S taring, staring as the ash burns lower and lower to the knuckles, and then I smell the burning cigarette filter; a concluding, half-conscious drag. I lift the corner of the bed and grind my remains beneath the bedpost. I don’t want to be out in the main lobby this early in the morning. I’m the only patient awake and there’s only one person out there, keeping watch and judging me. I’ve had to use the bathroom in the small hours of the night once, my toes cold against the tile as I rushed across it. I had felt the stare. It pinned me down—a girl, naked on the table—and his scalpel-glare cut into me through the bathroom walls. It had despised me for being a smoker, being awake, being here, for being the reason that he sat through the night at a desk in the dark; I’ve never gone out at night after that. I want other patients to be walking around, the ones who actually become lost in their thoughts, their realities until you can see right through their frames. Those are the ones you don’t have to worry about. They consume the stares of anybody around to take the judgment, but that doesn’t matter to them. Their world is in their heads. Streams of sunlight are just now reaching the tips of my toes, making them glow and warming them as
{"title":"If I Were to Lie in Limbo","authors":"K. Magnuson","doi":"10.1353/RCR.2012.0017","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/RCR.2012.0017","url":null,"abstract":"S taring, staring as the ash burns lower and lower to the knuckles, and then I smell the burning cigarette filter; a concluding, half-conscious drag. I lift the corner of the bed and grind my remains beneath the bedpost. I don’t want to be out in the main lobby this early in the morning. I’m the only patient awake and there’s only one person out there, keeping watch and judging me. I’ve had to use the bathroom in the small hours of the night once, my toes cold against the tile as I rushed across it. I had felt the stare. It pinned me down—a girl, naked on the table—and his scalpel-glare cut into me through the bathroom walls. It had despised me for being a smoker, being awake, being here, for being the reason that he sat through the night at a desk in the dark; I’ve never gone out at night after that. I want other patients to be walking around, the ones who actually become lost in their thoughts, their realities until you can see right through their frames. Those are the ones you don’t have to worry about. They consume the stares of anybody around to take the judgment, but that doesn’t matter to them. Their world is in their heads. Streams of sunlight are just now reaching the tips of my toes, making them glow and warming them as","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"119 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"122851513","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
T he archive center is the color of a manila envelope, has no windows, and smells like dust with only a hint of lemon Pledge cleaner. There are four hundred and fifteen rows of shelves that stretch ten feet into the air like the columns of an ancient structure, each shelf completely full with neatly labeled boxes in chronological and alphabetical order. Margaret arrives every morning at six am with a thermos of decaf coffee creamed to the light brown color of an old newspaper. She wears her hair in a loose bun, bangs neatly combed in a straight line parallel with her eyebrows. Her clothes add twenty years to her appearance with her muted blouses and charcoal gray skirts and high stockings. Nobody coming into the archive center would guess she’s under forty five, though she graduated with her master’s degree in historical preservation only two years ago at twenty four. Margaret looks at people’s hands when she talks and barely speaks above a whisper. Around nine, a man enters the building while Margaret is logging a set of police reports from last month. She stands and greets him softly, but he pushes right past her desk and heads for the large room with the shelves, gruffly grumbling, “Maps,” and ignoring
{"title":"Quiet People","authors":"Carrie Walker","doi":"10.1353/rcr.2012.0018","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rcr.2012.0018","url":null,"abstract":"T he archive center is the color of a manila envelope, has no windows, and smells like dust with only a hint of lemon Pledge cleaner. There are four hundred and fifteen rows of shelves that stretch ten feet into the air like the columns of an ancient structure, each shelf completely full with neatly labeled boxes in chronological and alphabetical order. Margaret arrives every morning at six am with a thermos of decaf coffee creamed to the light brown color of an old newspaper. She wears her hair in a loose bun, bangs neatly combed in a straight line parallel with her eyebrows. Her clothes add twenty years to her appearance with her muted blouses and charcoal gray skirts and high stockings. Nobody coming into the archive center would guess she’s under forty five, though she graduated with her master’s degree in historical preservation only two years ago at twenty four. Margaret looks at people’s hands when she talks and barely speaks above a whisper. Around nine, a man enters the building while Margaret is logging a set of police reports from last month. She stands and greets him softly, but he pushes right past her desk and heads for the large room with the shelves, gruffly grumbling, “Maps,” and ignoring","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"222 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"115218676","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
