From the Student Project Interns
These fears—these monsters—have been a recurring theme in many of the submissions this year to Understory. Although we have all suffered different hardships during this pandemic, many of the creative works in this anthology have shown that while we may be apart, we are together in that we are all being haunted—by oppression, by our pasts, by our own minds, by who we really want to be.
As interns at Understory, our work includes careful review and selection of creative material to feature in this anthology. We never know what sort of material or themes will get submitted each year; we just know we want works that represent the undergraduate student body. Our hope is that we see poems, narratives, and stories that show readers who we are and that act as a time capsule for each year.
For months, we collected submissions and took personal notes on them before convening over a long conference call as we deliberated. We were left fascinated at the many ways a person can be haunted, and united with the student body as this theme seemed to connect us all—despite our physical campus still being little more than a ghost town.
Our first piece in this volume is a literal representation of the monster theme: Robert Gant’s poem, “Stone Heart,” which is a celebration of the monster in oneself—it is so practical and straightforward in its application that it seemed meant for opening the anthology. Gant wrote it as a sort of ode to his identity as an aromantic individual—a monster, he writes, is “one who deviates from normal or acceptable behavior.” As a society, we are working to change what defines “normal” and “acceptable,” which, in turn, sheds light on what and who have been seen as monsters in the past. It would seem that our society has entered into the space of the sublime—the threshold of becoming—and we are the witnesses.
While Gant puts a positive spin on deviating from expected norms, another author, Nari Ando, poses a different view, raising different questions, evoking punishment, shame, guilt. Feelings we instinctively hide from. It is interesting to observe young children; they often shamelessly display behaviors that, while innately human, most adults have learned to push into the unconscious. One of these behaviors is the use of scapegoats. When we behave badly, we often unconsciously employ a dual discourse of sorts: that wasn’t me—it was the monster inside of me. “The Man,” a poem by Nari Ando, is written from the perspective of an unreliable narrator—one who sees a man haunting him every night through his window. The reader knows it is only a reflection of himself, but it raises a potent question: aren’t we all our own unreliable narrators from time to time? In denial of what haunts us about ourselves? We see our reflections, the darkest parts of ourselves, and project them onto the being of the monster.
Aside from the monster that embodies our person, hauntings that surfaced in the creative submissions were those of grief and predation. Grief is a monster that haunts many of us on a daily basis, shapeshifting into the presence of an absence. This concept is beautifully illustrated in Elsa Snodderly’s “The Brown Rocking Chair.” When we lose someone close to us, it often leaves a gaping hole in our life where they used to be. Sometimes that absence goes away with time, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it stays and becomes the most daunting presence in the room.
Perhaps the most poignant piece this year—a bold, no-holds-barred address of true-to-life monsters—is an illustration by Donalen Bowers. “Mine” is both a portrayal of the damage caused by sexual violence, and a reclamation of the artist's autonomy. Sexual violence has unfortunately plagued humanity from the beginning of time, and if we ever want to see a change in its prevalence, we need these brave voices.
In addition to creative written works, there are research and scholarly papers from the Department of English, chosen by our UAA professors. Interestingly, many of the scholarly works fell neatly into the theme established on the creative side. Elsa Snodderly conducts a literature review on discussions and critiques surrounding Mary Shelley’s iconic Frankenstein’s monster, from her classic 19th-century Gothic novel; Peter Barela writes of his life, and of life in general, how it morphs and shape-shifts along with us—a monster in its own right—to mold us into our greatest selves; and Staci Gillilan explores a Platonic evaluation of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper,” in which she theorizes that the monsters and madness we create in our minds are sometimes our only avenue to freedom. These scholarly works are a wonderful testament to the excellence that has persevered in our studies despite quarantines, distance learning, and the general upheaval of society.
As interns, we also had the opportunity to choose student artwork for the front and back covers of Understory. This was a process which we took seriously, wanting an image that would convey the right message at the forefront of the anthology. Our front cover art this year is by Kristen Reynolds. Her photograph, “Frosty Sunrise,” is reminiscent of that first defense we learn in our youngest years—when all it took to vanquish a monster was to turn on the light.
Creating and compiling this year’s edition of Understory has been a deeply rewarding process, and we have remained dedicated to presenting the Department of English and our student body’s creative voice. We hope Understory portrays the important role writing has played for our student body while under exceptional stress; sending our voices out into the world has helped us stay connected and intellectually active as we work to understand others, ourselves, and our world. Writing matters.
We, the interns, are very proud to present Understory 2022, the Department of English’s annual anthology of achievement: reflecting who we are during these strange and extraordinary times.
Chelsea Kueser (Lead) Thomas Medo
Charlene Ducut Amy Smales
Rosalie Makar