Sundress Reads: Review of The Watersmith

The cover of The Watersmith by Yance Wyatt. A large glass mason jar is on top of a blotted dark brown background. The jar has a yellow label with the title of the book and the author's name on it in black text. A woodsy setting is living inside of the jar, with some rocks at the bottom, water filling it about halfway, and plants on both sides inside of the jar.

Yance Wyatt’s The Watersmith (Regal House Publishing, 2026) is a thoroughly Appalachian tale that seeks to interact with familial conflict and cyclical addiction by focusing on its protagonist’s development. Jack Calloway, a father and alcoholic, grapples with the way his relationship with his son mirrors his relationship with his own father. Wyatt writes with a distinct voice that still escapes from being the focus of his writing—instead, his strength lies in the way he intertwines the setting’s atmosphere with the characters’ drive and personalities. With a decently tight-knit cast of characters, The Watersmith covers a lot of ground in a relatively short page count and does so without feeling unnecessarily distilled.

Set predominantly in Marion County, Tennessee, The Watersmith follows Jack Calloway through his relationships with his wife, son, and self as the family is forced to confront the ways they deal with grief, regret, and permanency. When Jack and his half-estranged son JJ find a somewhat dilapidated moonshine still on his recently deceased parents’ land, the two decide to repair it. Jolene—Jack’s wife—steps in only to get caught in a severe fire, suffering debilitating wounds to her entire upper body. Jolene is rendered unable to see and hear, and Jack sets out on a progressively more and more drastic journey to produce essential oils and perfumes that he can offer her as a sort of olive branch.

The most thought-provoking parts of The Watersmith lie in the way Wyatt highlights the cyclical nature of alcoholism and other kinds of addiction. Jack’s relationship with alcohol subtly hangs over the narrative—it’s an aspect of his disposition that he refuses to fumble with after the story’s turning point, but one that he retreats to in similarly destructive albeit less obvious ways. Jack’s relationship with JJ serves as a yardstick by which to measure his priorities and selfishness. At one point, Jack says, “Sometimes the fondness for it skips a generation and boomerangs back. Not usually, though. Usually, it’s more like a baton.” Wyatt is in dialogue with a certain kind of duality in regards to the way he thematically explores addiction. It’s passive (waiting for the boomerang), but not without a sense of violence (the boomerang itself). It’s active (the passing of the baton), and it’s also accepted (the taking of the boomerang). Jack’s relationship with JJ is intertwined with his relationship with alcohol in a way, yet Wyatt does not rail on such a connection in a way that makes the reader bored of it.

The aspect of Jack’s character that I came back to most frequently while reading was his glaring disregard for the upkeep of his relationships. Yes, he cares about Jolene; yes, he cares about JJ—but he seemed to lack any kind of urgency in the way he interacts with either of them. Most of his actions seem dispassionate on some level, yet the narrative (being in first person from his point of view) focuses on his thoughts and emotions. While I feel as though one result of this focus made both Jolene and JJ feel like relatively flat characters who served primarily as plot devices in Jack’s story, such a phenomenon could also serve to highlight the distance Jack’s addiction created between him and the people around him. His thoughts on his loved ones often circle back to himself as is displayed in a thought he has during an interaction with JJ. Jack comments, “Now, if there’s one thing a man can’t stand, it’s witnessing the worst part of himself in another.” Thus, the story’s hyperfocus on Jack serves, in a way, to reinforce the frequently cyclical nature of abuse and addiction.

Jack’s character development eventually begins to create its own cyclical movement, and his relationships with his family and his own inventiveness are pulled along on the journey. Wyatt writes Jack in a way that makes him feel both stagnant and evolving at the same time. He’s thrust forward in some areas while being pulled backwards in others—the areas where Jack regresses are duplicated by the areas where he improves, and both sides of the equation are being pushed and pulled at by interacting factors in his disposition and environment. Thus the thematically cyclical nature of the history and physical environment of the story are both condensed and expanded within Jack as a character, and many moving parts are sharpened by the way they rebound from each other.

