bright, stagnant sensation of an unending afternoon. Nevertheless, the guests tried to speak themselves through the haze.
She’s such a phenomenal mover, says the bride’s student of eight months, especially when she’s on that blood bay whose name I’m always forgetting …
The Elephants
by Briana Wipf
The summer before the war started, the circus came to town for the last time. I had never gone to the circus without one of my parents, but that summer, my best friend Sara Myhre and I got it in our heads that nine-year-olds were old enough to go to the circus by themselves. My mother was against the idea, but Daddy convinced her to let us go.
“Let her have fun,” he said. Mother never liked the circus anyway. …
Man Made
by Maria Verdo
George was eighty-six years old when he decided to live with the wolves. He parked his beige Prius on the side of a dirt road, off a highway that cut through the dense foliage of a forest. In the distance were mountains with thin gray clouds hanging over their apex. He shut the driver’s door and opened the back with a familiar rusted creaking. From the backseat, George only took out an unopened box of Nabisco saltine crackers and a hand-stitched quilt. He did not take the small orange bottle with its white cap, nor its contents of pink capsules.
He ran a rough hand over the quilt, letting himself linger over woven spirals. …
Portents of Old Age
by William Collen
The summer slowly bleeds into the fall;
The brilliancy which girds the morning sun
assumes a different sheen: an orange glow.
Preparing breakfast, thus you greet the sun:
eggs in a skillet. Toast and juice of fruits.
Our children ring the morning table round.
And watch them as they bloom: whence will they go? …
The Headlines
by Samuel Schaefer
...never before have the majestic themes of love and death been so delicately perverted to absurdity…
- Wolcott Gibbs, The New Yorker
School Bus Trapped on Interstate. Authorities Face Race Against Time to Rescue the Children from Approaching Wildfire. He stepped back and looked over the frames of his glasses. “Not quite.”
He bent over his keyboard and rapped again. Children in Danger! Authorities Race Against Wildfire Threatening School Bus. His eyeballs flickered left to right and then closed, yet you could still see movement behind his eyelids. “Better, more to the crux of it. Children in danger. Wildfire. How about this?” …
The Lemon Tree
by Lydia Pejovic
Sonya wasn’t sure how it was possible to feel as if she was nearing starvation while simultaneously having to vomit. The vomiting, though she had tried a multitude of remedies to temper it, had not subsided much in the last few months, which had made her days excruciatingly long and remarkably uncomfortable, to say the least. The best invention of the month had been the trusty “throw-up cup” that she stowed in her purse. It seemed like the only thing that lightened her spirits was her mid-morning routine: a walk at 10:05 a.m., rain or shine, to the café three blocks over. Ever since she and Tom had moved to their new neighborhood, she had been searching for a way to relieve the profound loneliness that having no immediate friends or family and a busy husband causes in a person. Things could be worse, though, much worse, and she was grateful for the recent sunny Spring mornings, despite the way the heat cranked up her sweat and nausea. The walk was sacred, and a bit of strong sun certainly wasn’t going to deter her. …
Ribbit
by Ashley Beresch
“Ribbit. Ribbit.” Thump, thump. “Ribbit. Ribbit.” Thump thump thump.
The frog was a boy; the tail of his unbelted karate uniform flapped as he leaped between the narrow rows of black plastic folding chairs. He croaked at what his teacher called Volume Level Two: something louder than a whisper but quieter than a speaking voice. She said this was an acceptable croaking level. …
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