Editors' Note: Ruin and Reinvention

Meg Turner, Rubble Depot, graphite and ink on paper, 2011. This is a rendering of an actual site in New Orleans created for the Hypothetical Development Organization.

Behold, he goes up like clouds,And his chariots like the whirlwind;His horses are swifter than eagles. Woe to us, for we are ruined!

—Jeremiah 4:13

Named for the Biblical prophet Jeremiah, the "jeremiad" is now associated with any extensive literary work, often prose but sometimes poetry, decrying the downfall of society, moral decay, or ruination of the world as we know it. In the passage quoted above, Jeremiah predicts the destruction of Israel at the hands of a wrathful God who is displeased by the wickedness of those he made in his image. Here, we are warned of an angry, vengeful deity with powerful means of destruction at his disposal and there is no escape. For many, such invective, framed in declension narratives, portends an end of something sacred, valuable, necessary, cherished. Ruin is upon us and it portends dramatic change.

Ruin inspired the theme for this issue after the earthquake that devastated Haiti in January of 2010. That catastrophe killed or injured hundreds of thousands of people, left millions homeless, and demolished much of the infrastructure in an already fragile, developing nation. At that moment, ruin seemed an especially apt way to think about much of what was happening in the world and not just geologically, but also economically, politically, and socially. New Orleans continues to rebuild from the ruin of Hurricane Katrina. The ruins of Air France Flight 447 have been found on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean. Totalitarian governments across the Middle East are in ruins. Tornadoes have ruined whole communities across the United States. Much of Japan has been ruined by a combination of catastrophes, natural and man-made. The global economy is still in tatters. It seems that we live among ruins large and small.

In this issue of WSQ we invite the reader to think about ruin from multiple points of view and to consider what opportunities and possibilities may emerge from the ruins of what once existed. Might it be possible, for example, to savor the knowledge we gain from excavating the ruins of an ancient civilization? What might we learn from attending to the ruins of our own civilization? Why are moralists inclined to assume that ruin, particularly that which takes place on a mass scale, is inextricably bound up with practices of judgment, divine or otherwise? Do new forms of power and possibility open up to us in the aftermath of ruin? How can we keep from ruining the planet? What might we want to ruin?

It would be easy, albeit depressing, to present the forms of ruin examined in these pages as yet another jeremiad, another litany of moralist lamentations, ominous portents, and regret. But such a strategy would leave us trapped in the same rigid, masculinist power structures comprised of fear and designed to assure our adherence to ancient norms. What good would that do, and how would it differ from the shrill voices we have been listening to since Biblical times? The scholarship, poetry, prose, and artwork collected here take ruin as their starting point but the overall effect is so much more than a jeremiad. Within these pages readers will find ruin, indeed, but emerging from these ruins are glimmers of beauty and tales of rebirth infused with a spirit of regeneration, play, and hope. Read together, these pieces should remind us that every crisis is also an opportunity.

Part I, "Life and Love Among the Ruins," invites us to contemplate the artistic inspiration found in the emotional wreckage of our lives. Whether our wounds are made manifest as corporeal design, a devotional, prose, or poetry, the pieces gathered here remind us that tragedy may beget beauty in various forms of artistry. Part II, "Reproductive Ruin," opens with haunting images of an abandoned maternity hospital which...