The Great American Issue

THE YALE

RECORD THE GREAT AMERICAN ISSUE

Vol. 150, No. 6 March 18, 2022

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“The Nation’s Oldest Humor Magazine” or

“The Nation’s Most Humorous Old Magazine” Join us.

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IS GRETA THUNBERG RACIST? I DON’T KNOW I JUST LIKE TO START SHIT Dear Kidz Bop Kidz, You’ve been at this for what seems like decades. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan, but I need to know: what happens to the Kidz who’ve grown up? What do they do when they can’t Bop no more?

Where do they go?

Best, A Concerned Fan

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT HERE!” SAYS POWERLESS YALE SECURITY GUARD AS I URINATE INSIDE THE BOOK DROP CHUTES OUTSIDE STERLING

Dear Concerned Fan, The best thing about this institution is it’s a well-oiled machine. Don’t ask questions.

Don’t rock the boat. We make it work.

Best, The Kidz Bop Kidz

SURE, YOU CAN’T PUT PIGEONS INTO MORE PIGEONHOLES THAN THERE ARE PIGEONS. THAT IS, UNLESS YOU KNOW ABOUT FAT PIGEONS Dear Livestock, How come we call you livestock if the whole point is to kill you?

Curiously, Farmer Todd

LOCAL MAN UNDER FIRE AFTER ATTIC GOES UP IN FLAMES Dear Farmer Todd, Holy shit, you’re going to kill us? Not cool. I’m going to read some Orwell and see what can be done about this situation.

Ticked off, Livestock

UGH, EVERYONE AT DINING HALL SOME COLLEGE KID Dear KidzBop Kidz, I have sensitive information regarding the involvement of one of your “Kidz” in a hit and run incident in 2017.

Please reconsider my application to your organization, or this will go public.

Sincerely, Timmy, age 9

The Yale Record

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YALE RECORD The Great American Issue March 18, 2022

1 | Mailbags and Snews 6 | The Great American Editorial 8 | Shorts 11 | Fiction Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Spaghetti Facial 12 | Shorts 14 | Feature Burn These Books 15 | Shorts 17 | Feature Book Report: To Kill A Mockingjay 18 | Feature The Great American Novel Contest 20 | Culture An Interview with JD Salinger; Book Reviews 23 | Ask Old Owl! 24 | Fiction Hardboiled

MARGARITA MONDAY? MY COWORKER MARGARITA NEVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP BUT I’M BOUND TO HER IN THIS ENDLESS CAPITALIST RAT RACE. MAYBE I’LL GET OUT. MAYBE I’LL LEAVE AND LIVE A SIMPLER LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. MAYBE IT’LL HAPPEN..

MARGARITA SOMEDAY Dear The Batman, What is something poor people have, rich people need, and if you eat it you die?

Sincerely, The Riddler

CLASS STRUGGLE? VICTORIAN CHIMNEY SWEEP MISTAKEN FOR CATHOLIC EVERY ASH WEDNESDAY Dear Riddler, Your mom.

Best, The Batman

GOOGLE SEARCHES FOR “UKRAIBE” AT AN ALL TIME HIGH

HUNDREDS OF STUDENTS GIVE UP FOR LENT Dear animals that don’t talk, You better not get any fucking ideas.

Sincerely, James

RUSSIA? UKRAINE? PUTIN? I JUST WANT TO EAT THIS CANNOLI Dearly Departed, You’ll never hear this.

Best, An Atheist

LET’S GO BRANDON! MY FRIEND BRANDON JUST BEAT CANCER! AND THANK GOD HE DID, ELSE THE FRAUDULENT DEMOCRATS WOULD’VE REGISTERED HIS CORPSE TO VOTE FOR SLEEPY JOE BIDEN! Dear Atheist, What?

Best, The Departed

Dear animals that talk, I’m going to kill you all. I’m going to find you and hunt you down.

Sincerely, James

OK, I FINISHED MY CANNOLI. HOLY SHIT, ARE WE ALL ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE IN A NUCLEAR WAR?

The Great American Issue

COMEDY, WITH AN EDGE: MEET THE GUY JOKING ABOUT THE CORONAVIRUS Dear Timothy Dwight, How does it feel being one of those guys who has a first name for a last name?

