New England Review

The New England Review is published by Middlebury College which is, logically enough, based in Middlebury, VT. The review has a website, http://cat.middlebury.edu/~nereview, which catalogues the current and previous issues in addition to outlining the protocols for submission and subscription. The New England Review publishes a wide range of literature in four (quarterly) publications. This issue included a number of poems, works of shorter fiction, excerpts from novels, an “art” review, one critical essays, and a few of what I will categorize as “personal” essays. As far as the review’s production values are concerned, I would say that it is a very well put together magazine. The cover is in full color, with each month’s face a different submission of art, while the contents are exclusively in black and white. There are, as far as I can recall, no pictures. Just words. Words printed on 100% recycled paper. The overall size of the book roughly a standard page, perhaps a bit more square, and it seems to me a very respectable looking book. Perhaps not as fancy as a leather bound tome, but most certainly not the hobo of review journals. This particular issue looks weathered, not literally, but the cover gives the impression of age with its faded yellows and reds and its collection of strange shapes. The artwork is, most definitely, the thing that would first draw any reader to its pages. Books are always judged by their covers, so I’m glad that they are finally rebelling against well worn clichés. As far as I can tell, there is no overarching message we can call a review “manifesto” or motto. That being said, I would say that, given there is no manifesto, the New England Review does not make an effort to live up to a calling or creed. As far as content goes, I cannot speak specifically of a theme. There were a few works concerning the relationship between men and women, but besides that, no great trends. My favorite work is an excerpt from the Icelandic novel, The Great Weaver From Kashmir, by Haldor Laxness. I say that it is my favorite work because of one line and one line only. Call me a sexist if you will, and I do believe you may, but it’s just plain funny to say that “Women don’t understand spoken words. One can only speak to them as to children and dogs.” Priceless. My least favorite story? Trouble. Read it, I dare you. Within the first line you will understand why I have such a problem with the format the author chooses to indulge in. Overall, I must speak to the magazine’s quality. All of the contributors are very experienced and, mostly, highly decorated. I would most certainly like to see my work published here as long as it was put next to anything written by Stephen O’Conner. Would I pick up a copy again? Probably not, unless I am doing a Literary Magazine review, but you never know.