The Summer Issue:
Emily Gould on Russian-American Writers,
PLUS: Coronating Medvedev, Color Photos From 1909, and Porn Star Academy 

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Letter from the Editor

 

 

…And so concludes our inaugural-year gimmick. To recap, each of our first four issues was “sponsored” by an individual Russian letter, featured throughout and emblazoned on the spine; shelved in sequence, our Vol. I spells out a four-letter word. Since we admittedly came up with this idea two letters in–П and Я were chosen purely for their visual flair–that word, absurdly enough, will now have to be пять, or five. Which leaves us Ь, the Soft Sign.

Talk about ending with a whimper. The Soft Sign is less than a whimper–it is, in fact, totally unpronounceable by itself. Synesthetically speaking, it’s a kind of translucent, odorless polish for rough consonants: its function in Russian is similar to the one the letter “g” carries before “l” and “n” in Italian. Nabokov wrote that it makes “t” sound a bit like “ts”; it also, for that matter, makes the “v” in Vladimir sound a bit like the “v” in Vera. It turns мат (obscenity) into мать (mother). It palatizes, and makes palatable. It soothes.

No words begin with the Soft Sign, so instead we’re adopting it as a kind of general principle for this issue. A year ago, our magazine debuted with a scathing review of Gary Shteyngart’s Absurdistan: an act akin to starting a cycling periodical with a takedown of Lance Armstrong.

This time, writer Emily Gould goes softer on Mr. Shteyngart in her overview of the suddenly crowded Russian-American lit scene. Our other subject, Dmitry Medvedev–Russia’s new presidential semi-appointee–began his victory lap by sounding some encouragingly liberal notes on, among other things, freedom of self-expression. Might this be a sort of soft sign in itself? Or just a soft-power one? Elsewhere, William F. Buckley softens his stand on a Khrushchev, and Julia Ioffe softens up to hard porn’s Elena Berkova.

With that, exeunt Letters From the Editor (pursued, naturally, by a bear). Thanks to each and every one of you for finding, and staying with, this mind-boggling experiment of a magazine in its first year.

Signing off softly,

Michael Idov

 

   
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