Editor's Introduction

The dictionary defines "retrospective" as "1. directed to the past; contemplative of past situations, events, etc. and 2. looking or directed backward." I can't help but think the word merely establishes a foundation to accurately describe the work we've done here this year. Indeed, we have spent much time looking backward: our staff has scrutinized at minimum 244 journals (though I suspect the actual number is much higher) of approximately 60 volumes, each read twice in their entirety by two groups of genre readers, over a three-month reading period.* While in our most frantic moments this process manifested as an impending duty, it ultimately resulted in a unique and spectacular immersion in the history and voices of the journal that certainly could not have otherwise been experienced and almost undoubtedly, precluding the unforeseen release of some future retrospective issue, will not happen again. Looking backward, we notice acutely what has evolved: variations of texture and dimensions from year to year have been subsequently standardized. An emphasis on artwork has been replaced by photography. The radical undertone of pieces from the 60s and 70s has decrescendoed. We are, however, inclined to resist considering these original characteristics as the traits of outdated tomes, and begin instead to internalize a convincing and vibrant persona in place of the text. As you read this retrospective issue, you will perhaps find as we did that the pieces do betray their era, and function as a testament to the psyche of their respective decades.

But here is another definition, which I'm sure is closer to what the MSU Press had in mind when they proposed a retrospective issue, and is in fact surprising in the specificity of what it actually implies: Retrospective (noun): "an art exhibit showing an entire phase or representative examples of an artist's lifework." Wouldn't, then, the Red Cedar Review be the "artist," embodying visible shifts in mood and technique (such as the recent establishment of a separate non-fiction genre) from year to year; an entity that provides a means by which to cultivate the voice of its era; a pulsing organism whose "lifework" is being evaluated in this issue in anticipation of the future, that hazy temporality wherein creation awaits?

And so inevitably, as we look back, we orient ourselves forward, because the truth of the journal you're holding is better explained by considering the future. While you can see quite literally the culmination of all these various facets of the past, know that this adventure in retrospection will necessarily contribute significantly to our next steps. At our staff meetings, when we talk about next year's relaunch of Red Cedar Review, the word "innovation!" is repeated; when asked for clarification, we hear, "more artwork!" and "engaging use of the white space on a page!" and perhaps most importantly, "interaction!" This goes beyond our journal's projected branching out into different media in the coming years, and begs a more substantial relationship to the words on paper. So I ask you, while reading this issue, to not only consider the pieces for what they are individually, but also to imagine what they represent as deliberate encapsulations of moments in the lifetime of the Red Cedar Review.

I would like to thank the MSU Press, which continues to have faith in literary voices both new and old; Robin Silbergleid, our advisor, for working closely with us to ensure our success; Stephen Arch and the English department for supporting the conception of the forthcoming re-imagined Red Cedar Review; and most especially our brilliant staff of readers and editors, without whom this project could never have come to fruition.