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Tacey M. Atsitty melds inherited forms such as the sonnet with her Diné and religious experiences to boldly and beautifully reveal a love that can last for eternity. Celebrating and examining the depth and range of her relationships with men, Atsitty tenderly shares experiences of being taught to fish by her father, and, in other poems, reveals intimate moments of burgeoning romantic love with vulnerability and honesty. Grounded in a world both old and constantly remade, she reminds us that it is only by risking everything that we can receive more than we ever imagined. All I know is it's the season when wind comes crying, like a baby whose head knocks a pew during the passing of the sacrament, that silence-- her long inhale filling with pain. --Excerpt from "A February Snow"

"The American Civil War has been thoroughly researched and documented by historians over many decades, but it is the individual accounts from those who lived it that personalize this tumultuous time in our nation's history. Lucius S. Moseley's letters to his family in Beloit, Wisconsin, during his three years of service in the 22nd Wisconsin Volunteer Regiment, provide a uniquely candid view from an infantry soldier, through periods of waiting and watching, battle, capture, imprisonment and parole. His writings invite us into scenes of camp life, exhausting drilling and marching, the fall of Atlanta and Sherman's March to the Sea, so many "terrible happenings of war." He freely shares his hopes, complaints, fears and frustrations, alternating between attempts to soothe his parents' worries ("Now I beg you, don't feel the least uneasy about me") to admitting his concerns for survival ("I hope I will be spared but young men as anxious to live as I have to fall.") While "Lute" frequently apologizes for his poor letters, they are filled with vivid details and honest reflections. His march of days - many tedious, some terrorizing - becomes a journey toward greater compassion. Through it all, letters to and from family are a lifeline, for writer and recipient alike. Lute speaks of his sympathy for the black soldiers who cannot read or write and have no way to stay in touch with their own families. He cannot imagine enduring the war without that communication. On April 17, 1864, he writes, "I didn't know until I came into the army how precious everything at home is." By the time the battles are over, an estimated 750,000 men have lost their lives in this brutal war. The scale of suffering, by civilians as well as soldiers, is immeasurable. Lucius Moseley is one of the lucky ones. When he is mustered out in June, 1865, he returns to a peaceful life of farming, family and community. At the age of twenty-two, he has seen more loss and tragedy than most people can know in a lifetime. He also carries a sense of pride for having helped to preserve the union and bring an end to chattel slavery. The boy has become a man"--

Grief fractures and scars. In Afterlife Michael Dhyne picks up the shattered remains, examining each shard in the light, attempting to find meaning--or at least understanding--in the death of his father. "If I tell the story in reverse, / it still ends with nothing," he writes. Yet it is in the telling that Dhyne's story--and the world he creates--is filled. The echoes of his childhood loss reverberate through adolescence and adulthood, his body, the bodies of those he loves, and the world around them--from Bourbon Street to dark and lonely bedrooms, from grief support groups to heartachingly beautiful sunsets. How we are shaped by our experiences, and how we refuse to be shaped, is at the heart of the poet's search for memory, meaning, and love--in all its forms and wonders. This bold and tender debut is a rousing reminder that poetry and art can heal. "It's one thing to remember, another to not forget. A girl says, Can I start with my birth? and I ask her if anything happened before that, her eyes bright with wonder." --Excerpt from "95 South"

Electrifying Indonesia tells the story of the entanglement of politics and technology during Indonesia's rapid post-World War II development. As a central part of its nation-building project, the Indonesian state sought to supply electricity to the entire country, bringing transformative socioeconomic benefits across its heterogeneous territories and populations. While this project was driven by nationalistic impulses, it was also motivated by a genuine interest in social justice. The entanglement of these two ideologies--nation-building and equity--shaped how electrification was carried out, including how the state chose the technologies it did. Private companies and electric cooperatives vied with the hegemonic state power company to participate in a monumental undertaking that would transform daily life for all Indonesians, especially rural citizens. In this innovative volume, Anto Mohsin brings Indonesian studies together with science and technology studies to understand a crucial period in modern Indonesian history. He shows that attempts to illuminate the country were inseparable from the effort to maintain the new nation-state, chart its path to independence, and legitimize ruling regimes. In exchange for an often dramatically improved standard of living, people gave their votes, and their acquiescence, to the ruling government.

