A clock is the puffball head of a dandelion (Taraxacum officinale
), a delicate invader whose seeds sow themselves in even the most inhospitable soil. A dandelion’s root is stubborn, penetrating, wilier than spades.
A dandelion is a spot of wild, of sunny disorder in the vast green American lawn, an assault against its propriety and “perpetual state of vegetable adolescence,” as Elizabeth Kolbert calls it in the New Yorker.
As there’s a movement of late to return lawn to meadow and wildflowers and vegetable gardens, so we’d like to see the sameness of much of what’s championed in American contemporary fiction ruffled by the disorder of literature that’s wilder, inevitable as a dandelion spotting the lawn, clarifying as its bitter greens at the end of a long winter.
what we publish
Though we take works in translation as a starting point, most importantly, we are looking for writing that confronts us, that feels urgent, disorienting, vivid. We are interested in work that makes its particular innovation in form and language palpable; we also welcome work not necessarily “experimental” but that compels in other ways—perhaps in how it bears the traces of another place, language, politics. Submissions are closed as of February 2015.
Our internship program and partnerships with the five area colleges and especially the University of Massachusetts/Amherst’s MFA program in writing are important parts of our mission—they express our roots in the Pioneer Valley and our desire to make connections between literature as it’s taught and as it’s published. Internships are currently closed.