Blog / Colloquies

The Climate Change in Me (1)

December 17, 2021 - By Giacomo Sartori

Inside me exists a self that years ago decided to study agronomy—where that idea came from exactly, who knows? Many aspects of our selves remain a mystery. For forty years this self did work in soil science, and, even at a time when few were talking about climate change, he always felt that the best thing he could do for the environment would be to do his work well, putting all his effort into it, so that he would obtain persuasive data, making it clear that our lands are fragile and essential, that they must be protected and stewarded. This indefatigable self has imposed itself, domineering my life, in part because he brought home the bacon—all the other selves lived off the sweat from his brow. During a long period he analyzed mountain soils. They’re lovely,...

The Climate Change in Me (2)

December 17, 2021 - By Giacomo Sartori

(Part One)

Inside me there’s also a militant self. It first showed itself when I was very young; later it became more stealthy, like a spring with water that doesn’t rise to the surface, leaving the stream bed dry. Throughout my life he has always made an effort to keep current and inform himself, and he has often become indignant for one injustice or another, with special attention to environmental issues, but he has never been moved to direct action. He isn’t in touch with the various associations or groups who share his ideas, even if from time to time he has been tempted to seek them out. He has almost never even gone to a demonstration, even though afterwards, when he hasn’t, he feels...

The Climate Change in Me (3)

December 17, 2021 - By Giacomo Sartori

(Part Two)

Inside me, though, there is also a writerly self. This me is like a ferocious crocodile that fights to find food and freedom. He’s used to winning and often tears his adversaries to pieces in a single bite, so he’s a pretty fearsome beast. This writer/crocodile self argues that all that stuff about responsibility is nonsense; he tells me that what I have to do is continue to write my books, since they unfailingly engage in the most visceral and intimate nature of human individuality, without wasting my time with anything else. I can already barely manage to do that, he raves, in his cunning Cretaceous reptile voice. He hints that whatever talent I have is limited, so let’s not even...

for Jules

October 1, 2021 - By Jim Hicks

On Thursday, September 23, the founding editor of the Massachusetts Review, Jules Chametzky, died in Amherst, at the age of ninety-three. To commemorate his passing, and to offer his friends an opportunity for reflection and remembrance, we offer here a small gathering of memories, collected from a few of his friends.

I myself only really got to know Jules during the dozen years I’ve been working at the Mass Review, yet it is important to acknowledge just how formative he remained, and will remain, in the direction this magazine has taken. Early on, without any real training or experience in publishing, I desperately needed schooling,...

Our Rabbi

October 1, 2021 - By Lee Edwards

Jules was my rabbi, and I think he was the rabbi for many of those who came to his service at Wildwood Cemetery on September 27. He was our rabbi in the spiritual sense, in the police procedural, and in the parental sense. He looked after us. He counseled us. He shared his wisdom. He opened doors, and he watched our backs. He frowned upon our enemies.

He appeared to know or to have known everyone of any significance on the planet – James Baldwin, Chinua Achebe, Saul Bellow, Alfred Kazin, Leonard Baskin. He met Gregory Peck in the old House of Walsh; he recognized his voice and, of course, introduced himself. He thought that Gregory Peck was more than handsome enough to have been a movie star. He knew the Normans – Birnbaum, Podhoretz, Mailer. He liked to share his...