Things have been tense in Bolivia for the past week after Santa Cruz residents voted overwhelmingly to become substantially autonomous of the national government. President Evo Morales, the country’s first indigenous president, has been socializing the nation, just last week seizing the telephone company and a trio of energy companies at the barrel of a gun. The landlocked nation is the poorest in South America. Its wealthy Santa Cruz province comprises the eastern third of the country, and they’re not willing to accept Morales’ plan to seize their assets to redistribute to the west. Morales and his Venezuelan ally, Hugo Chávez, insist that the United States is behind the Santa Cruz uprising.

If all of this sounds familiar, that means you’ve been paying attention. Edmundo Paz Soldán’s “Santa Cruz: Bolivia’s ‘Other Country’” was published on our website in conjunction with the release of our Fall 2006 issue dedicated to the issues of South America:

While the Eastern valley and the Andes are constantly struggling, Santa Cruz has a carnival atmosphere heavily influenced by Brazil’s boundless optimism and exuberance. In the Andean world scarcity is the norm; Santa Cruz is the land of plenty. In a word, Santa Cruz works; the rest of the country doesn’t.

We’ve addressed Bolivia’s economic and geographic divisions before, too. Lloyd Mallan took up the topic in our Spring 1944 issue with “Bolivia: Revolt and Counter-Revolt“:

It is no exaggeration to say that the recent Bolivian revolution is a synthesis of everything that we are fighting for and against in this war. [...] Bolivia, with the possible exception of Paraguay, has the doubtful distinction of claiming the most exploited and oppressed working-class in South America.

At the time, Great Britain’s efforts to build a railway to Santa Cruz had fallen a few miles short. It wasn’t for another decade that the connection was made, Paz Soldán explains, and it was decades until its development in isolation allowed it to develop a gravity of its own. It’s those physics that now threaten to pull apart the nation.

Two poems from Patrick Phillips’ “Boy” will be broadcast on The Writer’s Almanac this week. “Matinee” will be featured on Thursday and “Falling” on Saturday. “Boy” is one of the first four books in the VQR Poetry Series. Patrick can be heard reading works from his book in our podcast of the inaugural reading. (Via University of Georgia Press)

VQR wishes to apologize to any writers who took offense to our recent blog entries, in which we made public anonymized snippets from internal correspondence regarding our submissions. It seems obvious—and is regrettable—that some writers got the idea that VQR delights in belittling unsolicited submissions. Nothing could be further from the truth. This publication—and, indeed, its long-standing reputation—is built on a tradition of finding fine work by new writers amid the slush pile. Over the decades, this journal has been able to claim first publications by writers like Nadine Gordimer, Adrienne Rich, and Hayden Carruth—writers then wholly unknown and submitting over the transom. Since I took over as editor in 2003, I have worked hard to continue that tradition. We published the very first works of Pauline W. Chen and Martin Preib, both of whom went on to receive National Magazine Award nominations for their contributions. Many of the writers now in our regular stable began their association with VQR through blind submission—J. Malcom Garcia, Daniel Alarcón, James P. Othmer, Joshua Poteat, David J. Morris, Nicholas Schmidle, Neil Shea, Alessandra Lynch, Patricia Lockwood, and Glen Retief. Garcia and I still haven’t met—though his work has now appeared in VQR a half dozen times and will be included in next year’s Best American Travel Writing and Best American Nonrequired Reading.

In short, the tone of our blog post did not correctly represent our commitment to our authors. This is a disservice to our submitters, our readers, and our goals. However, I do think that the comments, if not their public airing, are a fair response to many of the submissions we receive and accurately reflect the righteous indignation that we often feel as readers. Too much of what we see these days strikes us as merely competent—well-crafted but passionless in its execution or, just as often, passionate only about the minor travails of the world of its author. No editor nor writer feels more strongly about the possibility of finding the universal in the small, but we also ravenously crave great writing that takes on big issues. Gutsy, fearless, hard-nosed writing. Writing that matters. Its absence makes us ill-tempered; it makes us question our enterprise. We work hard and want to see evidence of equal effort from writers. Such discussions, however, should be undertaken more thoughtfully than we have done thus far on the blog. I hope personally to rectify that situation and soon. Some writers have demanded to know why we have grown to feel such frustration toward our submitters. It’s a question worthy of a thoughtful answer—and will likely be as controversial as anything Waldo has said. But at least the discussion will center on what we consider the shortcomings of American writing, not a few comments meant to be private expressions of disappointment and frustration.

