Author: Rebecca Entel

by Hannah Kalbrener ’26

I attended the “Venetian Mosaics: Festivity and Fracture in Two Productions of The Merchant of Venice in the City of Astraea” Humanities Arts Interest Group (HAIG) event given by Dr. Stavreva and Dr. Sokolova. I’m an English major at Cornell and part of the reason I chose to go to this event was because it was being given by my advisor, Dr. Stavreva.

It was an interesting presentation where they talked about The Merchant of Venice, a play by Shakespeare. One Production of the play, which has Jewish characters and antisemitic sentiments woven throughout, was created by Max Reinhardt, a Jewish man, in the 1930s. It was performed alongside a canal and gondola repair shop bringing to the forefront of the play the venetian landscape and culture and discussing the relationships between Venice, the city of Astraea, Jewish people, and The Merchant of Venice. The other production they looked at was performed around 2016 in the square of a Jewish ghetto in Venice. The ghetto in question no longer has any Jewish residents and the play used its location to educate people about Judaism. It also had the unique effect of layering the audience: you had not just the main audience watching the play, but also the residents, for whom the performance became a part of their daily lives, watching the play and the audience at their leisure.

The same day that I attended Venetian Mosaics, I also did a reading—“The Sexual Politics of Textual Transmission” by Valerie Wayne—for the class I was taking, The Global Eighteenth Century, taught by Professor Sagal. The text looked at the women present in both the process of editing texts to be printed as well as the women present in the writings themselves, the erasure of the role they played as well as that of the literary importance they held. It struck me and informed and colored my interpretation of the presentation.

Dr. Stavreva and Dr. Sokolova’s wealth of knowledge on the two productions of The Merchant of Venice, along with the interaction between the producers of those productions and the original production by Shakespeare, were transformed for me into a form of and way of looking at literary citizenship. The presentation specifically focused on how the producers and creators of these specific productions of the play made their decisions about how characters would be dressed, the location of the performance, the props and set design, the seating of the audience, and how all these things were informed by cultural, societal, and political circumstances. We don’t necessarily think about all the work and choices that have gone into the making of something like a play or a book, but their role is vital in how the story is informed by these choices and how the audience will perceive the story.

To me, these things inform my idea of literary citizenship because of the editing process that happens in the production of a play, and in the inherent dialogue between audience and performer. The idea of editing as literary citizenship is, although unnamed, quite present in the article I read; Wayne discusses the way that the scholarly editing of a text is informed by the editor’s beliefs, culture, and societal role and can be politically motivated. She specifically talks about The Tempest, where a man finds himself on an island inhabited by a man and his daughter. The excerpt of the play Wayne shares is this:

Let me live here ever!

So rare a wondered father and a wise

Makes this place paradise!

The leading man is here talking about his marriage to the daughter. Wayne interrogates the editing of this play throughout the history of its written form. Specifically this set of lines

because there has been much contention about whether the word choice was originally “wise” or “wife.”

In the late 18th to early 19th centuries, the long s was used in place of the lowercase s and looked like an f. For this reason the true identity of the word in this play is unknown because if it were an f, and as Jeanne Addison Roberts posits, the crossbar may have been broken by continual use. The interest here, for me and for Wayne, however, is less in the truth and more in which word an editor decides to print because this choice changes the sense of the excerpt radically.

If the chosen word is wise, then the groom is excited not by his new wife but by his new connection to his father-in-law, and this male-bond is what “makes this place a paradise.” But if the word is wife, then the groom expresses his joy for both his new wife and his new relationship with his father-in-law and both of these things are what make paradise. One version centers completely on the bonding of these two men and completely erases the woman in the situation. The other places the wife and male-bond on the same level. Which word is chosen by the editor in this instance changes the character, the moral, and the ending of the play.

I think this is great example of the necessity of literary citizenship and understanding it, because the choices you make—whether they’re the stories you write, the books you choose to analyze, the articles you read and cite, or the events you go to—have repercussions not only on minority groups (the erasure of women’s work in the publishing industry and the erasure of women in print, and that of people of color, of queer people, or disabled people), but also on the general knowledge of everyone. This is because the editors, the publishers, the scholars make the decisions of what is “canonized”: what is good writing, what is necessary for students to be taught.

