Diamonds in the Rough

It’s a strange year to be celebrating a diamond anniversary. This year we’ve seen so many institutions, so many people, imperiled. Or lost. How does anyone write anything without feeling the weight of all that loss on their shoulders?

I’ve been in awe these last months of people advocating for immigrant rights and trans rights, standing up for Palestinian liberation, and defending the U.S. Constitution. Spending many hours getting Shenandoah’s new website ready to launch felt like an insignificant act in the context of so much chaos: firings, deportations, genocide. But on the eve of this beautiful, bountiful, and bold issue’s launch into the world, I am struck by the continent it forms. Words written in Bikol, in Diné, in Czech, in Korean—translated here. Stories, comics, essays, and poems that take place in Nairobi, at a Wawa in North Philadelphia, in the belly button of Brazil, in America’s secret city, by the waters of Babylon, in Second Best Coffee, in space, on a boat to Europe, in an AAPI Support Group Zoom, at the Baltimore airport, in 1987, in all the libraries in Los Angeles, in Navajo Language I, at the Trading Post Truck Stop between Fort Davis and Van Horn, in Zambia, at Chez Bananas in Minneapolis, in the remote village of Joroan, in Tiwi, Albay in the Philippines, in the middle of nowhere. So many disparate places and perspectives, together. This is what a literary magazine does best, I think: creates an amalgam, a mash-up, pushes against neat categories, juxtaposes the unexpected, surprises, challenges, delights. It forms a land mass with no borders. Maybe you won’t love everything you find here, but we hope it takes you on a ride you didn’t expect to somewhere new.

The writing in this incredible issue crosses time and space and memory, and to write toward connection across so much difference and potential divisiveness is a profound act. I am in awe of it too, of all of the hopefulness you’ll find here.

Not that long ago, we said goodbye to the Gettysburg Review and now we fear for the future of the NEA, so it is not lost on me what a momentous achievement seventy-five years is for a literary magazine. Shenandoah lost some of its funding in 2011, and then-editor R. T. Smith managed to save it, pivot it to an online magazine without a print budget or its managing editor. When I was hired seven years later upon Rod’s retirement, it was on a contingency basis as a member of the English Department at Washington and Lee, to see if the magazine might be better integrated into the curriculum and if its editor could be successful as part of the faculty. This year, I received tenure. That’s a big personal milestone, sure, but more importantly, it means that W & L is committed to keeping Shenandoah around as an integral part of its curriculum, culture, and community. Our budget is provided every year with no strings attached, not even the mandate to sell subscriptions; it allows us to pay our contributors and not charge fees for submissions. And this anniversary year, the Dean’s office paid to have the website redesigned. Thanks to that financial support and to Bud, Regis, Michelle, and everyone at the New Dynamic, this issue launches on a platform that is more accessible, more beautiful, and more user-friendly than ever.

Another momentous thing happened this past year: R. T. Smith, Rod, Shenandoah’s editor for twenty-three years, passed away. We’ll be posting about his life and work on the blog shortly, thanks to intern Audrey Foss, but I wanted to publicly thank Rod for the work he did editing Shenandoah, shepherding it into its digital age, and arguing for the editorship as a faculty position. I am indebted to him, as are so many writers. I’m sorry I never got to say thank you in person. He will be missed on this campus and in the wider literary world, but his legacy is lasting, and deeply felt.

This issue of Shenandoah represents the work of so many people: writers, editors, fellows, students, administrators. I feel incredibly lucky to be part of this community. People keep asking, what’s on tap for the next seventy-five years? Well, first: a nap. And then, more of the same. Building up writers. Encouraging students in the arts. Diamonds, everywhere.

Thanks for being here.