The Watersmith is available from Regal House Publishing


Joan Alft (she/any) is an undergraduate student at the University of Tennessee studying publishing and creative writing. Her short story “Pilgrim” can be found in the summer 2026 edition of Phoenix Literary Arts Magazine where she works as an Assistant Prose/Fiction Editor. Gothic themes and relationships, the dichotomy between the familiar and unfamiliar, and confusingly intense devotion in places where it shouldn’t be are a few things she enjoys seeing in others’ art and tries integrating in her own projects. In her free time, Joan collects physical media (records, cassettes, DVDs, CDs, and VHS tapes, oh my!), hangs out at local coffeeshops, and sews on occasion.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Mid-Year Best Best Dressed

This week, Managing Editor Merrick Sloane shares a new selection from each of their 5 favorite books featured on The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed so far this year.

Merrick’s first selection for the mid-year best of 2026 is from These Aren’t My Woods Anymore by Soon Jones (Poetose Press 2025).

You Could Be Pretty

When my breasts betrayed me the first time
             by arriving before I was ten,
my stepmother forced me to wear
             lacey bras and satin underwear,
telling me not to be a whore as she threw me
             at any boy or grown man who looked,
hoping for a shotgun marriage.

So I stopped wearing dresses outside
             of church and at weddings. I stopped
wanting to be pretty. Wore thrifted
             Timberland boots and large shirts,
carried knives.

I treated makeup like an exotic curiosity
              and yes, it makes me pretty.
Creates someone new

              and vulnerable, someone who looks
safe. Instead
              I learned to throw a punch
without breaking my wrists. Learned to throw
              grown men over my hip
like fussy children. Developed an early eye
              for tight groupings, center mass.



Learned to hold a rifle as close
               as a lover to my shoulder, and open
my bones to each bullet’s shockwave,
               to the unrelenting
hunger of the world.

Soon Jones (they/them) is a Korean-American lesbian poet and writer raised in the rural countryside of the American South. They are a Lambda Literary Fellow with an MFA from Oklahoma State University. Their work has appeared in Sinister Wisdom, Denver Quarterly, Lunch Ticket, Moon City Review, and others, and their debut collection, These Aren’t My Woods Anymore, is out now from Poetose Press. When not writing poems or working on cars, you can find Soon going on long walks through nature or stargazing.

Merrick Sloane (they/them) is a neuro-Queer 90’s kid and nonbinary poet, editor, and researcher from Oklahoma. They hold an MFA in creative writing from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville and are Associate Poetry Editor of Doubleback Review. A 2026 Best of the Net and 2025 AWP Intro Journal Awards winner, Merrick’s poetry appears in citizen trans* {project}, Seattle Journal for Social Justice, Fruitslice, Puerto del Sol, and elsewhere. When they are not writing or editing, Merrick loves to serve as a pillow for their cat, Kitten, while getting lost in new worlds written by other dreamers. Merrick is deeply committed to helping create a world that liberates us all.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett

This feature, chosen by Guest Editor Catherine Garbinsky, is from Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (Madhouse Press 2024).

When least expected,

magic twines legs like

a cat. Or was it always

here, and by averting

eyes from the shadow,

I missed its shine? Or

did A strike it from my

flint-like limbs? Either

way,21 its song fills every

room, and I only have

to notice what catches

in my throat when

I lift voice in return.

____________
21“It is not that something different is seen, but that one
sees differently. It is as though the spatial act of seeing were
changed by a new dimension,” Carl Jung.

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (she/her) is the author of Mud in Our Mouths (Northwestern University Press, 2025) and Look Alive (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2021), along with numerous chapbooks, most recently Lossland (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press). Her poetry can be found in Ninth Letter, swamp pink, Poetry Northwest, and
elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the Whiting Award–winning LGBTQIA2S+ literary journal and press Foglifter. She was raised in the wilds of Tennessee and now lives in the SF Bay Area with her wife and rescue dog.

