Friday, January 29, 2010

On the other hand...

I am, indeed, delighted about the R&R. But--oddly enough, sort of--I also heard today about that article that was accepted to Very Good Journal more than two years ago, the publication of which (due to a backlog) was likely to conflict with the book's publication. If you recall, there was some talk by the editor of pushing up the publication date, but with a "why bother?" kind of subtext. Not even a subtext. A supratext, if you will. By which I mean that this message was pretty openly declared.

So I wrote to the editor today, not having heard back following my response (this was before I heard from Trifecta Journal--hence the coincidence), and the situation has been decided, and not in my favor. In short, Article Accepted More Than Two Years Ago will not be published, but I am invited to submit new work.

(Of course, I'd like to see that backlog dealt with first.)

Okay, there's nothing I can do here, and my disappointment is not tragic. I shall finesse my CV to accurately reflect the situation in such a way that does credit to Truth and Ambition, both. And the world keeps spinning. Yep.

Disappointed, though. But the situation is beyond my control; what can you do, eh.

Besides, everything pales beside this:

[The scene: Bazarov has unexpectedly left his parents, Vasily Ivanovich and Arina Vlasevna, at the end of a three-day visit, following a three-year absence. Bazarov is a bit of a jerk, but his parents adore him, as parents do. Vasily Ivanovich has ceased his cheerful waving from the back porch and sat down, allowing his head to droop down to his chest.]
Then Arina Vlasevna went up close to him and, leaning her grey head against his grey head, said:

"There's nothing for it, Vasya! Our son's cut off from us. He's a falcon, like a falcon he wanted to come and he flew here, then he wanted away and he flew away. But you and I, we're just a couple of old mushrooms, we are, stuck in the hollow of a tree, sitting side by side and never moving. Except that I'll always remain the same for you for ever and ever, just as you will for me."

Vasily Ivanovich took his hands away from his face and suddenly embraced his wife, his true friend, more tightly even than he'd been used to embrace her in his youth, for she had comforted him in his misery.*
Tears, people. Tears. (Especially if you know what happens to Bazarov.)

*Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, trans. Richard Freeborn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 136.

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