If literary citizenship means taking an active role in, and understanding of, the literary world in all its facets and issues, then understanding and/or taking a role in the new production of plays, the editing of texts, and the analysis of these things (which I would say includes public book talks and readings) is key to being a good literary citizen. We must understand and recognize the frames and devices we view stories through because they inform our interpretations of them.

by Hannah Kalbrener ’26

I decided to watch a Prairie Lights Bookstore reading/book talk. It was given by Heather Gudenkauf from her book, Everyone is Watching.

I think a really important part of live readings and discussions is that the author is introduced by the main host of the event, partly because it lends credibility and smooths the transition between speakers. And of course most places and events do that, but that doesn’t make it less important. I think it’s especially important when the talk has been taken out of its original context and may be watched as a video on youtube (as the Prairie Lights Bookstore reading I watched was). Because it acts as the cover of a book almost, letting you get acclimated to the situation. Without it, you’re left unfocused and untethered and it’s all up to the main speaker to draw you back in. This makes the introduction a necessary apparatus through which we view the main speaker and their talk. It also enforces the community aspect of a reading or talk by immersing you and creating a conversation between the host and the speakers.

During the introduction of Gudenkauf, they said she was someone who had read for Prairie lights Bookstore events many times in the past and also been an audience member. I think this is an excellent example of Literary Citizenship because it shows the community of authors and readers and how they overlap. How the group comes together to support an author and the author supports others in turn. A reader may not be a writer but a writer is always a reader, writing well necessitates the reading of other’s work. You can’t write in a vacuum and I think embracing this fact and writing in the company of all the traditions and people who came before you is exemplified in the fact that we have public readings and talks from writers.

This reading was specifically meant to be casual, as Gudenkauf says early on. This is another important aspect of the frames we see things the book talks or discussions through: how they’re presented. The casualness or formality of an event affects how the viewer perceives its contents just as the host’s introduction does. Because this talk was casual, Gudenkauf was able to share anecdotes and talk more familiarly, as well as talk directly with audience members. The amount of formality in an event lends itself to different goals. A more formal event can be better at lending credibility to the author/speaker where a less formal event might be better at creating a connection between author/speaker and audience. Because these things can affect our interpretations, I think to be good literary citizens (if a literary citizen can be categorized in such a way) we should try to be aware of the frameworks we view literary things through.

by Aria DeLara ’25

Hello! My name is Aria DeLara. I’m a Creative Writing Major, 1st chair cello of the Cornell Orchestra, consultant at the Dungy Writing Studio, RA, Print Publicist of SLAB Literary Arts Board, and Treasurer of BOOM, which is another magazine here on campus. It’s a long list, I know, but most Cornellians find themselves involved in multiple clubs by their second year.

When Professor Rebecca Entel sent out her monthly event schedule of English Department related events (an email thread I would encourage every student to sign up for), I found myself intrigued by the announcement of a Cleaver Magazine Virtual Reading. The event took place on Sunday, April 21st over Zoom. Its premise was simple and wonderful: to celebrate the release of their 45th Spring Issue being published, Cleaver Magazine would host an online reading of some of their published authors’ works. Not only was it an amazing chance to allow the authors to share their submissions with their peers through their own spoken words, but it was also a delightful interactive space for observers to sit amongst published authors and foster access to the larger creative community.

The works ranged from poetry-like short stories about childhood, to non-fiction, to flash pieces. One of the pieces was even a work by Professor Rebecca Entel herself, which was wonderful to listen to. Some of my favorite readings of the night were Katie Tonellato’s Baby, Sweetheart, Honey, and Federico Escobar’s Angela, which are both available to read on the Cleaver Magazine website. I loved how both authors’ facial expressions and vocal tones changed so drastically as they read, seeming to stretch and cut, shifting between sharp staccatos and drawn-out syllables. Being in my room, huddled in a quiet space, I was able to absorb the author’s own voices, then compare the readings to the actual magazine publications later that night.

