I recently subscribed to American Short Fiction and The Missouri Review. Both magazines struck me as the standard literary magazine: stories were character driven, built upon deep thoughts and descriptive tale-telling, achieved through the vivid pictures painted rather than the stories told. It was not the story – though these could be quite compelling, such as the one about Joseph Smith below – so much as how the story developed the protagonist.
The word I would use to describe American Short Fiction would be “edgy,” a feeling that seemed to permeate the whole magazine, even its matt finish. Covers featured interpretive art and photography, including odd themes such as two pair of hands exchanging a bloody knife and a little girl holding dead birds by the feet. The editors of American Short Fiction placed a great deal of importance on themes, as evidenced in the introductions: the Summer 2010 issue focused on “rights of passage” Fall 2010 issue focused on short fiction, including some interesting flash fiction. The content was deeply introspective. The Woolly Mammoth Carried Me Home had nothing to do with woolly mammoths and everything to do with coming of age while losing a parent to cancer – among other things, such as balloons, toy cars, and wiener dogs choking on the same. Diviner, on the other hand, followed the wooing of a country girl by Joseph Smith, as watched by her disapproving, but ultimately defeated father. In Madmen, the narrator did not like how the hands on paper doll streamers merged together. Field Trip drew many visual and ideal parallels between goats and people, ending with a stillborn kid goat.
I should think the audience of American Short Fiction would be deep thinkers and those who like to read challenging ideas. The concepts presented in Field Trip, for instance, were possibly open for interpretation, but were curious in a disturbing sense. The reader was presented with a strange billy goat with a blue tongue, who bred with the young ewes, one of which birthed a stillborn kid at the end of the story. Strange as this spectacle was, the teacher leading the school group of which the narrator was a member was herself pregnant, leading the reader to wonder what sort of message was being delivered. Similarly, the author of Madmen tackles the taboos of puberty in young girls, occasionally straying towards the graphic in a way that challenges accepted norms, contributing to the edgy, rough appeal.
The Missouri Review, on the other hand, while keeping a certain edge, seemed to favor works that were a little more straightforward and story-like. Covers hinted at adventure and more challenging themes, featuring photographs of risk-takers, artistic renditions of people turning flips out of trees and off of precarious chairs. Selection of materials in The Missouri Review was more varied, allowing for essays, fiction, and poetry, though each issue did have a somewhat focused theme, such as “life’s buffetings” or the “dark or destructive forces in human nature.” Content was also rather introspective, though narrative events had more place there. The Church at Yavi followed an ex-husband and wife as they relived their experiences with a rebellious daughter and visited the place of her death. I Think You Think I’m Still Funny depicted the stress a young man felt in the presence of his immature, stoner buddy from school. The poetry was very literary in that it was not easy for me to follow and was structured for those who wish to make sense of what they read, rather than have it presented in catchy rhythm. Happily, in between the melodramatic stories, the editors had the magnanimity to insert cartoons to lighten the mood.
With these things in mind, I envisioned the audience as being those people interested in human dramas on a leisure level. Stories were slow paced and the dramas unfolded at their own pace, giving the reader plenty of time to take everything in. It was interesting to watch the elderly couple traverse the South American countryside in a seemingly vain attempt to solve their daughter’s death (they didn’t) and though it was hard to tell if the narrator changed in any way, as is the usual formula for a story with beginning, middle, and end, his character was certainly developed along en rout. Similarly with I’m Still Funny, the main character’s personality did not really develop so much as get revealed through his interactions with the rather static antagonist/best friend. Both examples depicted characters in a progressing setting, rather than a linear story with a plot, but within each of these stories the drama unfolded to reveal the characters in their entirety.
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