Sincerely, Jack

ALL NIGHT LONG: HOLLYWOOD NEIGHBORS REPORT SAUCY DOWNTOWN DATE BETWEEN 35 YEAR OLD MILF AND 85 YEAR OLD POOL BOY

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Dear Jack, How does it feel being one of those guys whose first name is also a verb?

Sincerely, Timmy D.

BACK IN STYLE: 60S GOGO BOOTS, BELL BOTTOMS, AND THE PARALYZING THREAT OF MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION Obituary Correction In the 24 Hour Issue, we erroneously reported that Suzie MacDougal was an extraordinary child that touched many hearts in her short time on Earth.

Apparently, Suzie was nothing special.

FOR SALE:

$1200: Dog-man hybrid. Is potty trained, but doesn’t mind either way. Contact Charlie M. for more information.

Dear French Switzerland, Did something happen in French Switzerland recently that I should know about? Have you been in the news lately? Are you trending on Twitter? I need to know if I should change my Facebook profile picture to have a French Switzerland flag overlay. Oh God, I don’t even know what the French Switzerland flag looks like. Do you even have a flag?

I’m sorry for being so out of the loop.

Best, Steven Cracker

DARLING BOY DARLS Dear Steven Cracker, No, we’re fine. Business as usual over here. And we don’t have a flag, we’re just the Western quarter-ish of Switzerland.

—M. Kuo

Best, French Switzerland

interested in STAND-UP COMEDY?

performers wanted. no experience necessary! email cucumber@yalerecord.com

The Great American Issue

“THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME WITH SCREWDRIVERS!” EXCLAIMS PATRON UNFAMILIAR WITH LIBRARY’S OVERDUE POLICY Dear Liberals, Consider this. If liberalism is so great, then how come John Locke is super duper dead? Social contract that!

Checkmate, Conservatives

COVID TEST WORKERS FOUND SUCKLING ON Q-TIPS AND GIVING OUT POSITIVE RESULTS BASED ON TASTE

Dear George Templeton Strong, I’m a sophomore in college and am a huge fan of your opinionated yet careful personal accounts written during the Civil War. Do you have any advice for aspiring diarists?

Thanks for your time, Emma

KAZAKH RECORDING ARTISTS SAD THE WHOLE K-POP THING NEVER TOOK OFF FOR THEM A hot day. Some precocious student has conveyed to me that she’s read my private journal and wishes to be a diarist herself! This business will always be about who you know.

—George Templeton Strong

bananagram word list complete words every legal word in bananagrams Thanks, Carlos

SPRING HAS SPRUNG! TOY STORY IS MAKING A NEW MOVIE AND THAT SLINKY DACHSHUND IS KIND OF HOT NOW. Dear Liberals, Why gas price go up but penis won’t? Why Joe Biden not want me to have penis up? He love gas price but hate penis care. Not my president.

LGB, Brandon

Did You Know?

If you ask a librarian for the “secret book,” they will take you into the back of the library and read you your own memoir that you don’t remember writing but is too specific to have been written by anyone else.

Dear Diary,

STUPID GUY: WHAT A BOZO

Dear Google,

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—G. Ellis

WANTED A Literacy

coach to teach me to write. I’m just picking letters at random, hoping they spell out this Wanted ad correctly by chance.

The Yale Record

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W

hat is the Great American Novel? It depends on who you ask. The earliest known use of the term was in 2200 B.C., when the Sumerian king Meskiagnun the Hollow-boned called his cuneiform epic the first “Great American Novel.” Scholars have disputed this claim on the grounds that he died four thousand years before the United States was established, but the term has been used constantly ever since. From 1776-1781, Tory deserter Nathan Shelley held sole claim to the title with his romantic melodrama Abigail Marry Me Or Else, (a veiled threat towards the milkmaid who had rejected him the summer prior), until 1782 when the second-ever American novel Nathan the Bedwetter plunged the literary world into a frenzy.

What makes a novel great in the first place? It depends on who you ask. The New York Times bestseller list only cares whether a book sells best. Alison Bechdel likes novels that feature two talkative women, and her brother Brock Bechdel feels the same about novels with chatty men. For his yearly lists, Barack Obama consults an army of malnourished culture curators imprisoned in an underground ziggurat.