For now, suffice to say that we have certain things that we want so fiercely from American literature that we have made a misstep. We have descended in our discourse, when it is our stated mission to elevate the level of discussion whenever possible. That said, thoughtful articulation of what we envision—our call to arms, our mini-manifesto—will take a while to draft. We hope your interest in this subject is more than fleeting and deeper than personal indignation. We hope that you, too, care about what ails American literature and will have the patience to wait for our more considered statement and engage in an extended, productive discussion.

In the meantime, we have removed the potentially offending portions of the blog post, leaving our own impeachable statements but striking anything that might be construed as hurtful.

More soon,
Ted Genoways

Literary reading podcast Apostrophe Cast is featuring a reading by and an interview with Cecily Parks this week. Cecily is one of the authors in the new VQR Poetry Series — we recently published “Field Folly Snow,” her first collection of poems, and we podcast her March reading here at the University of Virginia. Apostrophe Cast is also running a contest for the best illustration for one of Cecily’s poems. The winner gets a copy of the book.

A few authors were less than thrilled with our recent listing of readers’ negative comments, worrying that their work may have received similarly rough treatment. (Rest assured, any author who takes the time to read our blog, or who can even identify us by name, is far too competent to write submissions that are that bad.) I have no background in the literary world (I’m a programmer), so I have no concept of the point at which transparency becomes garish to writers. Whaddya know–I’ve found that point.

The forthrightness of our readers extends not just to submissions that they don’t like, but also to submissions that they adore. Sometimes a submission will strike a chord with a reader, validating the task of minding the slush pile. They’re effusive, funny, and often sweet. Here are some of my favorites, with the hope that transparency of happy comments is rather better received:

It’s worth noting that a positive review from a reader certainly doesn’t guarantee publication in our pages, given the enormous volume of submissions we receive. (We’re on track to receive 10,400 during this reading period, in which time we’ll have published 160. You do the math.) But our readers wade through hundreds of submissions every week, not for the money (there’s little to be had), but for the opportunity to be part of the literary community, and for that rare but wonderful occurrence of discovering a new and talented voice.

An “Ellie,” as the National Magazine Awards are known due to the award’s resemblance to an elephant.

Great news from VQR HQ: we took home a National Magazine Award from last night’s ceremony. (And, actually, Ted didn’t take it home–they mail ‘em out later. Because who wants to explain that to airline security?) We won the Single-Topic Issue category for our Fall 2007 issue about South America, co-edited by Ted and Daniel Alarcón. The judges said:

In its provocative and moving issue on South America, The Virginia Quarterly Review presents a multi-faceted portrait of a continent on the move. Created by some of South America’s most daring writers and visual artists, this illuminating collection of fiction and nonfiction is at once surprising and comprehensive, from street soccer and political violence to a comic book journey to Antarctica and the new breed of 21st Century Madonnas.

We were nominated for two other Ellies this year, in the Photojournalism and General Excellence categories. Congratulations to National Geographic and Print, who beat us out in those two categories, respectively.

The entire issue is available online for free. Some brilliant authors, photographers, artists and filmmakers contributed to this issue, and it’s well worth taking the time to see why this issue has received so many accolades.

1) Judging from his profile of Augusten Burroughs, New York Magazine’s Sam Anderson has a second career as a private investigator.

For all I know, [Burroughs has] just memorized a couple of trivial details in order to unleash them on me at exactly this kind of strategic moment.

Now that he’s being brazen, I decide to test him: What else does he remember?

2) The Virginia Law Women sell t-shirts that read, “Be the lawyer your mother always wanted you to marry.” Perhaps VQR needs some that read, “Be the tortured/starving/anemically-published artist your mother never wanted you to marry.” You can undergo years of therapy, or just buy an empowering t-shirt.

3) Porn for the Blind - “Porn for the Blind is a not-for-profit organization dedicated to producing audio descriptions of sample movie clips from adult web sites. This service is provided free of charge.”

4) Fake authors scam bookstores for cash. What a compelling story. I predict that these fake authors will soon have real book deals.

“Berman speculated that this gang has several members — one black man, one English guy, one woman — to make impersonation easier. “It’s like the Mod Squad or something.”

Vroman’s has hung up on someone claiming to be Ray Bradbury and, in late February, Ramos said, Russell Banks.

5) Cornelia Hesse-Honegger paints bugs mutated by radiation. See her artistic renditions of tree bugs from Chernobyl and harlequin bugs from Three Mile Island.

