HOW WILL YOU REMEMBER THE PANDEMIC?
40 authors from around the world set out to record their innermost feelings-- to offer inspiring, heartfelt, creative takes on the Covid-19 pandemic. Crime fiction, elegant and angry poetry, and gut-wrenching personal essays: all paint a picture of the year and help us make sense of the sacrifices we've made in 2020.
Thank you for your generous support: all profits donated to charity.
A brainchild of editor Lise McClendon, the anthology was shepherded by her with her co-editors— Taffy Cannon, Kate Flora, and Gary Phillips— to bear witness to the events taking place all around us, and especially within us, as we grapple with disease, isolation, death, and, yes, a healthy dose of chaos.
Some writers chose to mine their own psyches and experiences, whether the challenges of life in lockdown or their struggles with productivity and focus. Others felt called to wry, dark fiction or poetry. Across the globe the reactions portray a similar anger, pain, and struggle from writers from the US, Canada, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Northern Ireland, Spain, Italy, and Romania.
Our lives have been forever changed by these times. Whether a chance encounter with a mural on a utility box, to the lockdown in New York City and dystopian fiction, these writers never stopped imagining and exploring their worlds. Stuck at home, watching the news in horror, helping others: these writers' imaginations kept clicking right along (although their productivity sometimes took a hit.)
As mystery writers the editors found many of their fellow crime writers willing to contribute, as was the well-known Romanian journalist and writer George Arion, true crime writer Caitlin Rother, German mystery writer Tatjana Kruse, thriller writer Robin Burcell, travel writer Tim Cahill, and many more.
Poetry by 92nd St. Y Literature Director Wendy Salinger, Irish poet Paul Jeffcutt, haiku poet Z.J. Czupor, and crime writers Jim Nisbet, Gerald So, and Keith Snyder adds its own special punch between essays and stories. Illustrations are included.
STOP THE WORLD Contributors:
George Arion
Meredith Blevins
Eoghan Egan
John Shepphird
Gary Phillips
Adriana Licio
Mike Monson
Merrilee Robson
John Clark
Piet Tiegeler
Travis Richardson
Richard Cass
Tim Cahill
Jody Jaffe
Caitlin Rother
Naomi Hirahara
Kate Flora
Donna Moore
Lise McClendon
Tatjana Kruse
Dan Fesperman
Tami Haaland
Taffy Cannon
Matt Coyle
Marian Stanley
John Rember
J. Madison Davis
Sarah M. Chen
Wendy Hornsby
Robin Burcell
Sharan Newman
Jacqui Brown
Craig Lancaster
Z.J. Czupor
Gerald So
Allen Morris Jones
Wendy Salinger
Jim Nisbet
Paul Jeffcutt
Keith Snyder
Here is poet Wendy Salinger's take on her adopted hometown, New York City, during the pandemic:
ODE TO THE CITY
What's a city?
I forget.
My stanzas are bare as winter now,
though I still feel the presence of the crowd
sometimes, like a hand at my shoulder.
In towns and suburbs I was lonely.
I wanted to be lost.
Those first weeks after I came
I walked for hours without a destination,
letting the multitudes stream past
like a soothing wind In my face.
I wanted to feel the structure
as it moved around me
and myself inside it
like an alto inside four-part harmony,
a pinball jostled between the alleys
until I found my place.
I wanted to hear every story.
On buses and park benches
people translated furiously for me
into French, into Spanish, into Garifuna.
Museums magnified me.
I breathed easier in those rooms
where the elusive present lingered
In the echoes of the past.
I wanted life to tower over me, to stand on corners
where buildings with the skins of mirrors
ricocheted and multiplied off each other
so I could be everywhere at once.
What's a city?
Twice each year the sun tries to grasp It,
from low on the horizon, extending its arms,
each spoke an ancient, toppled column
lying west to east, Illuminating all the frames.
And now we too, at sunset, gather to remember
at every level—from balcony
to mezzanine to orchestra pit,
our windows thrown open
like those on an Advent calendar
in the depths on December,
banging our earthly utensils till we become
like sounding brass and tinkling cymbal,
shouting our praise for this thing that's our own creation
and for the deeds of the men and women
as they set out to care for it
beneath unfathomable skies.
