Colorado, mid-October. The leaves are falling and the temperature has dropped. There is no snow on the ground.
Alex Higley begins his short story “Shelly” thirty-some minutes east of my home in Denver. “We were into eastern Colorado,” he writes, “into that flat, liminal region that could be misrecognized as any plains state,” and when he uses that word, liminal, I can’t help but think that it perfectly captures our current landscape.
Next month, The Adroit Journal turns six; by the time we publish our next issue, 2016 will be over, the highways will be caked with blackened snow, and we will have a new president of the United States. We stand here, right now, at a tipping point, the most uncertain of literal and political climates.
At times, all this uncertainty can feel overwhelming, but in this issue, our fine line-up of authors both revel in and rebel against all that is liminal. Take Joel Hans, who in his hybrid fictional-essay “Evaporation,” excavates love and physics—the most ancient of things. He leaves us with a kind of promise: that in spite of all this in-betwenness, “there is a truth in the universe that states with certainty that all darkness will, given enough time, seal itself into the quiet and give away the good it has been nurturing all along.”
If we can’t know where we are going yet, we can at least take solace in certainty.
Right now, I’ll take what I can get.
The Adroit Journal
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