Dear Readers, Writers, and Friends of The Maine Review,
In a moment that feels as though much is being chipped away, I’d like to consider the dynamics of growth.
I’m currently writing to you from a rather remote residency where, through the floor-to-ceiling glass of my studio, I can see an act of massive, gutting, real-time deforestation being enacted on an adjacent tract of private land. But in the foreground, in an act of apparent resistance, there is also a swell of Japanese roses circling up the silk-cotton kapok trees, shadowing a cluster of ostrich-feather ferns. There are tufts of seashore bentgrass beneath the cedars. Prickles of blossoms in tangles of vine.
Against tremendous ugliness––human and undeniable––there is resilient, flourishing growth.
The incredible work in this issue is rife with such contrapositions. People, as well as the spaces they inhabit, shift and evolve. Some things are lost, others found. Still others are made from scratch.
As The Maine Review, we’re not only a literary journal but a community. We, too, continue to grow. This season has seen the advent of our inaugural Environs Prize, as well as the welcoming of new members and roles, including author and former Managing Editor Chelsea Jackson as new Co-Editor (you can read their Q&A here). We’re excited for our organization of writers, readers, and editors to continue to develop, and we look forward to sharing even more growth in the days ahead.
As you peruse the diverse and extraordinary pieces in the Spring 2024 issue, I hope that you find both solace and challenge, distinction and connection.
But most of all, I hope you continue to grow.
–A. J. Bermudez, Co-Editor of The Maine Review
