Michelle Kay

Les Kay

Editor's Note

Welcome to the fourth and final issue of Ward 6 Review for 2006. In this issue, we finally live up to the "review" portion of our name with a brief look at recent volumes by two Irish poets, and once again offer up the finest poetry and fiction we could find.

As the end of the year nears, like many of you, I am currently scrambling to finish my holiday shopping in the most expedient and painless way possible. For me, this usually entails spending copious amounts of money at Amazon, purchasing books for nearly everyone I know or sauntering over to a large used bookstore in search of gently used books for my friends. Plus, I can frequently find several used copies of J.D. Slinger's Franny and Zooey—my favorite book.

For several years now, anytime I enter a used book store, I purchase any and every copy of Salinger's two novellas they have in stock. By now, all of my friends have received one of the copies along with a long-winded soliloquy about why Franny and Zooey is the best writing Salinger has ever done. I have given it as a birthday present, Christmas present, anniversary present, going away present, and even, once, as a break-up present.

*****

Currently, I am reading Stephen King's newest novel, Lisey's Story. In an early chapter of the novel, the title character relates a story about a groundbreaking ceremony for a library at which her husband, the late, great National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize winning writer Scott Landon, once presided. In his speech, Landon dedicates each shovel of earth to a noted writer. He then dedicates the final shovelful to "your first good book."

Perhaps he means your favorite book or the first book that ever kept you up all night and your mind whirling with breathless possibility. Perhaps he means the book you return to again and again, year after year, like a ritual—the books you have to replace because not even duct tape will hold the pages together anymore. Or perhaps he means the book that is most like your oldest friend, the one you go to for comfort, for a taste of familiarity when the world feels dark and impossibly strange. Or perhaps he means that as yet unfinished book that will line up alongside the spines of those great English-language authors.

Regardless, for the holidays this year, consider giving someone you love a copy of your first good book, your Franny and Zooey. They may love it; they may hate it, but you will truly be giving them a window into your own experience, a small piece of yourself.

Perhaps, in addition, you can send them a link to Ward 6 Review, a small note about James R. Whitley's marvelous litany "Let Their Be a Purple Heaven", Dorianne Laux's sonorous "Incident with a Kiwi", or Ron Burch's short story "The Equilibrist"—all of which reminded us, in small ways, of those first good books. Or, if your feeling generous, pass on more free literature by pointing them to our archives where you can find all of the work we've published including the six pieces we've nominated for Pushcart Prizes:

"Against Metaphor" by Maurice Kilwein Guevera, from Volume 1, Issue 1
"Agent's Guide" by Claudia Grinnell, from Volume 1, Issue 2
"Romance" by Timothy Liu, from Volume 1, Issue 2
"Watching" by Dzivinia Orlowsky, from Volume 1, Issue 3
"Closing Costs" by Jim Daniels, from Volume 1, Issue 2
"Katie Summers, Late September, Chicago, 1998" by Jack Helbig, from Volume 1, Issue 2

And if you’re feeling particularly generous and wondering what we’d like for Christmas, it's simple. Send us beautiful work. We want the kind of stories that light up your mind like Christmas lights on a cold night, the kind of artful nonfiction that transforms the quotidian momentum of our lives into something beautiful, something marvelous, something utterly ineffable, which is somehow captured with the precise turn of a well-crafted phrase. That, after all, is what makes us happy and why we're happy to present you with this final issue of 2006.

Enjoy. Happy Holidays.

P.S.: If you're curious about the cover art for this issue, that's our dog Dixie, in a photo taken by my sister, Susan Hall. My husband, not surprisingly, then photoshopped the photo beyond recognition. Next month, we'll have work from an artist who is not related to either editor.