The experience reminds me of other authorial readings I have attended, including the more recent Erica Lewis reading, but also the open-mic nights that Cornell’s own Lyrically Inclined hosts for student poets to read their works. Most of the similarity I notice comes from the perspective of being an audience member, someone in the crowd amongst other audience-poets, where the reading of a line is accompanied by snaps, whistles, and hums. In the case of this Cleaver Magazine reading, those affirmations and acknowledgements are substituted by the medium of Zoom, becoming emojis and quotations shared in the chat to show appreciation for the art form.

Currently, I am applying for internships in publishing as well as media advertising, so witnessing such a variety of published works as well as the physical diversity of publishing authors was inspiring to me. I found myself moved by the sheer variety of topics these authors were able to share, and aspire to reflect some of that uniqueness in my own writing as both a poet, and a short story author. Whether I continue forward as a reader, or make my way into the world of publishing my own works, I will always be grateful for the chance to take part in these spaces. As the year draws to a close, I’m tying up all my loose ends here at Cornell, and I’m glad that this reading was one of my final, quiet, Sophomore nights.

by Kylie Berry ’26

As an English Creative Writing major that is a Poetry Editor and writer for Open Field, I know how hard it is to actually sit down and write sometimes. That’s why generative poetry and prose workshops are extremely helpful for writers—they get you to sit down and create.

            On February 12th, BOOM Literary Magazine and Professor Sagal hosted a blackout poetry workshop in Zamora’s Lounge. For the workshop, we were given a plethora of magazines ranging from science articles to art, and some excerpts of popular poetry. While the event was for blackout poetry, a few of us also did collage poetry. For my collage poetry, my options were limited to science magazines. While it was challenging to only use formal scientific writing, I was able to produce some (at times nonsensical, but nevertheless interesting) phrases that I never would have thought of if I had used a magazine of another subject.

            Personally, this workshop was a good creative experience for me in looking at word choice. I always love learning new and unfamiliar words, because I like to use them to inspire and incorporate into my poetry. This event reminded me of the importance of exploring language—and though I found it really hard to create new meaning from the words that differed enough from the written text at times in the blackout poetry, it was still a useful exercise for viewing new perspectives in language and its composition. I think what makes blackout poetry and word collages so useful is their restriction; it forced me to create new meanings from a predetermined collection of words. Despite the restriction of blackout poetry, there is also structure, making it a great tool for people with writer’s block.

            Some events I’m looking forward to attending this semester are more BOOM meetings and creative workshops, both of which have been great opportunities for me to generate poetry content. If I can find some magazines of my own, I might also try word and art collages.

by Kylie Berry ’26

As I have had the opportunity of being taught by Visiting Assistant Professor Adam Abraham in his class “Serializing Fiction”, I was excited to find out he was doing a reading of his book Attack of the Monster Musical: ​A Cultural History of Little Shop of Horrors at the Van Etten-Lacey House. This presentation consisted of Professor Abraham’s review of three editions of Little Shop of Horrors: the two movies (1960, 1986) and the musical (1982). During this reading, we were encouraged to think about how different forms of media for the same story, also called transmediation, influenced how it was told. The transmediation of Little Shop of Horrors was explored, and audience members were invited to examine the differences based on varying translations, environments, and authors of the story. My favorite part of the presentation was the wild background of the 1960 film, as apparently it was filmed over the course of 2 days. In general, it was also nice to learn more about Little Shop of Horrors, as I had known nothing about any of the versions beforehand.

Though to this day I still cannot get the Little Shop of Horrors opening song out of my head, I think overall this experience was very useful from the insight it gave on how to approach working on a nonfiction book. I’m the kind of person that doesn’t tend to write nonfiction, at least not for fun. Sure, I’ve written my fair share of personal journal entries and blog posts, but it isn’t the first genre I think of when I sit down to write. Professor Abraham’s reading made me realize that perhaps I should try and research and write something nonfiction about a certain topic on my own.

            Moving forward, I’m excited to attend more nonfiction readings along with exploring the genre myself. I could also try and find some people that write nonfiction during Free Write Fridays and ask how they approach writing.

Students share their experiences at events, their reflections on being members of a literary arts community, and even some of their creative work!

We welcome prospective students, alums, and community members to contact us about Cornell’s Center for the Literary Arts.

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