In December 1825, a group of liberal aristocrats, officers, and intelligentsia mounted a coup against the tsarist government of Russia. Inspired partially by the democratic revolutions in the United States and France, the Decembrist movement was unsuccessful; however, it led Russia's civil society to new avenues of aspiration and had a lasting impact on Russian culture and politics. Many writers and thinkers belonged to the conspiracy while others, including the poet Alexander Pushkin, were loosely or ambiguously affiliated. While the Decembrist movement and Pushkin's involvement has been well covered by historians, Emily Wang takes a novel approach, examining the emotional and literary motivations behind the movement and the dramatic, failed coup. Through careful readings of the literature of Pushkin and others active in the northern branch of the Decembrist movement, such as Kondraty Ryleev, Wilhelm Küchelbecker, and Fyodor Glinka, Wang traces the development of "emotional communities" among the members and adjacent writers. This book illuminates what Wang terms "civic sentimentalism" the belief that cultivating noble sentiments on an individual level was the key to liberal progress for Russian society, a core part of Decembrist ideology that constituted a key difference from their thought and Pushkin's. The emotional program for Decembrist community members was, in other ways, a civic program for Russia as a whole, one that they strove to enact by any means necessary.

Anton Chekhov is justly famous as an author and a playwright, with his work continuing to appear on stages around the world more than a century after his death. However, he is rarely studied for his intellectual and philosophical theories. His disinterest in developing a "unified idea"--in vogue for Russian intellectuals of his time--and his aversion to the maximalism characteristic of contemporary Russian culture and society set him apart from his fellow writers. As a result, Chekhov's contribution to intellectual and philosophical discourse was obscured both by his contemporaries and by subsequent scholars. Svetlana Evdokimova tackles this gap in Chekhov scholarship, examining the profound connections between his unstated philosophy and his artistic production. Arguing that Chekhov's four major plays (The Cherry Orchard, Three Sisters, The Seagull, and Uncle Vanya) constitute a kind of cycle, Staging Existence offers a major reappraisal of this critical playwright in Russian intellectual history. Evdokimova's deep, careful research into Chekhov's engagement with contemporary philosophy provides insight into both Chekhov's oeuvre and the writer himself.

By the time the Roman poet Valerius Flaccus wrote in the first century CE, the tale of Jason and his famous ship the Argo had been retold so often it was a byword for poetic banality. Why, then, did Valerius construct his epic Argonautica? In this innovative analysis, Jessica Blum-Sorensen argues that it was precisely the myth's overplayed nature that appealed to Valerius, operating in and responding to a period of social and political upheaval. Seeking to comment obliquely on Roman reliance on mythic exempla to guide action and expected outcomes, there was no better vessel for his social and political message than the familiar Argo. Focusing especially on Hercules, Blum-Sorensen explores how Valerius' characters--and, by extension, their Roman audience--misinterpret exemplars of past achievement, or apply them to sad effect in changed circumstances. By reading such models as normative guides to epic triumph, Valerius' Argonauts find themselves enacting tragic outcomes: effectively, the characters impose their nostalgic longing for epic triumph on the events before them, even as Valerius and his audience anticipate the tragedy awaiting his heroes. Valerius thus questions Rome's reliance on the past as a guide to the present, allowing for doubt about the empire's success under the new Flavian regime. It is the literary tradition's exchange between triumphant epic and tragedy that makes the Argo's voyage a perfect vehicle for Valerius' exploration: the tensions between genres both raise and prohibit resolution of anxieties about how the new age--mythological or real--will turn out.

Although understudied in the West, Iurii Trifonov was a canonical Soviet author whose lifetime spanned nearly the whole of the USSR's history and who embodied many of its contradictions. The son of a Bolshevik murdered on Stalin's orders, he wrote his first novel in praise of the dictator's policies. A lifelong Muscovite, he often set his prose in the Central Asian peripheries of the USSR's empire. A subtle critic of the communist regime, he nonetheless benefited from privileges doled out by a censorious state. Scholars have both neglected Trifonov in recent years and focused their limited attention on the author's most famous works, produced in the 1960s through 1980s. Yet almost half of his output was written before then. In Empire of Objects, Benjamin Sutcliffe takes care to consider the author's entire oeuvre. Trifonov's work reflects the paradoxes of a culture that could neither honestly confront the past nor create a viable future, one that alternated between trying to address and attempting to obscure the trauma of Stalinism. He became increasingly incensed by what he perceived as the erosion of sincerity in public and private life, by the impact of technology, and by the state's tacit support of greed and materialism. Trifonov's work, though fictional, offers a compelling window into Soviet culture.

