e n d n o t e s k a t h e r i n e m c n a m a r a
From the series “Pause”
Collection of Wexford, Ireland, County Council
Tones and Silences, new paintings by Bridget Flannery, 15 March - 5 April, 2007.
The wind, an east wind, tore at the trailer. Out on the lake, the ice melted, froze, melted: flashing sheet-ice reforming; beneath it, the ice was solid, and went deep.
–Katherine McNamara, Narrow Road to the Deep North
To my surprise, though, I see the word doesn’t mean “islands” but the sea in which they are found in number. The etymology is much disputed.
We are marking anniversaries. Archipelago went live on the World Wide Web ten years ago, on March 15, 1997. For the second issue, Kathy Callaway, novelist, poet, and our first Contributing Editor, wrote a charming essay, “Little String Game,” that begins:
I‘ve looked up “archipelago” in the OED and my Eleventh Edition (1910-11) of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and found it is pronounced arkipelago, and that the Italian word it came to us from, arci-pelago, is pronounced archie. Thus, at least two pronunciations are in use. To my surprise, though, I see the word doesn’t mean “islands” but the sea in which they are found in number. The etymology is much disputed. The OED says it comes from the Italian arcipelago, from arci (chief, principle) and pelago (deep, abyss, gulf, pool). The medieval Latin is pelagus, the Greek pelagos, sea. In most languages the word had at first the prefix of the native form: OSp. arcipielago ; OPg. arcepelago; M.E. archpelago, arch-sea. All except Italian now begin archi; according to the OED,
(n)o such word occurs in ancient or med. Gr. Arcipelagos in modern Greek Dicts. is introduced from western languages. Arcipelago occurs in a Treaty of 30th June 1268, between the Venetians and the emperor Michael Paleologus... It was evidently a true Italian compound...suggested probably by the mediœval Latin name of the Aegean Sea, Egeo-pelagus, and alluding to the vast difference in size between this and the lagoons, pools, or ponds, to which pelago was popularly applied...
The EB (Eleventh Edition) says that archipelago is
a name applied to any island-studded sea, but originally the distinctive designation of what is now generally known as the Aegean Sea...its ancient name having been revived. Several etymologies have been proposed: e.g. (1) it is a corruption of the ancient name, Egeopelago; (2) it is from the modern Greek...the Holy Sea; (3) it arose at the time of the Latin empire, and means the Sea of the Kingdom; (4) it is a translation of the Turkish name, Ak Denghiz, Argon Pelagos, the White Sea; (5) it is simply Archipelagus, Italian, arcipelago, the chief sea.
It appears then, in Old Spanish and Old Portuguese; was a medieval invention of the Mediterranean world of the Middle Ages, a sea-going trade term, when the Mediterranean, or even the Aegean, was still the biggest sea almost anyone knew of.
So goeth a word. But I'm going to trace further back, to its components. . . . “SEE ARCHES,” says the OED, under archipelago. And so I shall. (This is also, I see, just the way I travel.)
Her way is winding, marked by side-tracks and close observation of the unexpected. She follows the traces of Greek and Italian sailors, Musselmen, Sephardim, the Crusades, anti-Semitism, Bismarck, Isaac Babel, and the morning copy of The Baltic Times:
From Archipelago, by way of the Via Egnatia, to the Sephardim in Salonika, and thence outward.
And thence, outward.
Unesco has declared 2007 the International Year of Rumi. The great poet and Sufi mystic Jalal al-Din Rumi was born in Balkh, now in Afghanistan, in 1207. In this issue, we offer a double handful of his ghazals and ruba’is in a new, luminous translation by Iraj Anvar and Anne Twitty. Anne Twitty’s work appeared also in the first Archipelago.
More Archipelageans join her. We hear again the Jovial laughter of the poet Kevin McFadden. Isabel Fargo Cole, who has given us translations of German authors seldom available in English, sends a fiction of her own, too. From the Russian, Kevin Kinsella, having brought us Mandelshtam, introduces Sasha Chernyi, here published for the first time in English. The exciting Montréal-based writer Tracy Robinson has given us a new story that makes the blood flow even while stopping you dead in your tracks. From California, Lucy Gray again shows her expansive camera-eye. She made photocollages of the actress Tilda Swinton set against landscapes, then projected her Big Tildas onto San Francisco’s Civic Center. She wanted music for her big screen: we’ve supplied it in the slide show, with the random-shuffle playlist suggested by Greil Marcus. And out of Ireland comes Bridget Flannery. Her painting, from the series “Pause,” was made in response to a passage from my own book. She has asked the calligrapher Reitlin Murphy to inscribe the words on new paper, to go with the painting. Both artists were part of An Leabhar Mòr / The Great Book of Gaelic.