draconian–adj 1. red, in flurried spray. 2. there is penance in this, a reward equally brawn; a pistol as big as yours. 3. all attica behind your sword, like hammurabi before him; them before you. 4. creaking of my mother’s stiff back, slit; still chasing this american dream. 5. brazen commitment to stay daydreamer. easier to herd the sheep.– noun 6. a fourth degree burning, charred black; your body an ember, your hands, face, calves, chest: coal. 7. from draco: a northern dragon swinging in constellation; the breathing back in flame; it’s all red, anyway. 8. union, pedagogue, social servant: bullet. 9. blood. 10. (used with object) bloodfight. 11. prisons are obsolete. are more valuable than schools. are indicative of values. 12. the man guillotined be the same man who invented it; there is no irony in that. -verb 13. to accost your reasoning; to be the same idea you seek to destroy. 14. to sever the state by way of dismissing the people. 15. to bleed, it’s all red anyway. 16. to read the news. say some things don’t change. 17. must think we crazy, some demon must’ve caught us dreaming. again. 18. to falsely attribute; pruneface reagan is legend, eyesore, icon—would’ve probably not been your friend. probably not been red. 19. to wonder which nerd kills school. 20. to chew the idea of rebellion, gather the pitchfork from the barn, solder these beliefs in the alloy. 21. to chance a sleeping wolf ’s food; run when his bite sounds sharper than his bark. to blood let for blood shed, it’s coming.
{"title":"21 Gun Salute","authors":"B. Alfaro","doi":"10.1353/RCR.2012.0000","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/RCR.2012.0000","url":null,"abstract":"draconian–adj 1. red, in flurried spray. 2. there is penance in this, a reward equally brawn; a pistol as big as yours. 3. all attica behind your sword, like hammurabi before him; them before you. 4. creaking of my mother’s stiff back, slit; still chasing this american dream. 5. brazen commitment to stay daydreamer. easier to herd the sheep.– noun 6. a fourth degree burning, charred black; your body an ember, your hands, face, calves, chest: coal. 7. from draco: a northern dragon swinging in constellation; the breathing back in flame; it’s all red, anyway. 8. union, pedagogue, social servant: bullet. 9. blood. 10. (used with object) bloodfight. 11. prisons are obsolete. are more valuable than schools. are indicative of values. 12. the man guillotined be the same man who invented it; there is no irony in that. -verb 13. to accost your reasoning; to be the same idea you seek to destroy. 14. to sever the state by way of dismissing the people. 15. to bleed, it’s all red anyway. 16. to read the news. say some things don’t change. 17. must think we crazy, some demon must’ve caught us dreaming. again. 18. to falsely attribute; pruneface reagan is legend, eyesore, icon—would’ve probably not been your friend. probably not been red. 19. to wonder which nerd kills school. 20. to chew the idea of rebellion, gather the pitchfork from the barn, solder these beliefs in the alloy. 21. to chance a sleeping wolf ’s food; run when his bite sounds sharper than his bark. to blood let for blood shed, it’s coming.","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"127343279","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Benjamin Read ’ s Roots of the State is a fascinating account of grassroots administrative organization in East Asia and Southeast Asia, with a focus on the capital cities of Beijing and Taipei. The author asks three research questions: 1) How do individuals perceive administrative grassroots engagement and respond to the kinds of authority and obliga-tions the state channels through it; 2) How are vertical and horizontal networks intermingled and what sociopolitical effects follow from applying community ties to state-mandated purposes; and 3) to what extent can state-fostered grassroots organizations serve as focal points for democratic participation and channels for popular influence (p. 257). The questions are significant in the global analysis of state-society relations and their role in democratization. Read addresses these three research questions in seven substantive chapters.