Catherine Garbinsky (she/they) is a writer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. They received their MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, where they are now a PhD candidate. Catherine’s poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She has written two chapbooks: All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018) and Even Curses End (Animal Heart Press, 2019), and her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Coffin Bell Journal, Cream City Review, and elsewhere. 


The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett

This feature, chosen by Guest Editor Catherine Garbinsky, is from Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (Madhouse Press 2024).

The hag stands in moonlight

torn by its passage through

blinds. Resisting the urge to

wake A, who’ll say no one’s

here, I pull covers tighter as

she explains, she’s traveling

to when that boy led us into

the woods, hammered agate

until its bright guts showed.

She’ll stop him. I move to take

her hand18—one who was there,

though we barely remember,19

____________
18 “The ‘night sea journey’ is the journey into the parts of ourselves
that are split off, disavowed, unknown, unwanted, cast out, and exiled
to the various subterranean worlds of consciousness,” Stephen Cope.
19 “The more adrenaline you secrete, the more precise your memory
will be. But that is true only up to a certain point. Confronted with
horror—especially the horror of ‘unescapable shock’—this system
becomes overwhelmed and breaks down.”





but she steps back, just asks,

should she keep trying? I nod.

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (she/her) is the author of Mud in Our Mouths (Northwestern University Press, 2025) and Look Alive (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2021), along with numerous chapbooks, most recently Lossland (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press). Her poetry can be found in Ninth Letter, swamp pink, Poetry Northwest, and
elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the Whiting Award–winning LGBTQIA2S+ literary journal and press Foglifter. She was raised in the wilds of Tennessee and now lives in the SF Bay Area with her wife and rescue dog.

Catherine Garbinsky (she/they) is a writer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. They received their MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, where they are now a PhD candidate. Catherine’s poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She has written two chapbooks: All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018) and Even Curses End (Animal Heart Press, 2019), and her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Coffin Bell Journal, Cream City Review, and elsewhere. 


The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett

This feature, chosen by Guest Editor Catherine Garbinsky, is from Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (Madhouse Press 2024).

I dream a campfire ringed

with logs behind a now

derelict playground, and

at my feet, patent leather

shoes, curl of satin, child’s

dress.15 I lower each, watch

flames lick, obscure. Then

I see a woman, a stranger,

at the edge of the clearing.

But she’s gone when I look

again, so I claw ash to find

it all unburned—gleaming

leather, ribbon in a bow,

____________
15 “Dissociation is the essence of trauma. The overwhelming
experience is split off and fragmented, so that the emotions, sounds,
images, thoughts, and physical sensations related to the trauma take on
a life of their own.”





dress folded just as mom

set it out that day. Hands

wet now with tar, I wipe,

but it won’t budge.16 Then,

all at once, the forest starts

singing—cicada, owl, wind—

as I drag palms down my

nightgown, spreading dark.






____________
16 “We are dealing with a dual reality, the reality of the
relatively secure and predictable present that lives side by side
with a ruinous, ever-present past.”

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (she/her) is the author of Mud in Our Mouths (Northwestern University Press, 2025) and Look Alive (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2021), along with numerous chapbooks, most recently Lossland (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press). Her poetry can be found in Ninth Letter, swamp pink, Poetry Northwest, and
elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the Whiting Award–winning LGBTQIA2S+ literary journal and press Foglifter. She was raised in the wilds of Tennessee and now lives in the SF Bay Area with her wife and rescue dog.

Catherine Garbinsky (she/they) is a writer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. They received their MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, where they are now a PhD candidate. Catherine’s poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She has written two chapbooks: All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018) and Even Curses End (Animal Heart Press, 2019), and her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Coffin Bell Journal, Cream City Review, and elsewhere. 


The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett

This feature, chosen by Guest Editor Catherine Garbinsky, is from Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (Madhouse Press 2024).

Not again, I think as I wake into

dream—braid dangling like a rat

snake over my face—scream9 and

scoot to the back of the bunk. My

poor roommate (spared until now)

screams too as the hag mutters what

sounds like apologies—hard to tell

over all the screaming—then, with

a gesture of long fingers, disappears.







