{"title":"The History of Flight","authors":"Vincent Casaregola","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1085","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1085","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"49 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128431992","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":"Review: Now Playing at Canterbury","authors":"P. Dufour","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1002","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1002","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"27 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"124538930","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}
EVAN S. CONNELL, whose collection of historical essays, A Long Desire, has been re-released by The North Point Press, belongs to that curious group of authors whose work is both respected and ignored. In a recent profile of Evan S. Connell in the journal Ploughshares, Gerald Shapiro describes a career of hard work, praise, and obscurity. During the past thirty years Connell has written good books, over ten of them —six novels, three collections of short fiction, and two volumes of poetry—and they were well reviewed. But his career never reached commercial critical mass, and by the nineteen sixties, Connell, then in his forties, was no longer able to support himself with his writing, and he took a job with the California State Unemployment office. Connell achieved commercial and critical success in 1959 with his first novel, Mrs. Bridge, a semi-autobiographical portrait of an afflu ent, mid-western matron. Mrs. Bridge is a masterful work of realism, a midwestern Madame Bovary, with the detached irony and dreamlike clarity of Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio or Frank Conroy’s Stop-Time. In Mrs. Bridge, Connell begins to explore what will prove to be a lifelong preoccupation with authenticity—of how our desire to become something more than we are, something real, takes us a half-step out of life into the willy-nilly dream worlds his characters inhabit. His 1966 novel, The Diary of a Rapist, is one of the best of these portraits, and its protagonist, Earl Summerfield, has been compared with Dostoyevsky’s Raskolnikov. But The Diary of a Rapist doesn’t have the seduction of Crime and Punishment. Earl Summerfield’s misogyny is
埃文·s·康奈尔(EVAN S. CONNELL)的历史散文集《漫长的欲望》(A Long Desire)已由北角出版社(The North Point Press)重新发行，他属于那种作品既受到尊重又被忽视的奇怪作家群体。在《犁头》杂志最近的一篇关于埃文·s·康奈尔的简介中，杰拉尔德·夏皮罗描述了他的职业生涯，充满了努力工作、赞誉和默默无闻。在过去的三十年里，康奈尔写了十多本好书，包括六本小说、三本短篇小说集和两本诗集，这些书都得到了好评。但他的事业从来没有达到商业上的临界点，到了20世纪60年代，康奈尔已经40多岁了，他再也无法靠写作养活自己，他在加州失业办公室找到了一份工作。1959年，康奈尔的第一部小说《布里奇夫人》(Mrs. Bridge)在商业和评论界都取得了成功，这是一部半自传体小说，讲述了一位富裕的中西部妇女的故事。《布里奇夫人》是现实主义的杰作，一个中西部的包法利夫人，带有舍伍德·安德森的《俄亥俄州的温斯堡》或弗兰克·康罗伊的《停止时间》中那种超然的讽刺和梦幻般的清晰。在《布里奇夫人》中，康奈尔开始探索后来证明是他一生对真实性的关注——我们想要超越自我、变得更真实的欲望，是如何把我们带出生活的半步，进入他笔下人物所居住的那种随意的梦幻世界的。他1966年的小说《一个强奸犯的日记》(The Diary of a Rapist)是这些肖像中最好的一部，书中的主人公厄尔·萨莫菲尔德(Earl Summerfield)被拿来与陀思妥耶夫斯基的《拉斯柯尔尼科夫》(Raskolnikov)相提并论。但是《一个强奸犯的日记》没有《罪与罚》的诱惑。厄尔·萨默菲尔德的厌女症是
{"title":"A Long Desire by Evan S. Connell","authors":"David Madole","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1333","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1333","url":null,"abstract":"EVAN S. CONNELL, whose collection of historical essays, A Long Desire, has been re-released by The North Point Press, belongs to that curious group of authors whose work is both respected and ignored. In a recent profile of Evan S. Connell in the journal Ploughshares, Gerald Shapiro describes a career of hard work, praise, and obscurity. During the past thirty years Connell has written good books, over ten of them —six novels, three collections of short fiction, and two volumes of poetry—and they were well reviewed. But his career never reached commercial critical mass, and by the nineteen sixties, Connell, then in his forties, was no longer able to support himself with his writing, and he took a job with the California State Unemployment office. Connell achieved commercial and critical success in 1959 with his first novel, Mrs. Bridge, a semi-autobiographical portrait of an afflu ent, mid-western matron. Mrs. Bridge is a masterful work of realism, a midwestern Madame Bovary, with the detached irony and dreamlike clarity of Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio or Frank Conroy’s Stop-Time. In Mrs. Bridge, Connell begins to explore what will prove to be a lifelong preoccupation with authenticity—of how our desire to become something more than we are, something real, takes us a half-step out of life into the willy-nilly dream worlds his characters inhabit. His 1966 novel, The Diary of a Rapist, is one of the best of these portraits, and its protagonist, Earl Summerfield, has been compared with Dostoyevsky’s Raskolnikov. But The Diary of a Rapist doesn’t have the seduction of Crime and Punishment. Earl Summerfield’s misogyny is","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"10 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130844713","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":"This Was Iowa","authors":"Juan Felipe Herrera","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1350","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1350","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"53 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130225037","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":"A Portrait of My Father","authors":"J. Grearson","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1369","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1369","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"6 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128679543","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 Top Drawer","authors":"J. Grearson","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1306","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1306","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"78 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"115937925","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}