The Goblin King goes solely by goblin count. These days, greatness is less clear cut than ever. Ask nine people twice each for a definition, and you’ll get eighteen different answers.

Could length equal greatness? People often concede “...I guess it was great though…” when they finish a long book they didn’t love, if only to justify having sunk so much time into it. Length certainly brings prestige; a good third of Moby Dick is just recipes for whalebone chowder, and the entirety of David Foster Wallace’s The Broom of the System is reprinted in the endnotes1 of Infinite Jest.

Unfortunately, that theory doesn’t account for the great works of shorter fiction.

Ernest Hemingway’s miniscule novel For Sale: baby shoes, never worn is great because it’s tragic—a baby has been born without feet. The Great Gatsby is great because it has “Great” in its title and that’s enough. Metrics, it seems, aren’t the metric we’re looking for.

The Great American Issue Still, there are some novels that critics agree are a cut above the rest. Beloved. Of Mice and Men. Ready Player One. These titles endure because they speak to something real within us— the urge to mother a ghost, or kill your simple-minded buddy, or enter a world in which being a nerd loser is dope and cool. But critical “consensus” isn’t clear cut either. Historically, literary authorities are overwhelmingly white and male. Even more worrying, the industry is hopelessly flooded with nerd losers.

When it comes to establishing a canon, women, people of color, and suave musclemen rarely get a say.

Does a novel have to be read to be great? Does a novel have to be written to be great? Can you write a great novel even if you’ve mostly done short form comedy writing of under a thousand words? If a trolley is barrelling at 60mph towards a person writing a Great novel, but you have the ability to redirect it towards a person writing a so-so novel instead, should you pull the lever?

These are the questions that English majors like myself ponder every day. We use words like “juxtapose” and “mellifluousness” and argue about meaning, whether meaning can be argued, and whether arguments of meaning comprise the totality of meaning. Then we write double-spaced essays of five to eight pages where our conclusion is “it’s a complex issue,” and our professors give us A minuses.

Of course, maybe we’re overthinking it. Alexander was Great because he knew how to ride a horse. Roger Ebert called films “great” arbitrarily based on how many stars they had; he never gave a four star movie a bad review and never gave a one star movie a good one. Nobody disagrees that the Wall of China is great; in fact, we feel the need to congratulate it every time we Sam Leone ’23 Chair Jonas Kilga ’23 Online Managing Editor

Zosia Caes ’22 Old Owl Raja Moreno ’24 Old Owl

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bring it up in conversation. Maybe greatness is just greatness— nothing more, nothing less.

I guess I’m not qualified to define the Great American Novel. I’m not qualified to do much of anything. After high school, I stopped developing a marketable skill set, and I fear when I enter the working world I will have little to say and less to offer. However, I am qualified to talk about this magazine.

For almost a year, I have given it my heart and a small part of my soul. I know the fonts we use in the news spread, the buffer widths on the inside margins of feature pages, and the myriad errors that come from tight deadlines and no salaries (sorry to Ishikaa Kothari ’25 for accidentally attributing your National Geographic Issue piece “Dinosaurs Discovered Since You Were In Kindergarten” to “Staff ”).

What you hold in your hands is the single greatest issue facing America today: The Great American Issue. There are some who will disagree, who will say that this isn’t even the greatest issue the Record has done this year. They’ll say that The First-Year Issue made more exciting design choices and The 24-Hour Issue told a more engaging and cohesive story.

To those naysayers, I will say “what,” and when they repeat themselves I’ll say “what” again, and I’ll keep doing that until they realize I’m just being petty and stop criticizing me.

This is The Great American Issue. It isn’t great because it’s long, or insightful, or free of trolley track marks. It’s great because it’s great.

That’s good enough for me.