____________
9 “Under extreme conditions people may scream obscenities,
call for their mothers, howl in terror, or simply shut down.”

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (she/her) is the author of Mud in Our Mouths (Northwestern University Press, 2025) and Look Alive (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2021), along with numerous chapbooks, most recently Lossland (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press). Her poetry can be found in Ninth Letter, swamp pink, Poetry Northwest, and
elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the Whiting Award–winning LGBTQIA2S+ literary journal and press Foglifter. She was raised in the wilds of Tennessee and now lives in the SF Bay Area with her wife and rescue dog.

Catherine Garbinsky (she/they) is a writer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. They received their MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, where they are now a PhD candidate. Catherine’s poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She has written two chapbooks: All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018) and Even Curses End (Animal Heart Press, 2019), and her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Coffin Bell Journal, Cream City Review, and elsewhere. 


The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett

This feature, chosen by Guest Editor Catherine Garbinsky, is from Familiar by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (Madhouse Press 2024).

I dream a night forest4 —
leaves lit by the moon
as bats flit above—mud
splattered calves burn,
but a light glows ahead,
so I follow until I stand
at the edge of a clearing,
watch myself—younger,
but clearly me—crouch
before a fire, feed clothes
worn that day to flames.
For a moment, her eyes
flick up, and she sees us5—
mice in glue, still stuck
here where it happened.







____________
4 “Night is coming, when no one has the power to work,” John
9:1–17.
5 “My delicate firebrand-darlings,” Hopkins, Discovery of Witches.

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (she/her) is the author of Mud in Our Mouths (Northwestern University Press, 2025) and Look Alive (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2021), along with numerous chapbooks, most recently Lossland (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press). Her poetry can be found in Ninth Letter, swamp pink, Poetry Northwest, and
elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the Whiting Award–winning LGBTQIA2S+ literary journal and press Foglifter. She was raised in the wilds of Tennessee and now lives in the SF Bay Area with her wife and rescue dog.

Catherine Garbinsky (she/they) is a writer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. They received their MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, where they are now a PhD candidate. Catherine’s poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She has written two chapbooks: All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018) and Even Curses End (Animal Heart Press, 2019), and her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Coffin Bell Journal, Cream City Review, and elsewhere. 


We Call Upon the Author to Explain—Darren C. Demaree

With over 20 years of writing under his belt, former SAFTA resident Darren C. Demaree breaks down his poetic style, themes, and inspirations with Sundress intern Rachel Bulman. In an interview based on his two-decade spanning collection Now Flourish Northern Cardinal (Selected Poems 2005-2025), Demaree discusses his process and stylistic choices throughout the included poems, aptly described as ‘‘painfully—and wonderfully—human’’ (Manuel Iris). The collection is a finalist for the Ohio Book Award in Poetry as well as the 2026 Reader’s Choice Award.

Bold white letters on the cover spell out: "Now Flourish Northern Cardinal: Selected Poems 2005-2025" by Darren C. Demaree. The background is an abstract oil painting composed of thick dabs of brushstrokes. The color is mostly white, grayish blue, and light brown, with a touch of dark red in the middle and a touch of gold in the upper left corner.

Rachel Bulman: Starting broad, this collection covers two decades of work, from 2005-2025. In your own words, how has your writing developed since you started publishing works?

Darren C. Demaree: I think the challenge, the experimentation, has become much more important to me. I think it’s much more fun to try new things instead of continuing to refine a particular voice. It’s taken my writing to a lot of different places. Not all of them worked, but if you’re going to be a lifer, if you’re going to write all the time and as long as you can, this is the only way to enjoy it. Failing is acceptable. It didn’t used to be when I was younger. Now, my assumption is that if I’m bored in the process the readers will be bored when they read it. The tethers, the music, and energy of the work can really vibrate if you’re challenged in a new way.