6) There are more bad writers than good readers. Someone should write a book about this.

“American literature has never been deeper and stronger and more various than it is now,” [Mark McGurl, associate professor of English at UCLA] said in an e-mail message. Still, he added, “one could put that more pessimistically: given the manifold distractions of modern life, we now have more great writers working in the United States than anyone has the time or inclination to read.”

7) Radar puts a chic-lit cover on the Bible.

8) Scientific American calls for “more novels about real scientists.”

A good work of fiction can convey the smells of a laboratory, the colors of a dissected heart, the anxieties of a chemist and the joys of an astronomer—all the illuminating particulars that you won’t find in a peer-reviewed article in Science or Nature.

Our readers aren’t selected for their timidity; they can be brutal in their assessments of submissions. When they decline a work, they’re able to put it into a category that describes why they’re recommending that it be declined. In addition to the already-described “Inappropriate for VQR” category, there are others, including “Bad” and “Terrible.” Since I often get a laugh out of reading through some of the notes that our beleaguered readers provide for these particularly unfortunate submissions, it seems worthwhile to share them. Here are some of my favorites:

Of course, our readers have written thousands of reviews that are in-depth, reasoned, considerate, and polite. But they aren’t funny, so you won’t read them here.

05/02 Update: Read our followup, a combination mea culpa and collection of glowing reviews by readers.

05/05 Update: Ted Genoways, our editor, offers his thoughts and an apology.

* Identifying details have been changed to protect the innocent. Except for Faulkner. He can handle it.

I may be more gourmand than gourmet, and more wino than wine connoisseur, but I can’t resist the sumptuous language of foodies. Tom Sietsema of the Washington Post writes of “teasing vinaigrettes,” “wine-sotted pears” (aka “boozy fruit”), “noble sauces,” and “molten cores of fontina cheese.” Great restaurant reviews take me for a ride on an emotional rollercoaster:

The cod and damp pastry were a little wimpy; their frame was fantastic, though, and the entree got a nice kick from lashings of lemony aioli.

The language of wine is not as sexy, but I still get a little thrill when I read about the “full, generous flavor of ripe berry fruits and aromatic herbs that is excellent with meat cooked over the flame.” Can I get that in a box? Or perhaps in my wine bra?

But forget the grandiose language of food. Thanks to my contacts in the design world, I have recently been introduced to the rich, poetic language of fonts. Mercury Display, a font made by Hoefler & Frere-Jones, is “smart, quick, and articulate.” It creates an “excited calm” on the page. Mercury Display is “spirited, subtle, and ferocious.” And it costs $199.

Which leads me to conclude that expense informs vocabulary. If your restaurant’s dinner entrees cost $60 each or your 1974 Cabernet Sauvignon sells for $500 or your average customer’s font shopping cart (yes, there is such a thing) is worth thousands of dollars, then your prose better keep up with your highfalutin prices. Please take note, writers of the 3-trillion-dollar federal budget. Adjectives like “reform-minded,” “trade-impacted,” and “countercyclical” don’t make me want to pay my taxes as much as “succulent,” “pillowy,” and “wine-sotted.”

After reading Scott Snyder’s “The 13th Egg” (subscription required), I found myself in a particularly good position to appreciate the U.S. Navy’s paintings of the Bikini Atoll atomic bomb tests, as described by Snyder. “Operations Crossroads” was staged in 1946 to determine the effects of a nuclear explosion on warships, and the military had Gunnery Sergeant Grant Powers, USMC, on hand to render his observations. (Two other soldiers contributed paintings, too, presumably on their own time.)

Over ninety surplus, captured, or damaged vessels were brought to the island’s lagoon to be subjected to a pair of nuclear detonations. Two 21 kiloton bombs were tested: Able, a low-altitude explosion, and Baker, a shallow-water explosion. With the men safely 11.5 miles away, a B-29 dropped Able. Five ships were sunk by the blast. Twenty four days later, Baker was detonated. Eight ships were sunk, and many were damaged. Though the radiation from Able dispersed safely within a day, Baker’s most serious effects lasted weeks. The process of cleaning or disposing of the radioactive ships lasted nearly a year.

Check out the dozens of beautiful paintings that captured this event. Especially nice is the view through protective goggles, the comic-style rendering of sailors watching the explosion, the destroyed USS Independence, and the USS Arkansas being tossed into the air by Baker. If we’re going to blow things up, we may as well be left with some nice paintings.