A LOT O f this mess started when Stuart showed up. Walking around here in his cowboy boots, cocky, looking like God’s gift to McConnell Gravel. I’m not saying he was the root of it. It was something I’ve known for awhile. If I didn’t know better, though, I’d swear he was sent out here to gouge it out of me. Stuart is a young guy, about twenty-five, the company brought here to be the Operations Manager. That’s what his door says. Before, the site foreman would call a loader, Marty or me, on the mobile phone and tell us what mix to load and how many trucks they needed. We were doing fine. No one ever complained. Now they call Stuart first and then he tells us. He makes all the mix orders sound like his idea— all business like. “Right Stu,” I say and hang up. About the first thing Stuart did was convert the cook trailer into his private office. It was where all the drivers ate their lunch. It might have been that the big shots had it planned all along and were only waiting for Stuart to get out here so he could take the heat, but I doubt it. If the company wanted to be more efficient they should have asked Marty or me. Nobody said, “Ask the loaders,” and we got about a hundred ideas. Now we’re saying nothing—especially to Stu, since he’ll take all the credit. They’ll say he’s doing a “bang up job,” and give themselves one more reason to keep him in the trailer. I’m not saying we do a bad job; we do the job right but we just don’t do any more. And it ain’t because we’re afraid of getting fired. I do it because I couldn’t stand myself doing a bad job. Doing a bad job leaves you with nothing. Now half of the old cook trailer is his office and the other half is a lounge. I checked it out once when I stayed late for work. They took the calendars down and got the whole place painted off-white. A conference table in the middle. I told my wife it’d be like working in a refrigerator. Anyway, most of the drivers eat lunch in their trucks
{"title":"The Root of It","authors":"Ron Kuka","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1200","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1200","url":null,"abstract":"A LOT O f this mess started when Stuart showed up. Walking around here in his cowboy boots, cocky, looking like God’s gift to McConnell Gravel. I’m not saying he was the root of it. It was something I’ve known for awhile. If I didn’t know better, though, I’d swear he was sent out here to gouge it out of me. Stuart is a young guy, about twenty-five, the company brought here to be the Operations Manager. That’s what his door says. Before, the site foreman would call a loader, Marty or me, on the mobile phone and tell us what mix to load and how many trucks they needed. We were doing fine. No one ever complained. Now they call Stuart first and then he tells us. He makes all the mix orders sound like his idea— all business like. “Right Stu,” I say and hang up. About the first thing Stuart did was convert the cook trailer into his private office. It was where all the drivers ate their lunch. It might have been that the big shots had it planned all along and were only waiting for Stuart to get out here so he could take the heat, but I doubt it. If the company wanted to be more efficient they should have asked Marty or me. Nobody said, “Ask the loaders,” and we got about a hundred ideas. Now we’re saying nothing—especially to Stu, since he’ll take all the credit. They’ll say he’s doing a “bang up job,” and give themselves one more reason to keep him in the trailer. I’m not saying we do a bad job; we do the job right but we just don’t do any more. And it ain’t because we’re afraid of getting fired. I do it because I couldn’t stand myself doing a bad job. Doing a bad job leaves you with nothing. Now half of the old cook trailer is his office and the other half is a lounge. I checked it out once when I stayed late for work. They took the calendars down and got the whole place painted off-white. A conference table in the middle. I told my wife it’d be like working in a refrigerator. Anyway, most of the drivers eat lunch in their trucks","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"75 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"115950602","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":"Becoming a Heroine: Reading about Women in Novels by Rachel Brownstein","authors":"Nancy Hackett","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1133","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1133","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"35 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"126553058","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}
Deep down in the jungles, way back in the sticks, The animals had form ed a game called pool. The baboon was a slick. Now a few stalks shook, and a few leaves fell. Up popped the monkey one day, ’bout sharp as hell. He had a one-button roll, two-button satch. You know, one o f them boolhipper coats with a belt in the back. The baboon stood with a crazy rim, Charcoal gray vine, and a stingy brim, Handful o f dimes, pocket full o f herbs, Eldorado Cadillac parked at the curb.1
{"title":"The Signifying Monkey Talks Literature","authors":"W. Seaton","doi":"10.17077/0743-2747.1127","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.17077/0743-2747.1127","url":null,"abstract":"Deep down in the jungles, way back in the sticks, The animals had form ed a game called pool. The baboon was a slick. Now a few stalks shook, and a few leaves fell. Up popped the monkey one day, ’bout sharp as hell. He had a one-button roll, two-button satch. You know, one o f them boolhipper coats with a belt in the back. The baboon stood with a crazy rim, Charcoal gray vine, and a stingy brim, Handful o f dimes, pocket full o f herbs, Eldorado Cadillac parked at the curb.1","PeriodicalId":205691,"journal":{"name":"Iowa Journal of Literary Studies","volume":"38 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"1900-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"127035217","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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