RB: I noticed a distinct tonal shift when the poems turn to ‘‘Emily.’’ How might you describe what changes in your poems from before to after?

DCD: That’s my voice. That’s my natural cadence and poetic leanings. I respect that those poems might be successful because that’s when my mind is really lithe and strong. Processing and pulling at the most dynamic love I’ve ever known opens me up in undeniable ways. I feel different when I write the Emily poems. I fear nothing when I write the Emily poems.

RB: Many of your poems have many versions, sometimes up to #300: ‘‘We Are Arrows,’’ ‘‘Nude Male with Echo,’’ ‘‘neverwell,’’ etc. What about this format appeals to you? And something I am curious about is: how do you know when to stop?

DCD: I map out a book-length sequence the same way a novelist might map out a plot. It looks different, it takes a different focus on the music and energy and will involve purposeful word and phrase repetitions to give the reader markers to follow along some very long paths, but it’s very similar. I’ll have arcs planned out that are a certain length. I know when the first one is finished, and then it’s building out from there what the length of the project will be. Those really take a lot of time to prep, but it’s so easy for them to go off the rails it’s worth it to spend that time.

RB: That’s a brilliant and (at least to me) an unfamiliar way of approaching writing poetry. Could you talk about how you developed that system, or how you found your own rhythm with it?

DCD: I think with large, connected poetry projects, like a numbered book-length sequence, it’s really easy to get lost in something that never ends and leaves the reader grasping for something more than just poetic vibes. I wanted more control than that. If it’s mania you still have to control the energy of it. If it’s philosophical it can’t be a list of questions consuming each other. The ideas and pacing, the actual artistry of it, can’t be buried in the bigness of the project. That takes a lot of planning. I came by it honestly, with a lot of failed attempts to learn how it would work best for me.

RB: Your poetry occasionally exhibits fascinations with certain people or things—Emily, Sam Cooke, etc.—how do you identify an inspiration, and is there a conscious criterion?

DCD: The Emily one is easy. Writing about Sam Cooke in Lady, You Shot Me (2018) or when the Weatherman bombed the Thinker outside of the Cleveland Museum of Art in Bombing the Thinker (2018) or the Ray Mancini/Duk Koo Kim title fight in Temporary Champions (2014) were fascinations of mine that I really wanted to research and learn more about. It’s been a long time since I’ve done a research-inspired collection. It puts the guardrails on a project for me, or at least it used to. It frames things in a particular way that I haven’t been interested in recently. Maybe I’ll come back to it again later, but I’ve been much more interested in philosophies and politics and language-play for the last decade.

RB: Animals: bears, sheep, owls, wolves, etc., are abundant in this collection. Can you speak to their inclusion in your poetry?

DCD: Are you with the deer? So much of the friction in this world revolves around the question of are you living with an attachment to the natural world? I think it defines us. I want my work to feature what I consider to be a vital pivot point for humanity. Can we hold this world as close as we need to, but never consume it? Loving and identifying with animals opens up that lane the same way landscapes do.

RB: ‘‘Emily As the Length of a Fox’’ brought to mind a comparison to Ted Hughes’ ‘‘The Thought Fox’’ (1957) I’d noticed earlier in the collection but hadn’t been able to identify. I read the poem as observant, impersonal and, in places, brutal, can you talk about the inspiration behind this and the ‘‘Emily’ series?

DCD: Interrogating this love, this relationship, forcing it into surreal or palpable weirdness or nature or stark and defiant honesty or any number of things is my mind and heart working to its ecstatic hum. It makes a ton of sense for everyone that’s met Emily. I’m coming up on a thousand of these poems published. There will be more after that. That’s what she is. She’s the inciting incident of my whole world.

RB: Although you continually shift the structure later in the collection, what inspired the decision to have ‘‘The Field Party #1’’ act as the first diversion from your established enjambement-heavy poetic format? Feel free to elaborate on the use of structure in your work.