We welcome a variety of writers newly to our pages. The wit of Greil Marcus’s songlist plays well (randomly) with Lucy Gray’s images. Beatrix Ost offers a worldly account of her protected childhood in Bavaria during World War II. The moral philosopher Laurie Calhoun is a perceptive watcher of movies; she has thought about the abiding pain of ordinary cruelty, dramatized. The poets Katherine E. Young and Rodney Nelson give voice to stillness, light, the memory of dread and suffering and beauty. Helena Cobban reported on the different ways the people of three African countries sought reconciliation and peace-building after national atrocities. This important chapter from her new book gives us hard truths to consider.
Intellectual property and patent laws are of immediate concern to any Web publisher. Jeffrey Matsuura reviewed Jefferson’s opinion about technology, innovation, and democratic values in a talk in the Rotunda at the University of Virginia. Our Contributing Editor Arthur Molella, of the Smithsonian, was an organizer of the event. (I asked Matsuura what he supposed Jefferson would have said about the Digital Millennium Act. He thought Jefferson would have disapproved. And that he would have used a Mac.)
Frank McGuinness is a subject in himself and always leads you on to another story.
We bow to Auden on his hundredth birthday. Our neighbor Poetry Daily observes its tenth year in April.
Not all our anniversaries are happy. On St. Patrick’s Day, 2003, amid lies and deception, Bush declared his (and Cheney’s) war on Saddam Hussein and his sons. Two days later, on St. Joseph’s Day, Bush and Cheney unleashed their ballistic shock-and-awe. The war is with us in the world. The saints must look down from the heavens, if they do look our way, bemused. We do not know yet if the Democrats who control Congress have the stomach to end the occupation, as the people elected them to do, and head off a war on Iran. Are they still baffled by the showman Karl Rove? He is our all-American, 21st-century P.T. Barnum. Think of Bush as Gen. Tom Thumb. Cheney is Jumbo the Elephant.
To repair the damage done by these people you have to be clear-eyed as the goosegirl and lucky as the seventh son. You must know whom you want to stand with. Your weapons are brains and mockery. Thanks in good part to citizen journalists, scrupulous reporters, and bloggers, the facts needed are available on the Internet to readers who seek right action and the good. They face an immense job of cleaning-up. The facts, and we all, are sooty from the stench-filled cloud of incompetence and secrecy belched out by the fog-machines of the administration. As the Federal prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald shouted in his closing argument in the recent trial of Cheney’s man, ‘Scooter’ Libby: “Madness! Madness!” In his great summation, Fitzgerald laid open the heart of the matter. Because of Libby’s lies before the law, he said, “there is a cloud upon the vice-presidency.” Truth and justice are the Fitzgerald standard. Hear him: There is a cloud upon the Executive. There is a cloud upon the Nation. “He stole the truth from the judicial system,” Fitzgerald told the jury. “If you return a ‘guilty’ verdict, you give the truth back.”1
In the first Endnote, I wrote dubiously of the benefits of unchecked capitalism, particularly for literature. I haven’t changed my mind; I have grown more disgusted.2
In Archipelago four years ago appeared a work of familial history by Mary-Sherman Willis, called “The Fight for Kansas,”3 as part of the occasional series Living with Guns. In the Postscript, she described a doctrine of the western frontier called “no duty to retreat,”4 that became law or at least precedent in Texas, and settled deep in the bones of people who saw themselves as living in parlous situations. It countered centuries of Anglo-Saxon practice and common law.
Today, as America readies itself for war, I am struck by the similarities in tone between the frontier war talk of the 1850s and of today. Its origins are in the Second Amendment to the Constitution, which protected the right of Americans to form militias to keep law and order in the absence of an army. In the frontier, the paucity of courts and the ubiquity of firearms thus encouraged Americans to settle disputes themselves, without benefit of legal mediation. The historian Richard Maxwell Brown calls this extra-legal principle “no duty to retreat.” It was a departure from the medieval British common law requiring a person under threat to retreat until his back is to the wall before he could use deadly force; this would encourage people to settle quarrels in court and to protect the sanctity of human life. “No duty to retreat,” on the other hand, was best expressed by Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1953 Cold War speech: If you “meet anyone face to face with whom you disagree…and took the same risk as he did, you could get away with almost anything as long as the bullet was in front.” — that is, as long as you were the quicker draw.
