Joshua Dickinson

Introduction

We live in a culture of motion where many individuals are either in exile or waiting just to “get out.” Leaving and returning matter to us. “The North Country . . . what is it to you?” Seen from different angles, this could be a question, an answer, a challenge, or none of those. We typically switch towns, majors, careers, and even partners with dizzying frequency. In this jumble, where is the calculus to track our origins? What bounds exist to separate or link people? What might we share? In my experience, these questions are increasingly difficult—and vital—to discuss.

Because place has always figured how I identify myself, I sometimes assume that everyone spends time pondering it. To make these abstract ideas at least seem more concrete, in classes I ask students strange-seeming questions. “What are the physical boundaries of the North Country?” and “What film may I refer to which everyone in class has seen?” are my favorites. Answers test boundaries and shared experiences, so they are major hassles to answer. Yet it is vital that we give, take, and talk about what makes us who we are. Most likely, we are not as similar in 2008 as we may have been in, say, 2000. Perhaps this makes for the best art. What cause for celebration!

Artists in this year’s Black River Review take up the boundaries of time and place in witty, irreverent fashion. Mindi McMains’ comedic short story “Dialogue” shows how a lunchtime conversation at the mall can turn deadly. Maria Sacca’s drawings check the differences between appearance and reality. Kenyon Wells’ poem “Dreaming of Virginia Woolf” confronts us with the inner life of the English author, while Chris Parker’s fascinating marker drawing “Bull Leaper” takes us to ancient Crete. The ways time and place matter catch everyone on the horns of a dilemma: We are invited to respond on our terms, theirs, or with some rich mixture of each. (Perhaps it is a “trilemma,” then. Ouch!) Enjoy.

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