We’re coming to the end of another hot smokey summer in the Northwest, and it’s the start of hurricane season elsewhere. Here’s an essay I wrote about last summer’s climate disasters: “The Tree. The Ash. The Ocean.” in The Collagist (Issue 98, August 2018).
Check it out! I have a story in here:
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winner of the PANK chapbook contest
Not all ghosts exact revenge or induce terror. Some emerge from a miasma of grief; sad themselves, they spread sorrow. Or perhaps those left behind—daughters and sons—create the ghost of a father, trying to find what’s surely been lost. Following the four-movement structure of Shostakovich’s Suite for Two Pianos and using a mosaic of story, memoir, photographs, literary analysis, and her own father’s journals, Maya Sonenberg’s After the Death of Shostakovich Père is an extended lyric meditation on the death of fathers, both biological and artistic, and the ways in which haunting can produce art.
If you followed along with the score of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Suite for Two Pianos, you might arrive at/After the Death of Shostakovich Père.
A chording of song, art, and elegy, Maya Sonenberg is a master of tone and rhythm, sorrow and vision—and then the chord resolves itself, and it
-Lily Hoang, author of Changing and A Bestiary
Hermes made the lyre out of a tortoise shell, cattle horns, and catgut, transforming dead animal parts into a sublime musical instrument. Wily Maya Sonenberg here transgresses her own set of categories, generates in her shape-shifting prose of After the Death of Shostakovich Pere, her own lyric, braided Sonenbergian book of remembered memory music. Like The Rings of Saturn (the book, yes, but also the phenomenon of nature) this collage of star-dusted debris and despair is woven into a worldly and wordly accessory, that signifies the grave mystery of gravity at the same time it defies, with the lightest of touches, the weight and the wait of the world it encircles—all its graves and even entropy itself. Bones, viscera, guts (the organic plastic we inhabit) are turned into the eternally ethereal.
-Michael Martone, author of Michael Martone and Winesburg, Indiana
Maya Sonenberg grew up in New York City and lived in Maine, Connecticut, Rhode Island, California, Oregon, and Paris, France before settling in Seattle, where she teaches in the creative writing program at the University of Washington. She is the author of the story collections Cartographies (winner of the Drue Heinz Prize for Literature) and Voices from the Blue Hotel. More recent fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Fairy Tale Review, Web Conjunctions, DIAGRAM, New Ohio Review, The Literarian, Hotel Amerika, and numerous other places.