Volume 2010 Parnassus

Editor's Introduction

Parnassus has never been far from my mind over the past few months; yet, as I try to introduce it to you now, knowing that as you read this it is something tangible and not just the unreal thing I now imagine, I am not sure what to say. There are many things I might express here. The difficulty stems, I think, from the reverence I have come to have for these pages. (Also, perhaps, to a nearly perpetual case of writer’s block—but that I won’t as readily admit.)

Every author and artist whose name appears in this journal has earned his or her place. Our staff has meticulously sorted though many submissions, attempting to narrow them down to those most worthy of inclusion, and I am sure that before any of these made it into our hands, they were labored over with much time, intensity, and care.

Artistic representation of any kind is draining, and then, once you have put yourself onto the page, it is something brave to put that piece of yourself out there for just anyone to see. I am grateful to all those whose work contributes to this year’s journal. I am impressed by all the talent you possess.

I would also like to express my thanks to this year’s Parnassus staff for their hard work and amiability and to Professor Satterlee for his support and advice. You each brought something to this journal that wouldn’t have been here otherwise.

If I could lend you a borrowed thought to take with you through these pages, it would be in the words of William Faulkner: “The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and to hold it fixed so that a hundred year later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.” That is also my aim for this edition of Parnassus; that it is life.