This was the modus operandi of the post-Civil War Western gunfighter, including Eisenhower’s avowed hero and fellow Kansan, Wild Bill Hickok, who had been an eighteen-year-old sheriff in Leavenworth in 1854, and later, a Union scout. …
In the chaos of the post-Civil War West, the “good guys”—lawmen like Hickok and Wyatt Earp—represented the authority of capital: the owners of cattle ranches and mining companies and railroads, grasping for the wealth of the West, in what Brown and historian Alan Trachtenberg call the Western Civil War of Incorporation. The bad-guys were Southern-sympathizing outlaw homesteaders like Jesse James, or unaffiliated cowboys bent on mayhem and a fast buck—of the same ilk as the Border Ruffian. Our national mythology seized on the dichotomy. In foreign policy, we applied the prerogative of American police action abroad to protect corporate interests. We would stand our ground, wherever we determined we needed to. In 1947, the Truman Doctrine, intended to contain Soviet power, kept a U.S. military presence on the ground around the world, threatened war over Cuba, and sent forces to fight in Korea and Viet Nam, and countless other smaller skirmishes. The most militant impulses in American foreign policy have had their strongest advocates in Presidents from the Southwest.
Now we have a Texan in the White House, proposing a war of preemption against what we fear the enemy might do—war in the subjunctive tense, typical of the spirit of “no duty to retreat.” President George W. Bush talks of terror, generalized and pervasive. “We must chose between a world of fear and a world of progress,” he told the U.N. General Assembly. That is to say, a world of orderly democracies fit for business instead of a backward, chaotic world in the thrall of outlaw, non-democratic leaders. “We are the leader,” he said, who must “combine the ability to listen to others, along with action.” This has meant arming our allies of the moment—Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, for instance—with new shipments of high-tech weapons, and threatening unilateral action as we position our troops around Iraq, our enemy of the moment. Bush argues in abstractions—freedom, terror—but his target is personal and material: the bad man who tried to kill his dad, and, incidentally, the oil reserves that bad man represents.
American history, about which the military-industrial-entertainment complex still deludes the public, is made of the warm relationship between corporations and imperialism. (We were not supposed to notice that an American version of democracy in the Middle East would benefit American oil, construction, and security companies and the Bush family-invested Carlyle Group.) On the birthday of Martin Luther King, I re-read his great sermon, “St. Paul’s Letter to American Christians,” and was reminded of all that does not change.
King’s conceit was an imaginary letter from the Apostle sent from Ephesus, on which he, King, had labored over the translation from the Greek. “May I hasten to say,” the young preacher added, “that if in presenting this letter the contents sound strangely Kingian instead of Paulinian, attribute it to my lack of complete objectivity rather than Paul's lack of clarity.”
For many years I have longed to be able to come to see you. I have heard so much of you and of what you are doing. . . .
But America, as I look at you from afar, I wonder whether your moral and spiritual progress has been commensurate with your scientific progress. It seems to me that your moral progress lags behind your scientific progress. Your poet Thoreau used to talk about "improved means to an unimproved end." How often this is true. You have allowed the material means by which you live to outdistance the spiritual ends for which you live. You have allowed your mentality to outrun your morality. You have allowed your civilization to outdistance your culture. Through your scientific genius you have made of the world a neighborhood, but through your moral and spiritual genius you have failed to make of it a brotherhood. So America, I would urge you to keep your moral advances abreast with your scientific advances. . .
The misuse of Capitalism can also lead to tragic exploitation. This has so often happened in your nation. They tell me that one tenth of one percent of the population controls more than forty percent of the wealth. Oh America, how often have you taken necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes. If you are to be a truly Christian nation you must solve this problem. You cannot solve the problem by turning to communism, for communism is based on an ethical relativism and a metaphysical materialism that no Christian can accept. You can work within the framework of democracy to bring about a better distribution of wealth. You can use your powerful economic resources to wipe poverty from the face of the earth. God never intended for one group of people to live in superfluous inordinate wealth, while others live in abject deadening poverty. God intends for all of his children to have the basic necessities of life, and he has left in this universe "enough and to spare" for that purpose. So I call upon you to bridge the gulf between abject poverty and superfluous wealth.
