The Rialto Books Review Vol.027--AVAILABLE NOW
The Rialto Books Review Vol.027 is now available for purchase. This Spring, we are delighted to showcase the work of four excellent writers.
We begin with the story “Whale Fall” by Rosemary Selking, a poignant and beautifully written snapshot of everyday betrayal and forgiveness.
“Among the Briars” by Marie Brennan follows, a lyrical villanelle which takes a fresh approach to a traditional form and story.
In “They’ll Be Here Soon”, Haley McNish explores the gradual unfolding of a family, a marriage, and a father’s realization of his own capacity for love.
With “High Tide on Sunday” by Samuel Schaefer, we are plunged into an unsettling meditation on faith, community, and evil.
We hope you enjoy these excerpts from Vol.027 of The Rialto Books Review.
Whale Fall
by Rosemary Selking
There are four stages of whale fall.
Stage one: The whale, obviously, dies.
Stage two: Marine animals, such as sharks and octopi, remove soft tissue from the whale’s carcass. Depending on the sharks’ mood, this can last up to eighteen months. If it has not done so already, what is left of the whale sinks to the ocean floor.
Stage three: The bones, now stripped of flesh, fat, and soft tissue, become free real estate for enterprising marine life. The whale’s skeleton provides some protection for vulnerable creatures, but even bones are not impervious to the nature of nature.
Stage four: Around the time five years have passed, the bones themselves begin to decompose, thanks to bacteria within. Even in this final destruction, life can be found: the bacteria release chemical compounds that feed deep sea shellfish.
Within a few decades, what once was the largest mammal known to planet earth is reduced to a pile of minerals encrusted with deep sea creatures, and worms. Lots of worms.
Decay gives way to life.
For Margaret Morgan, known to friends and family simply and affectionately as Maggie, the whale dies in June 2021. …
“Among the Briars” by Marie Brennan may be read in its entirety in Vol.027.
They’ll Be Here Soon
by Haley McNish
“You’re staring,” she says. She’s tall, hovering over him as he sits on the park bench.
“What?” He lowers the newspaper from his face.
“You’re staring,” she repeats. “Don’t think I couldn’t tell.”
Her two friends are standing a step behind her, giggling.
“I wasn’t staring. I was reading.” He hadn’t actually gotten past the first sentence.
She crosses her arms.
“I was, until I was rudely interrupted. Excuse me while I continue, I’m on the edge of my seat.” He returns to the page, combing over and over the first sentence, though his mind interprets it as a list of random words. He gives up, looking back at her. She has a lot of hair, and he can’t decide if it is blonde or brown. She is staring back, and he thinks that her eyes might actually be a darker brown than his, which is something he’s never encountered before.
She snatches the paper out of his hands so quickly he has no time to protest. …
High Tide on Sunday
by Samuel Schaefer
For the land is full of adulterers; for because of swearing the land mourneth; the pleasant places of the wilderness are dried up, and their course is evil, and their force is not right. For both prophet and priest are profane; yea, in my house have I found their wickedness, saith the Lord.
- Jeremiah 23:10-11
That night the moon stood distant, and the tides shifted during the middle watch. In the morning they had not receded, leaving the 200 yard gulf flooded. The seagulls flew dimly over the waters looking for places to perch and peck, but they found only water.
With the sun rising slowly, the people of Indian Pass awoke and began their weekly game of chicken. Some in the cluster of houses that passed for society were regular church goers, but others only came to the ‘Lawd’s House’ on Easter or Christmas, or when their conscience couldn’t be quelled, or, most commonly, when they wanted their fishing fortunes to turn. The sea fathered these people and the community repaid with faithfulness. Salt caked every man, woman, child, home, and piece of equipment—though perhaps that’s why they’d lasted so long. Mostly, people went to church on Sundays like humming while cutting the grass: thoughtless and content. …
You can read this journal with others on Papertrail.