本杰明·里德(Benjamin Read)的《国家之根》(Roots of the State)对东亚和东南亚的基层行政组织进行了引人入胜的描述，重点关注了首都北京和台北。作者提出了三个研究问题:1)个人如何感知基层行政参与，并对国家通过基层行政参与赋予的各种权力和义务作出反应;2)垂直和水平网络是如何交织在一起的，将社区关系应用于国家规定的目的会产生什么样的社会政治影响;3)国家培育的基层组织在多大程度上可以作为民主参与的焦点和大众影响的渠道(第257页)。这些问题对于国家-社会关系及其在民主化中的作用的全球分析具有重要意义。Read在七个实质性章节中解决了这三个研究问题。
{"title":"Benjamin","authors":"Andrea Bartley","doi":"10.1353/rcr.2012.0020","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rcr.2012.0020","url":null,"abstract":"Benjamin Read ’ s Roots of the State is a fascinating account of grassroots administrative organization in East Asia and Southeast Asia, with a focus on the capital cities of Beijing and Taipei. The author asks three research questions: 1) How do individuals perceive administrative grassroots engagement and respond to the kinds of authority and obliga-tions the state channels through it; 2) How are vertical and horizontal networks intermingled and what sociopolitical effects follow from applying community ties to state-mandated purposes; and 3) to what extent can state-fostered grassroots organizations serve as focal points for democratic participation and channels for popular influence (p. 257). The questions are significant in the global analysis of state-society relations and their role in democratization. Read addresses these three research questions in seven substantive chapters.","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"47 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130411757","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Teacher Background: In the culinary world, we define fruits as sweet and vegetables as not sweet. In the world of science, however, vegetables and fruits are separated differently. A fruit is the part of the plant that develops from the fertilized ovary (or from the pollinated flower), and has the seeds inside it. Under this definition, fruits include: pumpkins, cucumbers, squash, peppers, tomatoes, avocados, eggplant, apples, green beans, and anything else that has seeds inside it. “Vegetable” is not a botanical term but a catch-all category used to describe non-fruit plant parts we eat, such as celery, spinach, lettuce, and carrots.
{"title":"Fruit","authors":"A. Phillips","doi":"10.1353/rcr.2012.0007","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rcr.2012.0007","url":null,"abstract":"Teacher Background: In the culinary world, we define fruits as sweet and vegetables as not sweet. In the world of science, however, vegetables and fruits are separated differently. A fruit is the part of the plant that develops from the fertilized ovary (or from the pollinated flower), and has the seeds inside it. Under this definition, fruits include: pumpkins, cucumbers, squash, peppers, tomatoes, avocados, eggplant, apples, green beans, and anything else that has seeds inside it. “Vegetable” is not a botanical term but a catch-all category used to describe non-fruit plant parts we eat, such as celery, spinach, lettuce, and carrots.","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"21 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"125268893","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
I could begin this letter by asking how you are. I could say something like, “Hello,” or, “It’s been a long time.” I won’t do those things, though, because I’m sure you know that it’s been a long time, and because if I saw you on the street, I wouldn’t say “Hello.” I won’t ask you how you are, maybe because I don’t know what I want the answer to be, or maybe because I don’t care. Maybe I don’t care how you are now, only how you will be once this letter is finished. Maybe I only care if you’ll change. I could say that I miss you, but I’m not sure if that’s true. So, now that we have eliminated those possibilities, what’s left? The letter has been started, and unless I throw it away, even if I never send it, something must be said. So I suppose I will settle for saying that when I told Erika I would be writing to you, she asked if I would be honest. I told her that I would be as honest as I ever am, which is not at all really, and she said that was for the best. She said you would be expecting that. Expecting a string of half-truths. She was always rooting for you, Erika was. Do you know that I am engaged? I thought maybe that someone had told you. Did you smile when you
{"title":"In All Honesty","authors":"C. Pratt","doi":"10.1353/RCR.2012.0008","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/RCR.2012.0008","url":null,"abstract":"I could begin this letter by asking how you are. I could say something like, “Hello,” or, “It’s been a long time.” I won’t do those things, though, because I’m sure you know that it’s been a long time, and because if I saw you on the street, I wouldn’t say “Hello.” I won’t ask you how you are, maybe because I don’t know what I want the answer to be, or maybe because I don’t care. Maybe I don’t care how you are now, only how you will be once this letter is finished. Maybe I only care if you’ll change. I could say that I miss you, but I’m not sure if that’s true. So, now that we have eliminated those possibilities, what’s left? The letter has been started, and unless I throw it away, even if I never send it, something must be said. So I suppose I will settle for saying that when I told Erika I would be writing to you, she asked if I would be honest. I told her that I would be as honest as I ever am, which is not at all really, and she said that was for the best. She said you would be expecting that. Expecting a string of half-truths. She was always rooting for you, Erika was. Do you know that I am engaged? I thought maybe that someone had told you. Did you smile when you","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"9 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"121249019","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
