ON PEACH:
Anya​​ Leibovitch’s​​ “Lazy/Afraid”​​ is​​ the​​ current​​ featured​​ piece​​ at​ P​​each​​ Mag​.​​ Leibovitch’s​​ prose piece​ ​reads​ ​like​ ​a​ ​defeated​ ​self-affirmation​ ​or​ ​an​ ​anti-pep​ ​talk​ ​delivered​ ​into​ ​an​ ​impossibly weary​ ​mirrored​ ​reflection.​ ​“I​ ​worry​ ​we​ ​are​ ​stagnating.​ ​We​ ​could​ ​be​ ​turning​ ​into​ ​a​ ​swamp,​ ​for​ ​all​ ​I know.​ ​But​ ​it’s​ ​impossible​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​really.​ ​I​ ​am​ ​on​ ​a​ ​journey,​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​where​ ​to.​ ​It​ ​doesn’t really​ ​matter,​ ​I​ ​guess.”​ ​The​ ​language​ ​is​ ​straightforward,​ ​and​ ​through​ ​its​ ​directness​ ​Leibovitch​ ​is able​ ​to​ ​unearth​ ​a​ ​realistic​ ​shimmer​ ​of​ ​hope​ ​buried​ ​underneath​ ​the​ ​tedium​ ​of​ ​everyday​ ​despair: “You​ ​cannot​ ​quell​ ​this​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​hunger.”

IN​ ​PRINT​:
OH​ ​BABY​​ ​by​ ​Kim​ ​Chinquee
Ravenna​ ​Press​ ​/​ ​88​ ​pages​ ​/​ ​flash​ ​fiction,​ ​prose​ ​poems

OH​ ​BABY​​ ​packs​ ​74​ ​bite-sized​ ​stories​ ​into​ ​its​ ​88​ ​pages,​ ​each​ ​one​ ​expanding​ ​exponentially​ ​after the​ ​initial​ ​reading,​ ​like​ ​a​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​hard​ ​black​ ​candy​ ​dissolving​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​your​ ​stomach, many​ ​of​ ​them​ ​demanding​ ​to​ ​be​ ​immediately​ ​reread​ ​and​ ​recontextualized.​ ​In​ ​this​ ​way,​ ​the​ ​book becomes​ ​something​ ​like​ ​a​ ​bleak​ ​collection​ ​of​ ​secular​ ​mantras.​ ​Chinquee​ ​is​ ​masterful​ ​in​ ​her pursuit​ ​to​ ​cut​ ​away​ ​all​ ​the​ ​unnecessary​ ​fat​ ​and​ ​meat​ ​from​ ​the​ ​bone​ ​of​ ​each​ ​story,​ ​but​ ​she doesn’t​ ​stop​ ​there.​ ​Her​ ​prose​ ​cuts​ ​even​ ​deeper,​ ​an​ ​effect​ ​of​ ​whittling​ ​down​ ​moments,​ ​and​ ​entire lives,​ ​into​ ​one​ ​crystal​ ​clear​ ​scene​ ​that​ ​is​ ​over​ ​before​ ​the​ ​various​ ​narrators​ ​have​ ​even​ ​realized it’s​ ​happened,​ ​each​ ​piece​ ​an​ ​embodiment​ ​of​ ​the​ ​calm​ ​eye​ ​of​ ​a​ ​storm.

IN​ ​PRINT​:
Worse​ ​Than​ ​Myself​ ​​by​ ​Adam​ ​Golaski
Raw​ ​Dog​ ​Screaming​ ​Press​ ​/​ ​212​ ​pages​ ​/​ ​short​ ​fiction

Anyone​ ​looking​ ​for​ ​an​ ​absolutely​ ​frightening​—yet​ ​surprisingly​ ​grounded​—take​ ​on​ ​horror​ ​this season​ ​should​ ​immediately​ ​delve​ ​into​ ​Adam​ ​Golaski’s​ ​short​ ​fiction​ ​collection,​ W​​orse​ ​Than Myself​.​ ​It’s​ ​my​ ​opinion​ ​that​ ​the​ ​horror​ ​genre​ ​is​ ​most​ ​effective​ ​in​ ​the​ ​world​ ​of​ ​short​ ​fiction,​ ​and Golaski​ ​is​ ​absolutely​ ​masterful​ ​in​ ​its​ ​usage​ ​here.​ ​Many​ ​of​ ​the​ ​stories​ ​employ​ ​familiar​ ​tropes​ ​and monsters​ ​of​ ​horror:​ ​ghosts,​ ​zombies,​ ​vampires,​ ​etc.​ ​But​ ​Golaski​ ​tethers​ ​them​ ​to​ ​relatable​ ​human trauma,​ ​such​ ​as​ ​alcoholism,​ ​abuse,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​losing​ ​a​ ​loved​ ​one,​ ​making​ ​each​ ​quiet instance​ ​of​ ​terror​ ​seem​ ​disturbingly​ ​personal,​ ​an​ ​escape​ ​from​ ​genre​ ​fiction​ ​into​ ​something hauntingly​ ​different.​ ​​Worse​ ​Than​ ​Myself​​ ​has​ ​an​ ​effect​ ​akin​ ​to​ ​the​ ​gradual​ ​rise​ ​of​ ​a​ ​mundane façade,​ ​lifting​ ​away​ ​like​ ​a​ ​dusty​ ​theater​ ​curtain​ ​to​ ​reveal​ ​the​ ​contours​ ​of​ ​a​ ​nightmare​ ​you​ ​may have​ ​been​ ​living​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​for​ ​years.