DCD: I love what prose poems allow me to do with language repetition, especially when I also abandon punctuation. My form is always dictated by the rules of engagement for the project. How can I get away with what I want to do in a way that is understandable? How can I defy all that when I want to? The aspect of play and challenging yourself as an artist is dramatically important. My form choices inevitably come from that. Even in The Luxury (2023), a book about nature catastrophes, which had a strict syllable count, that was done to force me to write as if I was choking. Form has to have a function or it’s just a conceit to be done away with.

RB: The collection is heavily influenced by location, specifically Ohio. Could you discuss the relationship of this location to you and to your poetry?

DCD: Other than the several months I lived in Tuscaloosa, AL, I’ve lived in Ohio my whole life. It’s been nose to nose with me since I was born. I love it. I hate it. It wants to change me to be like it, and I refuse. I write about Ohio because I’m engaged in an active battle between what my home is, and what I want it to be. It’s defined me that way. I’m not backing down and I’m not moving. I’ll always write as an Ohioan with a great tension. That’s why I can’t stop doing it.

RB: Lastly, is there anything else I didn’t touch on that you would like to discuss? Any new projects or releases coming up?

DCD: My newest book, Got There: Poems on Vanishing, came out in April from April Gloaming Publishing. It’s a book inspired by a photograph Alina Stefanescu took. I’m really proud of it. I hope folks will check it out.

Now Flourish Northern Cardinal (Selected Poems 2005-2025) is available from Small Harbor Publishing

Photo shows author sitting in a green short-sleeve shirt sitting on the front porch of a brick house.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of twenty-five full-length poetry collections, most recently Got There: Poems on Vanishing (April Gloaming Publishing, April 2026). He is the recipient of an Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award, the Louise Bogan Award from Trio House Press, and the Nancy Dew Taylor Award from Emrys Journal.

Close-up of a young woman in a hat and glasses looking left across a wide river.

Rachel Bulman (she/her) holds a BA in English and Creative Writing as well as an MA in Publishing from the University of Exeter, specialising in interactive and children’s fiction. Her written work has appeared in The Book of Choices, Velvet Fields, and Exeposé, among others. Find her on Instagram @worm.can.read, through her online portfolio, or ask the bridge troll who taught him his riddles three.

How to Steal a Train Review by Nafisa Hussain

How To Steal a Train by M.C Shmidt is a humorous collection of ten short stories that portray human nature. These stories explore rebuilding relationships, confronting oneself, how people can cling to human connection, and the varying aspects of daily life. Schmidt depicts these tales in a witty and relatable manner that encourages readers to scan the pages to dive deeper into the context. Each story brings its own unique perspective on aspects of human nature. The title of the book, How to Steal a Train, is in fact its own metaphor for accepting change and growth.

A theme that I find fascinating in these stories is worship. While worship takes many forms in the modern world, these stories focus primarily on two: religious devotion and celebrity worship. The story “The Ohio Stigma of 2009” reveals two sides of a coin when it comes to seeing what is in front of you. Some may argue that it is human nature to believe in a higher power and worship; others may argue that it is in fact the opposite. This piece encapsulates the difference between those who rely on what they see in front of them, and those who rely on faith. It touches on how in both fiction and reality rifts can widen between people because of their differences and how they can choose to set their differences aside, for better or for worse.

However, “We Love You, Ringo,” explores how celebrity worship can lead to one’s downfall. By following the tribute performer’s slow realization that he has been neglecting his own life for a lie, the story reveals the dangers of fame culture. No matter how admired celebrities may be, we can never truly know them for who they are. I see parasocial relationships plenty in celebrity culture—people attempting to embody someone they do not personally know yet they love, or at least think they do. “We Love You, Ringo” is a wake-up call to not neglect your own life in lieuof worshiping someone else’s.

“The Middle Distance” was my personal favorite in Schmidt’s collection—a story about fatality and the natural defiance of it. Katherine’s father, Malcom, delivers a powerful monologue about the reality of aging. A delivery that unfolds the struggle about a loss of control; “Being old means not dying. It means waking up tomorrow with your body incrementally more restricted (…) and wondering if you’ve become less for it.” The narrative portrays the defiance that humans have against something as natural as aging. Katherine refuses to stay stationary. As she climbs the tree, metaphorically challenging life’s inevitabilites, readers root for her to reach the top just as vehemently as her father does.