about teaching you what death is, or more likely, you finding out and asking me why, how, where we go then. I’m suddenly terrified of this even though you don’t yet exist in any sense. Right now I am keeping grief in small, manageable packets. I am quietly bewildered by potatoes I’ve forgotten, inspecting the sprouts in their eyes, feeling slightly foolish for not using them earlier. Right now grief is easily quelled: I take a knife to the growth, and life stays simple. to my future offspring
{"title":"To My Future Offspring","authors":"Leena Joshi","doi":"10.1353/RCR.2012.0002","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/RCR.2012.0002","url":null,"abstract":"about teaching you what death is, or more likely, you finding out and asking me why, how, where we go then. I’m suddenly terrified of this even though you don’t yet exist in any sense. Right now I am keeping grief in small, manageable packets. I am quietly bewildered by potatoes I’ve forgotten, inspecting the sprouts in their eyes, feeling slightly foolish for not using them earlier. Right now grief is easily quelled: I take a knife to the growth, and life stays simple. to my future offspring","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"14 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"125166256","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
I tear into a can of sardines, and I’m reminded of my husband. It’s been three months since Liam was shot into space, and they say that after two hours the fluids in your body shift, swelling up your face, your ears, your hands. The swelling goes down, but then a month goes by and your bones begin to deteriorate. I sit on the back porch and look across at the shadow of pine trees, pulling the sardines apart with my fingers. Their backbones fall out like butter, cream white and delicate in my palms. Liam always missed the tiny wing bones when he grilled chicken out back, and I expect the vertebrae to feel like that, rough and hard. But no, these are soft. I put the bones on my tongue because I want to know what vertebrae taste like, and because I grew up being told to never waste anything. I chew and I feel them break, dissolve against my gums. Effortless. I think of Liam and his baby-soft bones, and of the pamphlets sitting on my counter for wives who have been left for space. I think about how astronauts return to land and the pressure of being on earth again breaks them. It’s a strange feeling, knowing your husband is no longer on the planet. They tell us it takes eight
{"title":"Looking for Astronauts","authors":"D. Diehl","doi":"10.1353/rcr.2012.0015","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rcr.2012.0015","url":null,"abstract":"I tear into a can of sardines, and I’m reminded of my husband. It’s been three months since Liam was shot into space, and they say that after two hours the fluids in your body shift, swelling up your face, your ears, your hands. The swelling goes down, but then a month goes by and your bones begin to deteriorate. I sit on the back porch and look across at the shadow of pine trees, pulling the sardines apart with my fingers. Their backbones fall out like butter, cream white and delicate in my palms. Liam always missed the tiny wing bones when he grilled chicken out back, and I expect the vertebrae to feel like that, rough and hard. But no, these are soft. I put the bones on my tongue because I want to know what vertebrae taste like, and because I grew up being told to never waste anything. I chew and I feel them break, dissolve against my gums. Effortless. I think of Liam and his baby-soft bones, and of the pamphlets sitting on my counter for wives who have been left for space. I think about how astronauts return to land and the pressure of being on earth again breaks them. It’s a strange feeling, knowing your husband is no longer on the planet. They tell us it takes eight","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"7 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"129748920","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"The Verdict: Beauty First without Blame.","authors":"Erik James Wilbur","doi":"10.1353/rcr.2012.0006","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rcr.2012.0006","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":158814,"journal":{"name":"Red Cedar Review","volume":"53 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2012-06-21","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128816458","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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