I would that I could be with you in person, so that I could say to you face to face what I am forced to say to you in writing. Oh, how I long to share your fellowship. . . .5
Martin Luther King gave his sermon in 1956. He had always preached for social and economic justice. By the mid-‘Sixties, he began to speak against the Vietnam War. He was thirty-eight years old when his life was taken, on April 4, 1968.
Dublin, October 2005. I was sitting in Frank McGuinness’s kitchen reading “Andy Warhol Says A Mass” in his neat manuscript. McGuinness was a young man when in 1985, the Peacock Stage at the Abbey Theatre produced “Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Toward the Somme,” his great history play about war and blood sacrifice and the relations between men in combat. Lately, he’s taken to writing stories. That we can publish this new one, or is it a missal, or a mockingly profound prayer, about relations between men, and men with God, is wonderful to me. I told him I wanted it for our tenth anniversary edition; I didn’t know it would also be our last.
This is the last issue of Archipelago. I had meant it to be a threshold between literature in print and the borderless reach of the World Wide Web. The Web has grown; so have we. Our publication is ample. It has been suggested that a print anthology, The Best of Archipelago, would be in order; but I can’t agree. I am interested in everything we’ve published. Archipelago will remain on-line, finished, inviting readers to come back and explore the pleasures of its archives.
That reminds me of a story; but I don’t know yet how this one comes out. Last autumn I began excavating the archive I had assembled in Alaska twenty-five years ago. Out of the boxes flew, moth-like into the light, clouds of forgotten facts and brightening memories. Unexpected connections appeared. A mystery was revealed.
The work I was digging through was an unpublished manuscript written by me in the late 1980s. It concerned the Dena’ina Athabaskan Alaskan author Peter Kalifornsky (1911-1994). Peter Kalifornsky was a remarkable writer in every sense of the term. He was the last native speaker of his language, and the first to carry it to the page. His style was of a literary quality. For several years, I was his amanuensis. It was I to whom he told, in English, the immense back-story of the old Dena’ina, all that he would not write in the books for which he became internationally known. He described to me what it was for a man to transform his ancient oral tongue into writing. I don’t know of another work like ours on this continent. We also re-translated his written stories into finer English versions. When, after several years of collaboration, he said, “I feel like we’ve been raised together,” I was charmed.
I don’t know what made us, two people from very different backgrounds, of different generations and genders, able to understand each other so well. Our bond was real, but why that was so I can’t readily say. Here is a curious coincidence, however, turning on one of those winged facts darting up from the archive.
Once he told me what Dena’ina – the name of his people, his tribe, and his language – meant. “It means ‘the young ones of seal,’” he had said thoughtfully, parsing the words dena and ‘ina. It was a curious reading of the Native name, recorded nowhere else I know of, and it seemed to surprise him a bit, too. I marked it in my notes and drafts and forgot about it, until it appeared again last autumn.
By coincidence and by luck, in the year 2000 I was in Ireland for the centenary of the essayist Hubert Butler.6 There I met the poet Rita Kelly. She asked if I knew the meaning of McNamara, Mac Con Mara. “‘Son of the hound of the sea’ is what the books say,” I laughed. “We always figured it was some old pirate back in the ninth century.” Rita Kelly said, gently, “The hound of the sea – it’s the seals. They’re the dogs of the sea, did you know? McNamara means the children of the seals.”
Peter Kalifornsky died long before I learned about my name and could tell him. I’ve found the gloss – McNamara: children of the seals – in only two places: Rita Kelly’s telling, and The People of the Sea, a fine book of stories about seals and selkies and people in the West of Ireland and Scotland, by David Thomson. Although they tell of legendary glamour, none of the written histories of the McNamaras intimates a mythopoeic dimension. And so, I am going next to Ireland, for tracing a wonder.
And thence, outward.
With warm appreciation to Debra Weiss, our Web designer, who wrote code for the first issue and has designed every one since. Readers who enjoy Archipelago can thank her for its visual style.
1 The Federal special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald led the prosecution of Lewis I. Libby, former chief of staff of and national security assistant to Vice-President Cheney, who was indicted for perjury, in particular, lying to a grand jury, and obstruction of justice. This was in regard to the matter of the administration’s deliberate public naming of an undercover CIA operative, Valerie Plame Wilson, which is a crime, although not part of the charge against Libby. The CIA leak case and the Libby trial were live-blogged by Marcy Wheeler, Jane Hamsher, Swopa, and Pachacutec at FireDogLake.com, beginning here. Jeralyn Merritt at TalkLeft also live-blogged. The Huffington Post also blogged the trial and published a juror’s account.Sidney Blumenthal’s account of Fitzgerald’s summation is on Salon.