—J. Wickline Editor in Chief

Joe Wickline ’23 Editor in Chief

Diana Kulmizev ’23 Online Editor in Chief

Ayla Jeddy ’23 Publisher

Avery Brown ’23 Online Managing Editor

Clio Rose ’23 Managing Editor

Joe Gustaferro ’24 Managing Editor

Joanna Wypasek ’24 Managing Editor

Adriana Golden ’24 Copy Editor

Annie Lin ’25 Art Director

Erik Boesen ’24 Webmaster

Addison Beer ’23 Staff Director

Aarjav Joshi ’24 Business Manager

Jacob Eldred ’24 Merch Manager

Rosa Chang ’23 Old Owl Bea Portela ’24 Old Owl

Will Cramer ’22 Old Owl Ellen Qian ’23 Old Owl

Ethan Fogarty ’22 Luna Garcia ’23 Zuri Goodman ’22 Old Owl Old Owl Old Owl Harry Rubin ’22 Marcy Sanchez ’22 Maya Sanghvi ’23 Old Owl Old Owl Old Owl

Arnav Tawakley ’24 Copy Editor

David Hou ’22 Old Owl Alex Taranto ’23 Old Owl

Avery Mitchell ’23 Old Owl Kaylee Walsh ’22 Old Owl

Staff: Jocelyn Wexler ’22 Evan Cheng ’24 Raffael Davila ’23 Lily Dorstewitz ’24 Leo Egger ’23 Finn Gibson ’24 Jacob Kaufman-Shalett ’23 Benjamin Hollander-Bodie ’24 Lucy Santiago ’23 Malia Kuo ’24 Claire Sattler ’23 Alice Mao ’24 Katia Vanlandingham ’23 Simi Olurin ’24 Alexia Buchholz ’24 Dom Alberts ’25

Joel Banks ’25 Ari Berke ’25 Tara Bhat ’25 Edward Bohannon ’25 Lillian Broeksmit ’25 Adam Burch ’25 Emily Cai ’25 Evan Calderon ’25 Lizzie Conklin ’25

Andrew Cramer ’25 Madelyn Dawson ’25 Jackson Downey ’25 Larry Dunn ’25 Mari Elliott ’25 Grace Ellis ’25 Annette Forchoh ’25 Odessa Goldberg ’25 Evan Gorelick ’25

Audrey Hempel ’25 Rena Howard ’25 Ishikaa Kothari ’25 Betty Kubovy-Weiss ’25 Emma Madsen ’25 Jacob Mansfield ’25 Alejandro Mayagoitia ’25 Maya Melnik ’25 Tyler Norsworthy ’25

Megan Sadler ’25 Tyler Schroeder ’25 Sophie Spaner ’25 Josephine Stark ’25 Lawrence Tang ’25 Cormac Thorpe ’25 Emmitt Thulin ’25 Natasha Weiss ’25

Contributors: Josh Bock ’25, Max Bamberger ’25 Special thanks to: Novels, for teaching us the plots of novels.

Front Cover: Joe Wickline ’23 (@joe.wickline), who designed it while in COVID isolation housing.

Back Cover: Joe Wickline ‘23 (@joe.wickline), who would very much like to leave COVID isolation housing.

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CL, No. 1, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.org • Subscriptions: $50/year All contents copyright 2021 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chair, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chair@yalerecord.org. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

10 BOOKS I COULD HAVE WRITTEN IF I WANTED TO: To Kill a Mockingbird — When I was a young boy, my mother would spend Saturday afternoons at the laundromat. My dad would take me out to the backyard and say “Don’t tell your mother about this,” then hand me a Remington Model 8 and force me to shoot squirrels until I could do it without crying. Can’t imagine shooting a mockingbird is much different.

The Bible — My dad was a born-again Christian, and we lived on a fundamentalist “settlement” for a year.

I remember going to Bible study during our stand-off with the FBI. The Grapes of Wrath — Every time me and the Peewees lost the Tri-State Area Little Leagues, my dad would refuse to let me go to Dairy Queen with the team and take me home to taste his leather belt instead. He loved baseball.

Invisible Man — I could write about cross-race underground activism in my sleep. That chapter about Sibyl? Wattpad BDSM garbage. Ras the Exhorter?

Talk about a half-baked character. I was invisible to my father.

Little Women — When I was a Cub Scout in Troop 392, I failed my scuba diving merit badge and my dad drove me to a Girl Scout meeting and left me there for four days. I subsisted on thin mints and self-hatred.

The Color Purple — What are “authors” writing books about these days, goddamn colors? What’s next, a book about red, white, and blue? (This is something I easily could write.)

The Jungle — This book was trash, the movie was

worse. What kind of a father figure is a wolf? The only highlight was the “Bare Necessities” song, and even then, Upton “Smoothbrain” Sinclair rhymed “necessities” with “necessities.”

