Provenance

 

The Plentitudes has been one of my favorite venues, since I was first published by them.  Their format is attractive and their philosophy congenial:  “The Plentitudes is an international literary journal showcasing captivating fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from diverse voices.  We believe in the power of writing—in its plentitudes of forms, styles, and modes of exploration—to move the spirit, shift the gaze, and offer new perspectives.  Founded in New York City in 2020, we are truly global:  our editors, reading board members, and contributors (and their stories) represent an international and multicultural blend.  Our editorial team carefully curates each issue to bring our philosophy to the page and to our avid readers. We are most excited by works that approach the human condition from a mix of critical and creative approaches and we support exigent narratives and counternarratives.  We aim to amplify emerging voices and add to the growing diversity and vibrancy of the literary community.”

 

I’ve had a third story published there, this summer, one originally written with a “body politic” theme in mind.  In this case the body is one of an archaeologist suffering from arthritis, the politics those of an Italian patriarch claiming to be of the Medici family.  The two clash, naturally, when the past is unearthed and the present left substantially unsettled.

 

The archaeologist, Juliana, finds momentary solace in the music her baritone friend and lover (also uncertain) offers on a brief visit:

“As dusk came on, he stood beside her small piano (spruce from Italy’s eastern Alps) and sang Macbeth’s aria, ‘Pietà, rispetto, amore’—sad and heavy as the ancient hills, full of regret and terrible longing.  Juliana sat by the window wrapped in cotton folds and listened to Verdi’s music.  She loved that aria, loved Renzo’s voice—like salted caramel, like sage, like gilded capitals in books of hours illustrated in some sacred dim-lit space by gentle monks.  Reverent and powerful.”

 

This story is related through Juliana and its setting in Tuscany to one of the first stories I had published, back in Spring 2019 in The Wild Word, “She Who Hesitates.”  This isn’t technically a sequel, but there are some continuations and resonances.

 

 

image:  Ekaterina Astakhova, Pexels