2 Regular readers of these Endnotes might recognize my own, early-formed skepticism of capitalist relations and its hand on the misnamed “marketplace of ideas.” In the inaugural essay,they would have read the following:
In an article in the TLS (January 31) entitled “The real scandal of Ulysses, How literary modernism came to retreat from the public sphere,” an American academic named Lawrence Rainey follows the publishing history through France, England, and the States, of Sylvia Beach’s limited edition of Joyce’s novel. Prof. Rainey holds that the “market dynamics of the limited edition,” meaning an edition designed and priced high enough to be sold to collector-subscribers, eliminated the “ordinary” reader as the normal buyer, reader, and critic of the novel; and “transformed” the buyer of such an expensive book from simple reader into “investor/patron.” Further, in order that an “investment” in this relatively rare object, the limited edition of ULYSSES, bear value, the book had to be “sold” a priori as great literature, before the slow accretion of critical reading judged it so. This is the true “scandal” of this great (we can say now) novel, argues Prof. Rainey: “For the market-place is not, and never can be, free from systemic distortions of power ... and its outcomes cannot be equated with ... norms of equal and universal participation in discussions about cultural and esthetic value. The operations of the market are not an adequate substitute for free agreement; they are operations of an entirely different order.”
Some readers may have thought the last point obvious, if not directly relevant to ULYSSES. But perhaps the point is not so obvious as it should have been, for the February Atlantic Monthly ran a lucid, primer-like essay by the financier-philanthropist George Soros, who urges us to understand that our social “belief in the magic of the marketplace” is pretty well misplaced. The “doctrine” of laissez-faire capitalism, he argues, which holds that the unregulated pursuit of self-interest best serves the common good, doesn’t allow for the “recognition of a common interest that ought to take precedence over particular interests.” And, he warns, unless we can “temper” the unbridled dynamics of the market-place with a strong, social belief in a common social interest, the “open society,” which our present system, however imperfectly, qualifies as being, “is liable to break down.”
Soros’ argument was nicely poised against the feature in New York magazine (February 10), called “How to Make a Best Seller, The Inside Story of One Publishing House’s Attempt to Turn a Literary Novelist into a Marketplace Superstar.”
Because rumors and signals of a new/renewed war fill the media, I would turn attention to another kind of assault on the common good. Privatization of public services and resources was one method Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, followed by Bush and Clinton (and Blair), used to reorganize their nations’ public sectors in favor of corporate, commercial beneficiaries; or, as their defenders claimed, to reduce the size of government.
Under Bush and Cheney, the process was carried forward. For instance, during Paul Bremer’s tenure as director of the Coalition Provisional Authority, the Federal Reserve airlifted pallets holding four billion dollars in cash to Baghdad; most of it is unaccounted for. Sourcewatch links to sources on “privatization of Iraq.”
Recently, Dana Priest and Annie Hull at the Washington Post exposed the neglect under which veterans suffer at Walter Reed Army Hospital; within days, the Secretary of the Army was fired in disgrace. According to the Army Times, Rep. Henry Waxman (D-Ca.), chairman of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform,
has subpoenaed Maj. Gen. George Weightman, who was fired as head of Walter Reed Army Medical Center, after Army officials refused to allow him to testify before the committee Monday.
Committee Chairman Henry Waxman and subcommittee Chairman John Tierney askedWeightman to testify about an internal memo that showed privatization of services at Walter Reed could put “patient care services… at risk of mission failure.”
. . . . The committee wants to learn more about a letter written in September by Garrison Commander Peter Garibaldi to Weightman.
The memorandum “describes how the Army’s decision to privatize support services at Walter Reed Army Medical Center was causing an exodus of ‘highly skilled and experienced personnel,’” the committee’s letter states. “According to multiple sources, the decision to privatize support services at Walter Reed led to a precipitous drop in support personnel at Walter Reed.”
The letter said Walter Reed also awarded a five-year, $120-million contract to IAP Worldwide Services, which is run by Al Neffgen, a former senior Halliburton official.
They also found that more than 300 federal employees providing facilities management services at Walter Reed had drooped to fewer than 60 by Feb. 3, 2007, the day before IAP took over facilities management. IAP replaced the remaining 60 employees with only 50 private workers. [Emphasis added.]
Juan Cole picked up the story and said further,
The privatization of patient care services is responsible for a lot of the problem here. . . .