The themes of second chances and re-connection are explored in a few of Schmidt’s short stories. In “‘”Gnats,” those themes are developed through the cynical yet hilarious telling of a widower’s home being overrun by gnats, only for those gnats to vanish when he opens himself up to a second chance. “On Being Born Again” explores a lost Audra, anxious about a reunion with the daughter she let down, only to realize that there is a chance for a relationship for them. “The Dream Girls” follows a grieving Boris and his beloved sourdough starter forced into an awkward reunion with Audra, which blossoms into the potential for more.

This book ends the collection with a metaphor about change. “Do you think it’s possible to steal a train?” Audra texts Boris after their escapade to the horror convention in “The Dream Girls.” While Boris takes the question literally, Audra reveals that it is more to consider behind the idea. How to Steal a Train is about opening yourself up to more.

How to Steal a Train allowed me to focus on the small interactions that can lead to something much greater. This collection is relatable not only in its exploration of weighty themes, including worship, aging, and death, but also in the way Shmidt portrays the wide range of human emotions. Whether it was Katherine’s defiance, Boris’s anxiety, or Audra’s self-doubt, I was able to see a part of myself in these stories. Shmidt’s ability to capture the emotions and experiences of contemporary life makes these stories feel deeply human.

If you enjoy character-centric stories that explore hope, anxiety, and what it means to be human, How To Steal a Train will engulf you into the lives of those who are trying their best in the only way they know how.

Order your copy of How to Steal a Train.

Nafisa Hussain (she/her) holds a BSc in Anthropology and Sociology from Brunel University, where she primarily focused her work on race issues in the UK. She has published book reviews in the Hillingdon Herald Newspaper and volunteers for the Society of Young Publishers.

Project Bookshelf: Miranda Spurlock

My bookshelf is not that of a highly sophisticated scholar, but it is a shelf full of dreams, magic, and fulfilled promise to a little girl with a big imagination. I love books that take you on an adventure and build worlds in your mind, books that make you think about connection and the experience that is life. 

The Cruel Prince by Holly Black 

This book and trilogy have a special place in my heart and a permanent spot on my bookshelf. It is the first fantasy series I ever read and really laid the foundation for my love of the genre. It’s full of fairies, political intrigue, schemes, and the most intense slow burn romance that is so subtle I still think about it to this day. I often find myself fantasizing about what my life would be if I was whisked off to Elfhame.

The Spellshop by Sarah Best Durst

If cozy magic was a book, it would be this book. When I pick up a book, I am looking for an escape to a land far from this one, and this was the perfect read for that. It had all the whimsical elements I look for when reading; the book felt like one giant hug and an ode to all my childhood imaginations. It has baking, talking plants, cats with wings, a unicorn, merfolk, and above all else, BOOKS. One of my favorite quotes of all time came from this treasure: “It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. It was that she liked books more. They didn’t fuss or judge or mock or reject. They invited you in, fluffed up the pillows on the couch, offered you tea and toast, and shared their hearts with no expectation that you’d do anything more than absorb what they had to give.” 

I could go on and on about all the stories on my shelf, but I fear I would be typing an entire manuscript. So here is my book horde that I guard proudly like a ferocious yet sleepy dragon.

A white woman with long blond hair standing next to bookshelves. She has on a headband, a blue and pink dress, and an arm cuff. She is smiling.

I am Miranda, a cat mom of one, but if you count the feral cats who use their charming manipulation on me (their cute faces), I am a cat mom of 4-8 on any given day. I love the color pink; I am very fond of fairies, and escaping into a book is what I do best. I really pride myself on creativity and have tried almost every hobby there is to try. I am currently a senior at UTK; my major is Business Management, and I’m minoring in English.