In this biography, now translated into English for the first time, Bert Rebhandl provides a balanced evaluation of the work of one of the most original and influential film directors of all time: Jean-Luc Godard (1930-2022). In this sympathetic yet critical overview, he argues that Godard's work captured the revolutionary spirit of Paris in the late 1960s as no other filmmaker has dared, and in fact reinvented the medium. Rebhandl skillfully weaves together biographical details; information about the cultural, intellectual, and cinematic milieu over the decades; and descriptions of Godard's most significant films to support his assertion that the director was a permanent revolutionary-always seeking new ways to create, understand, and comment on film within a larger context. He views Godard as an artist consistently true to himself while never ceasing to change and evolve, often in unexpected, radical, and controversial ways. Rebhandl is known as a journalist with deep insights and lucid prose. Despite the wealth of material to analyze, he neither gets lost in the details nor offers a superficial gloss, even while directly tackling such topics as the long-standing charges of antisemitism against Godard and his oeuvre. This volume will be welcome to both casual fans and dedicated devotees.

Originally published by H. Aschehoug & Co. under the title Fars Krig, copyright Ã2008 by H. Aschehoug & Co. (W. Nygaard), Oslo.

The poems in Radium Girl hold dual citizenship in the land of the sick and the kingdom of the well. The point where illusion ends and reality begins is never clear, as Celeste Lipkes evokes saints, magicians, scientists, and caregivers in the process of surviving both medical illness and medical training. Slippery metaphors of rabbits in hats, doves in cages, and elaborate escapes explore the inhabitation of a female body as a kind of powerful and violent performance--where the magician's trick of cutting a woman in half is never as far away as we'd like. With humor ("When the doctor says, 'We found something, ' / I don't say: 'no shit' or 'oh thank God, / I've been looking for that sweater everywhere, '") and heartbreak ("Every evening I count the dwindling brass coins / of my patient's platelets while his wife ices / cups of ginger ale he will never drink"), Lipkes reminds us what it means to feel human, to feel afraid, to feel hopeful, to feel. I am the magician, even, some nights alone, finding inside the darkness a small, trembling thing I won't acknowledge as my own. This is someone else's rabbit, I say, and the silence nods back. --Excerpt from "Rabbit"

Moving beyond a biting indictment of American popular culture, Jameka Williams captures the reader's gaze and stares right back: "I'm sorry, America, but I'm rich in baby oil & paperback novels only these days. So finish paying for me with what is mint. No conditions." In this stunning debut collection, Williams offers a deeply personal investigation into how Americans (herself included) have been duped, buying into classism, sexism, and racist beauty ideals, while sacrificing the freedom of self-love and self-determination. With whip-fast profanity and fiery humor, she charts a tender, exalting, and vibrant path to freedom from mirrors, stages, and screens. Fiercely feminist, Black, American, and powerful, Williams speaks for a generation of obsessive social media influencers and consumers, revealing the complex ways in which we are all actors, witnesses, and victims in our public and private performances. Though we may be permanent residents of this soulless cultural landscape, this stunning collection refuses to let it define us. I am not the same machine which came rambling off the conveyor belt, hugging the bolts & wires spilling from her vivisection. I'm last year's model with a sleeker, softer system of cool disdain for my Internet addictions. --Excerpt from "I Intend to Outlast"

Plain tells the story of Mary Alice Hostetter's journey to define an authentic self amid a rigid religious upbringing in a Mennonite farm family. Although endowed with a personality "prone toward questioning and challenging," the young Mary Alice at first wants nothing more than to be a good girl, to do her share, and-alongside her eleven siblings-to work her family's Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, farm. She feels fortunate to have been born into a religion where, as the familiar hymn states, she is "safe in the arms of Jesus." As an adolescent, that keen desire for belonging becomes focused on her worldly peers, even though she knows that Mennonites consider themselves a people apart. Eventually she leaves behind the fields and fences of her youth, thinking she will finally be able to grow beyond the prohibitions of her church. Discovering and accepting her sexuality, she once again finds herself apart, on the outside of family, community, and societal norms. This quietly powerful memoir of longing and acceptance casts a humanizing eye on a little-understood American religious tradition and a woman's striving to grow within and beyond it.