And so is the privatization of services for US troops in Iraq punishing them. Indeed, the privatization of guard duties through the hiring of firms like Blackwater caused all that trouble at Falluja in the first place. KRB never delivered services to US troops with the speed and efficiency they deserved. The Bush-Cheney regime rewarded civilian firms with billions while they paid US GIs a pittance to risk their lives for their country. And then when they were wounded they were sent someplace with black mold on the walls. A full investigation into the full meaning of ‘privatization’ at the Pentagon for our troops would uncover epochal scandals. [Emphasis added.]
3 Mary-Sherman Willis, “The Fight for Kansas,” in Archipelago’s occasional series Livingwith Guns. About guns, we barely scratched the surface; see this article in the Washington Post.
And in the New York Times, “15 States Expand Right to Shoot in Self-Defense”:
. . . . The Florida law, which served as a model for the others, gives people the right to use deadly force against intruders entering their homes. They no longer need to prove that they feared for their safety, only that the person they killed had intruded unlawfully and forcefully. The law also extends this principle to vehicles.
In addition, the law does away with an earlier requirement that a person attacked in a public place must retreat if possible. Now, that same person,in the law’s words, “has no duty to retreat and has the right to stand his or her ground and meet force with force, including deadly force.” The law also forbids the arrest, detention or prosecution of the people covered by the law, and it prohibits civil suits against them.
The central innovation in the Florida law, said Anthony J. Sebok, a professor at Brooklyn Law School, is not its elimination of the duty to retreat,which has been eroding nationally through judicial decisions,but in expanding the right to shoot intruders who pose no threat to the occupant’ssafety.
“In effect,” Professor Sebok said, “the law allows citizens to kill other citizens in defense of property.”
4 Mary-Sherman Willis drew upon the work of Richard Maxwell Brown, No Duty to Retreat: Violence and Values in American History and Society (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, p.b. 1994).
5 Dr. King gave his sermon at the Drexel Avenue Baptist Church, Montgomery, Alabama, on November 4, 1956. Textand audio are here. Collected in A Knock at Midnight: Inspiration from the Great Sermons of Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. Ed.Clayborne Carson and Peter Holloran (New York: Warner Books, 1998)
See also, Nick Kotz, Race in America, in Archipelago, Vol. 9,an account of King and Johnson and the making of the Voting Rights Act.
6 See Hubert Butler, “The Artukovich File,” Archipelago, Vol. 1, No. 2; and “The Sub-prefect Should Have Held His Tongue,” Vol. 5, No. 1.
See also, Chris Agee, “The Stepinac File,” Archipelago, Vol. 5, No. 1; and “The Balkan Butler”. See also, Richard Jones, “An Appreciation of Hubert Butler,” Vol. 1, No. 2.
The Dangerous Unknown of our Untested Innocence, Vol. 10, Nos. 1/2
At Our Own Risk, Vol. 9
In the Fortified City , Vol. 8 No. 4
Some Notes on the Election, and Afterward, Vol. 8 No. 3
A World That Begins in Art, Vol. 8, No. 2
Incoming, Vol. 8, No. 1
The Only God Is the God of War, Vol. 7, No. 3.
Where Are the Weapons?, Vol. 7, No. 2.
Patriotism and the Right of Free Speech in Wartime, Vol. 7, No. 1.
A Year in Washington, Vol. 6, Nos. 3/4
Lies, Damn Lies, Vol. 6, No. 2
The Colossus, Vol. 6, No. 1
The Bear, Vol. 5 No. 4
Sasha Choi Goes Home, Vol. 5, No. 3
Sasha Choi in America,Vol. 5, No. 1
A Local Habitation and A Name, Vol. 5, No. 1
The Blank Page, Vol. 4, No. 4
The Poem of the Grand Inquisitor, Vol. 4, No. 3
On the Marionette Theater, Vol. 4, Nos. 1/2
The Double, Vol. 3, No. 4
Folly, Love, St. Augustine, Vol. 3, No. 3
On Memory, Vol. 3, No. 2
Passion, Vol. 3, No. 1
A Flea, Vol. 2, No. 4
On Love, Vol. 2, No. 3
Fantastic Design, with Nooses, Vol. 2, No. 1
Kundera’s Music Teacher, Vol. 1, No. 4
The Devil’s Dictionary; Economics for Poets, Vol. 1, No. 3
Hecuba in New York; Déformation Professionnelle, Vol. 1, No. 2
Art, Capitalist Relations, and Publishing on the Web, Vol. 1, No.
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