Christopher Honoré’s Sorry Angel (2018) embodies unrequited love at the face of impending mortality. At face value, the film sounds melodramatic, yet the three-dimensional characters on screen such as Jacques and Arthur offer a work full of life worthy of affection.
We the Animals (2018), directed by Jeremiah Zagar, is based off the eponymous, semi-autobiographical novel by Justin Torres, which captures the characterization of three brothers growing up in a working-class home in Upstate New York. The film’s cinematography appears in a dream-like montage, like a collection of home videos, offering a nostalgic presence set in dark greens of wilderness and backdrop blues. Aside from the vivid representation of rural Upstate New York, disordered homes, and hardships turned into children’s adventures, the film offers storyboard animations of Jonah’s (Evan Rosado) drawings.
Roy G. Guzmán’s “Blood Fantasia” patchworks the words of thirty-seven poets, composing a sublime composition into a loose-sestina form. Each time Guzmán’s speaker repeats phrases, the words crescendo and build into an intense meaning. The beginning lines depict an awareness from the speaker of their own disorder: “I am cosmically outrageous, a tragic orchestra” (ll. 1).
Aziza Barnes’s “Alleyway” speaks with curiosity and conviction about the versatility of the conscious, even when the body cannot follow the same adaptability. Barnes demonstrates the restraint between mind and body through the prosaic poem’s form. Poetic features stand in to explore the contingency of the mind, which teeter between rejection or acceptance of the body’s limits, leaving the prosaic form to symbolize the body’s limitations. Aziza Barnes’s speaker is transparent in their criticism of themselves:
For the first installment of Not Your Binary: A QTPOC Reading Column, a reading column centralizing on the contemporary voices of queer and/or trans people of color in the literary world, I will be discussing Christopher Soto’s “Los Padrinos Juvenile Detention Center, Unit Y2.” Because this is the first installment of my reading column, I want to emphasize the importance on centralizing marginalized voices, stepping aside from the dominant, mainstream culture, to exercise the very existence of surviving and living as a QTPOC, in and out of the literary world. This column is an exploration of political identities and of systemic realities; specifically, in the ways literature can either work to deliver, express, or alleviate the stress that comes with embodying the very existence of being a QTPOC in the time and setting each writer transports us to.