The Looking Glass Anthology: Volume One

By The Looking Glass Anthologies

The Looking Glass Anthology: Volume One is the first edition of the first book published by the only creative writing society at the University of York. Containing a cornucopia of poetry, drama and fiction from some of the most cutting-edge writers today, this is an essential read for anyone who's ever liked reading, ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Looking Glass Anthologies
• Release date: Oct 23, 2010

The Looking Glass Anthologies

The Looking Glass is a creative writing society at the University of York in the United Kingdom. We are completely student-led, and our primary aim is to produce one completely badass anthology of poetry, drama and fiction each year.

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The Looking Glass Anthology: Volume One

by students at the University of York

Published by The Looking Glass Anthologies at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 All respective authors.

Originally published in print, June 2010.

www.thelookingglass.org.uk

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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The Looking Glass

Volume 1

2010

A literary anthology written and edited by students at The Department of English and Related Literature of The University of York

Contents

Introduction

Logging by Jesse Garrick

Sugar Syrup by Catherine Bennett

A Short Treatise Concerning the Proper Care and Ownership of a Moustache by Gus Beamish-Cook

Revelry by Katie Williams

Six by Emily E K Murdoch

I Cup My Compact Like You by Catherine Bennett

Time and Punishment by Chris Brent

Half a Conversation by Gus Beamish-Cook

Identity by Marnie Richards

A River (from a Letter) by Jesse Garrick

Climate Change by Catherine Bennett

Dyslexics of the World Yew Knight by Richard Lemmer

Lebkuchen by Robin James Ganderton

Do You Have the Time? by Emily Hodges

Cherries by Nicola Byrne

The Teapot of Forgiveness by Sally Barnden

Deer Skull by Catherine Bennett

Running by Michael Tansini

Antique African Head by Jo Vaizey

A Day in the Life of a Multi-Touch Sensor by Christopher J. Fraser

See You Next Tuesday by Richard Lemmer

Egypt by Jo Vaizey

You Have to Understand Rhetoric by Richard Lemmer

Introduction

On the 3rd of November 2009, I stood at the front of a lecture hall packed with well over 100 students. I’d brought just three bags of crisps to feed them all with.

A week before I had sent out an e-mail asking if anyone would like to join me in creating an anthology of literature written by students in the department. I expected five or six responses – I received 153.

Standing there in front of the expectant crowd, I realised that I had absolutely no idea how to create an anthology of student literature – fortunately, they did.

Over the course of the past two terms, that crowd dwindled to 27 hardworking, dedicated individuals. During that time, we’ve accomplished a considerable amount. We’ve run workshops on creative writing, organised a successful fundraiser, read literally hundreds of short stories and poems, and, of course, created this anthology.

To do so, every week we’ve set aside an hour to gather and discuss the texts we’ve received. If a text shows promise then our editors will get in contact with the author and work with them on it. If we don’t think it’s right for our anthology then we’ll offer to send the author detailed feedback on it.

In addition to the editorial department, we have a strong design team, whose creativity and dedication has been demonstrated through our numerous posters and banners, whilst our events and publicity departments do everything from organising parties to arranging articles in the University media.

I’d like to extend a special thanks to David Attwell for providing us with the funds to make this anthology possible, and to Chris Reardon from the English Society for being both friendly and understanding. I’d also like to thank Tom Bryan for giving me the confidence to get this project started.

Of course, the most important thanks should go to our authors, without whose work this would never have been possible. It’s incredibly brave to expose your work to the criticism of your peers, and we hope that bravery has paid off.

With that said, I hope you enjoy our first edition!

David Zendle, Editor-in-Chief

Logging

Jesse Garrick

Carved like the lash of a whip on its back—is a clearing, still tender and gleaming. An islet in green seas, lapped at the fringe by blackened palm fronds and brittle ferns; the delicate wings of some fettered bird, in some cold hour of a dark mourning.

The quick start of a vibrant engine drowns the hum of the cicada’s chorus, as a plume of bright macaws breaks through the upper canopy. They soar to a clay-lick and peck at its belly, as though heaven might be hidden, to be reached by digging.

I watch loggers hew a profit from slender trunks of teak, attentive like soldiers at the sharp teeth of an acute machine. The trees are grown in rows, just as their fate is determined, on a ridge between two facts: a single seed and a felling.

Sugar Syrup

Catherine Bennett

It took us a month to make the sugar syrup.

We kept getting it wrong and pouring it down the drain,

creating a horizon of icicle-sweet stalactites in the underground

caverns of our plumbing.

We took turns at drinking it and pouring it over

ourselves, watching in wonder as it solidified into a crystal

covering. If we dipped our hands in the vat, we had

saccharine gloves that sparkled. If we traced our lips

indulgently with our

whitened fingers, we had lips that had been kissed by snow.

We’d clench our knuckles, and crack

the sugar coating, flaking the kitchen with drops of sucrose

that melted on the tongue. It was like the wax from a candle

and the way it looks when you slowly drip it onto your hand,

scalding and tempting,

and then snap your fingers with satisfaction,

chipping the hardened waxy layer, enjoying

the break of cool air onto red skin. Except

for this syrupy mixture cooled instantly,

and glinted dimly and humbly

like old jewellery over our palms.

A Short Treatise Concerning the Proper Care and Ownership of a Moustache

Gus Beamish-Cook

This is it, I tell you. All my doing is done. It’s hard even to be tired now, when all of me has run away, been poured down fingers over sticky keys and never knowing why.

Every day, hunch-huddled over, ink tapping itself onto the page, words leaking like blood, and each day the last. But just as always, I will type it out, chatter in spitting metallic toothings into the voiding paper-flesh.

One day, I bought a typewriter. That was the first mistake and I take full blame. I filled it with paper and then I filled the paper with all sorts of things. But it was never enough. The typewriter would always be hungry. Just as it would finish the last of whatever I had prepared for it, a new title would appear: A Study of Contamination in Pine River Watershed, Michigan’, ‘The Diary of