Summer: it ain’t what it used to be. Does anyone feel like they’re taking a break from anything? Relaxing? Every day feels like an onslaught – and then, the weather. 

In our excerpt from Jo Osmundson’s “On Virology,” they write about the beginning of lockdown: “We sat at home anxious with nothing else to do than read about other peoples’ anxiety; we were making (too much) meaning in real-time.” 

It’s discombobulating to read that and think about how time has passed since March 2020. Has it passed at all? Of course, it has, but it often feels to me like time is more of a hamster wheel now, we are spinning in place, growing older and not wiser. We used to look to that quote about the moral arc of the universe, but instead of justice, the moral arc of the universe feels like it’s going nowhere fast. 

From Monica McClure’s essay, “My Spitting Image” — “Years pass, the mother becomes like a shadow, whispers and night, hay and water, milk and gruel, fear and love are indistinguishable to the mother and child, bound together inside a stone womb where life, whatever life is, does not happen, not yet, and yet.”

In looking for a theme between these pieces, I did not think I was going to find fear, and I did not want to find fear, but as one always finds the thing they would like to avoid, fear is what I got. Fear is omnipresent, fear has become a constant companion. Then again, my various therapists have always encouraged me to learn to sit inside ‘bad’ emotions, to understand that they are part of the human experience. 

I recently read a book by a therapist who uses Buddhism in his practice, and he said that for the perpetually anxious, it is good to slow down and look fear in the eye, to force oneself to explain it and confront it. In other words, pay attention to it. How annoying, how uncomfortable a direction. 

There are things that help with the challenges of paying attention: watching the world through an artist’s eye, as we’re privileged to do through the astonishing photographs by Alana Grambush that accompany this issue. We can also find a sort of solace in connecting the ancient past with the deeply unsettling challenges of the present moment. From our interview with Eliza Robertson: “As discussed, old stories actually blamed Lilith for stillbirths (not to mention the modern association with Lilith and nonprocreative sex). It’s not a far stretch to connect her with abortion. In my opinion, Lilith aligns with anyone on the margins, or anyone in a situation of exile — which includes any person carrying a fetus who doesn’t want to give birth, and who can’t access the care that should be their human right. The grief, rage, and refusal a lot of us are feeling right now — Lilith presides over those feelings.”

Matt Bell, in our interview between him, Yvonne Conza, and Mike Meginnis: “When I was in grad school, I sent a story to Willow Springs, and Samuel Ligon, the editor there, wrote me an email asking me if he could call me. On the phone, he rejected the story, then talked to me for an hour about it before telling me to submit again. Months later—maybe even a year—I sent him another story, and once again he called me, again talking to me for an hour about how the story could be even better. This time he accepted it, but told me that it was the first piece accepted for the issue so I could have a couple of months to make the story the best it could be. “Take your time and send it to me when you think it’s great, and then we’ll do one more round of edits.” I was so grateful for that much time and attention, and I know it made me a better writer not just for that one story in Willow Springs, but for much of what I did after.”

There it is again: attention. Giving your attention away is a precious gift, and the best artists practice it well. Fear is a constant, but attention is not. Can we work to balance the scales? 

Is youth an antidote to fear? I’m not going to pretend I can imagine how it feels to be a parent right now. I can’t. But I’m endlessly fascinated by the words of parents who are willing to share their experiences with the rest of us. It is it’s own gift. 

Sarah Rose Etter writes on Mama, Aneta Grzeszykowska’s series of photographs: “Grzeszykowska’s series is based on a stirring premise: She created a silicon doll of herself and gave it to her daughter. The series of photos captures their exploits together. Her daughter tends to the doll-mother, washing its hands, putting on its makeup, helping it smoke. In one of the most compelling images, her daughter stands in a lush idyllic setting with a black wagon holding the doll-mother’s torso. Each photograph could be a surreal short story.”

Speaking of short stories: to quote from the fables written by Zhu Yue and translated by Alyssa Asquith and Jianan Qian feels wrong without their rich full context, but suffice to say they left me with an eerie feeling, one of both understanding their meaning and wondering if I really understood anything at all. 

In fact, while reading Erik Hane’s Brother Wolf, I came across a passage that described almost perfectly how I felt while reading Zhu Yue’s fables: “He came to believe that knowing the cause of this sound that tormented him would reveal all that lay just beyond his understanding. Solving it would solve a great many other things; he would find himself at the center of the maze.” 

I no longer have any predictions about what is coming next – for the United States, for art and culture, for myself or my peers. I have given up on the art of prophecy. But there is a connection between surrender and understanding or lack thereof–from Babz Laws’ essay on the difficult history of astrology: “We, as people and astrologers, have to start to figure out how we fit into that cosmological pattern, rather than how to leverage it to our advantage.” 

Paying attention to the specific gives way to the universal, this has always seemed a constant of great writing. 

“These fragments act as points on a larger map that will reveal the cosmic framework that encompasses and accounts for everything within it, revealing the world to be a “living, single entity” that requires our care and attention.” (from Monika Zaleska on Olga Tokarczuk.) There she is again, attention. 

I do believe that there’s a universe contained within these pieces – history, the art of countries, and the perspective of so many narrators. I’m tempted to end this letter with an answer to the thoughts that these pieces brought up for me, but instead, I think it’s more appropriate to let the work offer its own conclusion: both individually and as a collective. Cheers, and thank you to our writers and artists this month for their time and attention. 

In the time since I wrote this letter, we have entered into a state of collective despair at the Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v. Wade. In an effort to overcome the paralysis this wretched decision engenders, Triangle House is holding a raffle — send us a receipt for a donation to an abortion fund and be entered to win this hat. No action feels like enough, but abortion funds are a lifeline.