Blog / Working Titles Excerpts

The Quicksands of Toyne (Working Title 9.1)

October 20, 2024 - By Written and Illustrated by Michael Dahlie

A Death in Toyne

In the summer of 1974 I watched an elderly man drag a wooden deck chair onto the beach just north of Toyne. He was from the area, I’d seen him before, so I didn’t bother to warn him that the place where he finally chose to stop and sit was near a limestone shelf that made the tidal pools dangerous. Apparently there’d long been a problem with fluvial peat mixing in the water just east of the beach, and the sand could turn almost to mud as the tide came in.

It was not until two hours later, when I was returning to the cottage I’d been renting, that I realized that I ought to have said something to the man—someone I now know to be named Timothy Llewelyn. There were nearly fifteen men standing hand in hand, forming...

Coming Home (Working Titles 8.1)

September 22, 2023 - By Judith Filc

Routes
In Minima Moralia, Adorno reviles U.S. highways. They represent the irruption of capitalism in nature: “the more impressively smooth and broad they are, the more unrelated and violent their gleaming track appears against its wild, overgrown surroundings.” They are artificially devoid of marks—neither foot nor wheel can leave a trace on them, just as their manufacture is devoid of the impress of the hand. “It is as if no one had ever passed their hand over the landscape’s hair. It is uncomforted and comfortless.”

The highway as a landscape removed from human hands recalls the feeling of inaccessibility linked to the sense of foreignness and uprootedness. Does his refugee status color his view? And he’s not just...

Roe:Telling the Tale

October 20, 2022 - By Joyce Avrech Berkman

BEFORE MY HUSBAND, Len Berkman, and I married in September 1962, we spent the summer of that year in my hometown, San Jose, California. While working as a reporter for the Milpitas Post on the outskirts of San Jose, Lenny met Patricia Theresa “Pat” Maginnis. Pat offered night classes in English to poor and exploited Mexican farm workers, but she had another and related focus for her energies as well. In 1961, as a San Francisco medical technician, she founded the Society for Humane Abortion in California (SHA), the first organized movement in the United States to call for the repeal of all laws banning abortion. Previous resistance movements, grounded in the concept of therapeutic abortion, proposed to reform those laws by setting up medical review committees to review...

Torture (Working Title 7.1)

March 1, 2022 - By Jean Améry, translated by Emory Klann

WHOEVER VISITS BELGIUM as a tourist might happen upon Fort Breendonk, halfway between Brussels and Antwerp. The fortress was built during World War I. I don’t know what purpose it served then, but in the Second World War, during the short eighteen days of resistance by the Belgian Army in May of 1940, Breendonk was the last headquarters of King Leopold. Later, under German occupation, it became a kind of small concentration camp or, in the Rotwelsch of the Third Reich, a “reception camp.” Today it is a Belgian national museum.

At first glance, Fort Breendonk seems very old, almost as though it belonged to the remote past. Under the eternally gray and rainy skies of Flanders, its grassy domes and dark gray walls give it the look of a bleak engraving from the...

A Short Inquiry into the End of the World (Working Title 6.2)

September 11, 2021 - By David Stromberg

It looked like a regular day—all business as usual—but I knew that the world had come to an end. People went about their business as if nothing had happened. And I, too, did all the same things. I woke up in the same bed, went into the same shower, used the same soap. But I knew it was the end of days. And that, to understand how we got here, I had no choice but to investigate.

With everything destroyed, I couldn’t go outside, so I sat down at my desk and began with the only resource I had: my library. And since my only clue was the date of the apocalypse, September 11, 2021, I began by looking in the rubble of Art Spiegelman’s In the Shadow of No Towers.

I’d been in the audience, as a young gumshoe, when Spiegelman came to our college...