Ready to dive into unchartered waters? Then read Lena Hegemann’s graphic coming-of-age story, “Calm as the Ocean.” Her beautifully designed narrative takes us on a trip to New Zealand – on a trip that turns out to be one of self-discovery.
“East German construction workers building the Berlin Wall.” Photo Credit: National Archives
“It’s August 13, 1961 – the day East Berlin starts building the wall,” my grandma remembers.
“On Sunday night, August 13, Walter Ulbricht, East German head of state, issues an order to close the Berlin border. Police forces put up barbed wire fences. Within one day, West Berlin became an island in the sea of communism. Trains do not run anymore, and West and East Berliners stand shocked on opposite sides of the border.
I hear about it at Moabit hospital, where I just gave birth to my first child on August 9. I remember being afraid of a new war and feeling helpless in the hospital, alone with my child, barely 20 years old. Also, we’re separated from our family. My grandparents lived in the Russian sector after the war, just ten minutes from where we lived in the American sector. My husband had fled to West Berlin from Rostock in the East to marry me. His parents, grandparents, sister, and other relatives still live there. I feel so helpless and yearn for my family. The future seems so unsure.”
I’m named after my grandfathers: Johann and Juan. My name is Johanna. Throughout my life, I’ve met many Johannas. At my university alone, I know nearly a dozen. It’s led to funny and to confusing situations, but it’s always been something to connect over. On their own, my names are nothing to brag about: Johanna. Gabriela. Hernández. Schäfer. Johanna and Schäfer are common names in Germany, Gabriela and Hernández are typical Peruvian names. Only together are they special. Only together are they me. But – had I been born 50 minutes earlier, my name might have been Paula (find out why at the end of the poem).
Anyone can write free verse – or so the saying goes. Free verse poems are free from limitations of meter, rhythm, or rhyme – all aspects that sometimes cause grief to creative writing students. Most of my students are happy if, for once, they are free to follow their own ideas without having to pay attention to what many perceive as the artificiality of traditional rhymed and metered poetry. However, even free verse poems are not void of artistic expression.
New Year’s Eve is practically upon us once again. Do you always feel guilty for being lazy and not ‘having fun’ on all the ‘important’ occasions? If so, then instead of cursing yourself or the universe for your loneliness, you can choose to be at peace. Instead of scrolling through the Instagram feeds of your friends, you can scroll through your own life history. Here is a recipe that will make the night one to remember, even if you’re all alone:
James Joyce statue, Earl Street North, Dublin https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:James_Joyce_statue,_Dublin_1998.jpg
What does the novel Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce (1882–1941) have to do with American Studies? The answer is simple: Bloomsday is an annual literary festival celebrated in many U.S. cities, around the globe, and particularly in Dublin, the setting of the novel. The event is named for one of the novel’s protagonists, Leopold Bloom. The novel takes place on June 16, 1904, the day that James Joyce met his later wife, Nora Barnacle. Celebration activities include dressing up in period costumes, readings, theater performances, film screenings, and art exhibits associated with the novel and Joyce’s writings and life. The liveliness of the festivals testifies to the fun of reading Ulysses, especially if it’s read aloud. The novel is often mistakenly described as inscrutable for the average reader, but it is perhaps more accurately described as surprisingly readable.
In honor of Bloomsday, I’ve imagined a tongue-in-cheek letter of condolence from Milly Bloom, now fifty-two, but at the time of the novel the fifteen-year-old daughter of Leopold Bloom and his wife, Molly, to Mrs. Joyce (born Nora Barnacle). The letter is dated 1941, nineteen years following the novel’s publication and thirty-seven years following that famous day in Dublin in 1904.