Archive for November, 2021

The Greensboro Review Issue 110 Now Available!

Our editorial staff is very pleased to present the 110th edition of The Greensboro Review. We are proud that our literary journal remains student- and faculty-run through more than fifty years of continuous publication at UNC Greensboro.

The Fall 2021 Greensboro Review features the Amon Liner Poetry Prize winner, “Pygmalion” by Megan Gower, plus stories, poems, and flash fiction from both award-winning authors and emerging voices. You’ll find new work by ​​Dan Albergotti, Talal Alyan, Ricky Aucoin, Joseph Bathanti, Ronda Piszk Broatch, Grant Clauser, Whitney Collins, Beth Dufford, Susan Grimm, Paul Guest, Julie Innis, Mary Elder Jacobsen, Justin Jannise, Julia Kenny, Mary Ann Larkin, Trapper Markelz, Joy Moore, Tomás Q. Morín, Elle Napolitano, Joel Peckham, Rob Roensch, Mira Rosenthal, Randy Shelley, Peter Short, Ahrend Torrey, and JR Walsh.

Read excerpts online and subscribe to the print journal!

Issue 110 cover

Editor’s Dive into the Archives: Kristen N. Arnett’s Roseate’s Book of Penmanship by Glenn Bertram

In 2016, when we published “Roseate’s Book of Penmanship,” Kristen Arnett wasn’t yet a household name. She had a smattering of publications and an excellent Twitter presence, but her debut story collection, Felt in the Jaw, was still a year away from publication. Yet, when I stumbled across this story in our archives, I was struck by its assuredness. The markers of Arnett’s signature style are apparent: the queer, the uncanny, the Floridian. Though it’s early work, it shouldn’t be mistaken for juvenilia; the Arnett of With Teeth is already present in abundance.

“Roseate’s Book of Penmanship” tells the story of two teens—Shawna and Samuel—who stumble across the titular book in the attic of their Baptist church. They soon learn that the book gives them the power to shape the world to their liking; as the first line reads, if they “write it in the book, it comes true.” And, being teens, they have no shortage of ideas about what needs changing. Their early changes are mainly aesthetic: they turn all church music to death metal, all grass to a “sparkly purple,” and all socks to “rainbow over-the-knee socks.” They’re charmed by the novelty and enamored with their power. The reader senses their wonder, as well as their mounting unease.

The transformations escalate. The teens become fickle gods. They ask for “better skin, nicer clothes, and shinier hair.” They demand “open-ended Prime accounts with never-ending balances,” causing deliveries to arrive daily. Shawna wills “complete compliance” from her former school bullies, and they consequently do anything she asks, “no matter how dangerous or disgusting.” Samuel conjures fifteen girlfriends, “rotating women” who follow him around everywhere, eager to please. After their pastor declares that dogs can’t go to heaven, they turn the church into a massive puppy sanctuary. As the petty wishes accumulate, the world becomes alien, though no one else notices. Free from reprisal, they’re left to reckon with the consequences on their own terms.

Shawna and Samuel begin to resent their new reality. They attempt to cancel out the alterations with counter-wishes, but even their minor attempts backfire. They become frustrated with the book and with each other. Their wishes become more selfish and, in turn, more spiteful. Samuel makes it impossible for Shawna to escape him, or their town, Blanch City. Shawna responds by giving him webbed toes. They snipe back and forth like this, until they grow exhausted, and try to destroy the book itself. They don’t succeed; they’re trapped with their world-altering mistakes. Even their interpersonal accommodations are unsatisfying. When Samuel learns that Shawna will never be romantically interested in him as a boy, he turns himself into a girl. They embrace, but the intimacy is ultimately unsatisfying; the next morning, they write themselves into the past in an attempt to right their wrongs. They can no longer tolerate the world they’ve created. They’ve placed themselves in a version of “purgatory” where true purification seems unattainable, no matter the number of wishes. The story leaves readers in that same intermediate state, yearning for the characters’ salvation, for something like resolution. We’re haunted by the kids in the attic, restlessly remaking the world.

“Roseate’s Book of Penmanship” by Kristen Arnett can be found in Issue 99 of The Greensboro Review.

Glenn Bertram is an MFA Candidate in fiction at UNC Greensboro where he serves as a fiction editor for The Greensboro Review.