The Rialto Books Review Vol.028
AVAILABLE NOW
The Rialto Books Review Vol.028 is now available for purchase. This Summer, we have three pieces to offer for your enjoyment.
We begin with the story “Bocce on the Beach” by J. B. Rex, a subtle exploration of the tension between truth and falsehood in our everyday encounters.
“Fall in Rittenhouse” by Sollee Bae follows, a poignant meditation on the way our deepest relationships are knit together and, sometimes, unravel.
For dessert we have the first book of “Beauty and the Beast”, a new narrative poem by Alexandra Block.
We hope you enjoy these excerpts from Vol.028 of The Rialto Books Review.
Bocce on the Beach
by J. B. Rex
The three men standing at the base of the dunes dressed in bathing suits and loose shirts were of varying statures, all in their late forties. The first man was tall and thick with a prominent belly. The second was heavily muscled, shorter, and wearing a broadbrimmed straw hat. The last was average-sized, with a stooped posture, wearing a baseball cap. A breeze rippled their shirts, and the dune grass hissed behind them. The sky was cloud-whipped and glaring.
McDaniels, the slouch, straightened, took a step forward, then imitated what the other two had done a moment before, tossing a softball-sized orb underhand toward a common destination.
Preceded by his belly, Edgerton led them across the sand to the balls. “Everyone was innocent in there,” he said. “I was, too.” He laughed, a real chest-heaver. …
Fall in Rittenhouse
by Sollee Bae
They have been dating for two months when she learns how tall he is: 5 feet 8, according to his driver’s license. She thinks of everyone she has ever known who is 5 feet 8 and tries to remember what it was like standing next to them, walking abreast of them, holding them. She asks him how this measurement was taken and he shrugs and pushes his lips to the side as he often does in response to such questions. His way of saying it’s not a big deal. What it offers isn’t an answer to a question so much as forgiveness for asking.
She doesn’t make such transgressions often. He has given her as much, once wondering out loud why she rarely asks about the things she sees. Like the various blinks and beeps of his wheels. Orange prescription bottles on his bathroom sink, next to a white unlabeled tube she knows to be odorless and tasteless because she has mistaken it for toothpaste. The long wooden board she uses as a bed tray until she sees him transfer from his wheelchair to the mattress with it.
She smiles in response to his question. Her way of saying it’s not a big deal. …
Beauty and the Beast, Book I
by Alexandra Block
I.
A castle stood, a fable made of rock Outside the town, held in its rumor-stock Wrapped always up in night, “while witches guard And loud ghouls sharpen every one his pard, Lest mortal fool should stumble unawares Into their nets, spun up from dead men’s hairs.” Young Beauty heard all this and disbelieved What seemed to her through human malice sieved; E’en so, weak reason! was she loth to go ’Neath moonless night where yew and hemlock grow— The forest, then, would strike her with such fear, As though these visions straightway would appear To something more than mind—then in cold shame, Yet wracked by fear, yet holding much to blame Her timid heart, sought she its qualms to tame. ...
You can read this journal with others on Papertrail.