Editor's Note
As I write these words, there's a 400-acre wildfire burning a mile away from my home. Yesterday I watched the flames—not beautiful exactly, but fascinating, terrifying—rise in waves, hot and orange along the skyline. I checked each news source repeatedly, debated what to pack, filled and emptied suitcases, until late at night when I careened into bed, slept like a cat, and startled awake again at dawn. This morning I was surprised to find myself in my very own bedroom, my home still standing. I promised myself I'd practice being present.
While throttled by fear yesterday, I couldn't help but think of the folx who live their entire lives in imminent danger, the way fear grinds the body down, and I was reminded that this wildfire is not going to kill me or anyone I love; "It's just stuff" is my current mantra.
Meanwhile, there are different wildfires burning in Texas, Afghanistan, in school board meetings across the U.S., and in lit twit, too, and it's difficult not to feel as hopeless about these battles as I feel about the future of California. I work in a school library, though, and one of the questions I ask the children after I've closed a picture book is this: Is this story a window or a mirror? Do you see yourself in this character? Or do you understand another person better? While studies show that reading makes us more empathetic to others, other studies show that empathy maybe isn't such a great thing after all.
I don't know. I wouldn't want to imagine a world where there was no empathy, but are there other possibilities to what words can do? I believe so, and I believe that this issue of West Trestle Review is a testament to that belief. In these pages, you'll find the bright, joyful artwork of Rina Patel and words by nicole v. basta, Kim Jacobs-Beck, Jeni De La O, Kevin Serrano Echevarría, Emily Franklin, JGeorge, Mónica Gomery, Dana Kinsey, Veronica Kornberg, Emma Miao, Fia Montero, Precious Musa, Ronda Broatch Piszk, Margaret Stetz, and Rrashima Swaarup Verma. Are these words windows? Are they mirrors? Do they have power? What do we mean by power? Do words reach anyone outside the circle of people who write them?
Once we were all outside this circle. We watched the fires burn, watched the sky balloon dark with smoke, and then someone's words pulled us into another world, offered us a cup of tea, and told us we were home.
Read on, friends.
Patricia Caspers
Founding Editor
While throttled by fear yesterday, I couldn't help but think of the folx who live their entire lives in imminent danger, the way fear grinds the body down, and I was reminded that this wildfire is not going to kill me or anyone I love; "It's just stuff" is my current mantra.
Meanwhile, there are different wildfires burning in Texas, Afghanistan, in school board meetings across the U.S., and in lit twit, too, and it's difficult not to feel as hopeless about these battles as I feel about the future of California. I work in a school library, though, and one of the questions I ask the children after I've closed a picture book is this: Is this story a window or a mirror? Do you see yourself in this character? Or do you understand another person better? While studies show that reading makes us more empathetic to others, other studies show that empathy maybe isn't such a great thing after all.
I don't know. I wouldn't want to imagine a world where there was no empathy, but are there other possibilities to what words can do? I believe so, and I believe that this issue of West Trestle Review is a testament to that belief. In these pages, you'll find the bright, joyful artwork of Rina Patel and words by nicole v. basta, Kim Jacobs-Beck, Jeni De La O, Kevin Serrano Echevarría, Emily Franklin, JGeorge, Mónica Gomery, Dana Kinsey, Veronica Kornberg, Emma Miao, Fia Montero, Precious Musa, Ronda Broatch Piszk, Margaret Stetz, and Rrashima Swaarup Verma. Are these words windows? Are they mirrors? Do they have power? What do we mean by power? Do words reach anyone outside the circle of people who write them?
Once we were all outside this circle. We watched the fires burn, watched the sky balloon dark with smoke, and then someone's words pulled us into another world, offered us a cup of tea, and told us we were home.
Read on, friends.
Patricia Caspers
Founding Editor
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