A Home for Experimental Prose

Versal is published annually by wordsinhere, a literary organization based in Amsterdam. It features poetry, prose, and art by writers and artists from around the world—in the eighth issue's editor's note, Megan M. Garr writes, “We are all translocal, now. We can't help but be. What is local and global in a given experience is becoming more and more difficult to discern. Who is left untouched by the world?” And indeed, the concept of translocality—that is, moving beyond “geography and language, culture and alienation” to a place of shared interest and understanding—is  evident throughout this issue of Versal.

The publication avoids categorizing itself or its pieces, containing experimental, introspective writing with distinct voices. The design is simple, but highly effective: the pages are large, with bold, clear names and titles, and each art piece has its own full page. The magazine is very readable, and it's easy to either sit down and take in the whole thing or leaf through and absorb it piece by piece.

Versal's prose is both horrifying and achingly beautiful, exploring important topics in fantastic new ways. Stacy Elaine Dacheux's “The Sociology of Containers” features two girls stuck inside an 800-square foot Plexiglas cube, set up “amidst the decay of downtown Los Angeles.” They are visited daily by their mothers, who dream of “astronauts and alternative life forces” and have kitchens that remain drenched in 1970s olive green.

The girls spend most of their time chatting as their “skin crisps, browns, peels, burns, and tenders over again, as we...distinguish the length of our own shadows.” This piece explores the idea of protecting our youth from real-life horrors, such as those the girls' brothers face while fighting in Iraq, and shows that too much protection can harm them more than the horrors themselves.

One of my favorite stories was “Campfire Yarn” by Elizabeth O'Brien, which features a shy, quiet boy named Ray who builds a machine out of random household items. The writing itself is simple and drawling, part science fiction and part southern gothic, and I could not stop reading.

Ray is curious youngster, silent but happy, who takes “the bobbins, the buttons, the nails, the bedspring,” among other myriad parts, and ferociously—obsessively, even—builds a flying contraption that everyone in his small town will remember forever. But somehow, this inventive journey does not change Ray in the slightest.

Another notable selection of prose is June Melby's series of three: “A Whale Goes to Heaven,” “In Soup,” and “In the Future.” These pieces are refreshing and unique, if a touch abstract.

Favorite lines:

“Whale”: “God caressed the nose of the whale and God's hand was not like the skin of the whale's mother, and secretly, the whale resented the fact that the touch felt so good, but touch is touch, and in the life of a whale, crossing the vast open waters, there were scant occasions of this kind of affection.”

“Soup”: “I was swimming with carrots somehow. Hiding under springs of onion. Chicken between toes like extra toes. My hair was adorned all the time with celery.”

“Future”: “In the future, all the nouns I use will be symbols for intercourse. … The phrase 'carting a dead horse about the streets' will mean 'if she orgasms one more time she may die.'”

Unfortunately, there are some pieces that are so experimental that they are difficult to process. One such story was Laura Mullen's “Spectrograms,” so random that to me it was downright nonsensical. Another was “Here is a Photograph of the City” by Colleen Hollister, a series of letters with no addressee. This one was enjoyable, though I felt it lacked any discernible plot or a real hook to draw the reader in.

I tend to err toward fiction in my literary wanderings, but Versal's poetry left even me feeling fulfilled. My absolute favorite poem was “Schrödinger's Cat” by Laurie Junkins, which hilariously details the title feline's hijinks before “finding itself simultaneously alive and dead / in a box, while Schrödinger himself / reads the newspaper in his polished leather chair, / humming a German folk tune and smiling.” This piece is a must-read for people like me, who love both great writing and kitty antics.