The Great Gatsby — This book is uninventive. Fitzgerald gets Yale completely wrong. If Tom Buchanan truly was the Ivy-bred golden boy he was made out to be, he should have known how to keep his wife in check.

As a Yale graduate and a husband thrice over, I would know.

Dreams from My Father — My father died at 7:52 p.m. on June 15th, 2009, from a myocardial infarction, and now there is a hole in my heart that is forever left unfilled. He was a cruel, old man, but I loved him. I’ll never be able to tell him that. I’ll never be able to say to him, “Dad, I respect you.” He’ll never be able to respond, “You are no son of mine.”

Ishmael — My dad banged a gorilla.

—T. Bhat

—A. Hempel

The Great American Issue

THE MARK TWAIN HOUSE

By S. Spaner In the sixth grade, I took a class trip to the Mark Twain House in Hartford. I’ll admit, at first I thought it would be lame and boring. But once we got there and started to explore, I was enchanted by the rich history that house contains. I was amazed to learn all about the brilliant American author’s life through treasures of the past that were preserved in this historical landmark.

The first thing we saw on the tour was a music box in the foyer. It played “Can’t Stop” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers pretty loudly in the background. Our tour guide explained that Mark Twain loved music, and pointed out the piano in the next room. As I listened to the timeless lyrics that blasted through the small room, I realized that true artists recognize other artists. It was a beautiful moment for me.

We moved on to look at Twain’s office, where he did most of his writing. On his desk, we saw the very pen that drafted the first copy of A Connecticut Yankee. The class looked in awe as the tour guide showed us the desk lamp that illuminated Twain’s pages through the night, as he crafted some of the finest pieces of writing of the 19th century. There was a stack of books on the corner of his desk, which the tour guide told us often influenced his writing.

There on the top of the stack was a copy of Anthony Kiedis’s autobiography, Scar Tissue. Above his desk were the liner notes for “Californication,” nailed into the hardwood.

Next to them was the original outline for Twain’s 1884 magnum opus, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

We continued through the house, eventually stepping into the living room, where we could see the spoils of his travels, including Punkah fans all the way from India, a piano with ivory keys imported from Africa, and a poster from the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 2006 Stadium Arcadium Tour.

At the end, our tour guide explained that the Mark Twain House relies on donations. 10% of the profit goes to local Hartford public schools, 10% goes to upkeep of the house, and 80% goes straight to Flea’s bank account, to fund the production of his first solo album. I gladly gave the woman the fifteen dollars that my mom had given me for the gift shop, and left feeling proud that I helped support such an important part of my country’s literary history.

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THE SHORTEST STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE Gravity’s Rainbow — Thomas Pynchon’s suit de fras of connution and retumbant laenche clocks in at a record zero English words.

Harrison Bergeron — Kurt Vonnegut’s clipped, economical style in this dystopian satire is generally attributed to his training as a journalist, though some credit the short sentences to the air-raid sirens sounding in his ears every eight seconds as he wrote.

Recitatif — One of Toni Morrison’s shortest works, this haunting examination of an unsought connection between two women is considered a failure by critics due to her forgetting to say which is the Black one and which is the white one.

The Story of an Hour — It might seem maddeningly slow by today’s standards, but Kate Chopin’s radical feminist denouncement of suffocating Protestant domesticity actually set a new record in 1894 by killing the female protagonist in under three pages.

“For sale, baby.” — Even worse, right?

The one with the zombies — And they’re all at the airport, right? Well, not the airport, but they’re all together, and then, you know, it just kind of ends. It’s really a metaphor.

—A. Burch THE NEW AMERICAN CANON The supposed “classics” of American literature are outdated. The Record proposes a “new” American Canon that reflects this moment in American life.

The Fault in Our Stars An Electric Car Named Desire Beloved: The Without Critical Race Theory Edition Becoming The Scarlet Letter (Taylor’s Version) Their Eyes Were Watching God, Who Is A Woman What Happened Little Independent Women Where’s Walden?

The Art of the Deal Of Mice and Them Magic Treehouse: An Incident of Insurrection Lolita —Staff

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The Yale Record ALL THE BOOKS I’VE READ IN MY LIFE

Harry Potter, Holes, Fight Club, Infinite Jest, The Handmaid’s Tale, Wuthering Heights, Blood Meridian, The Tipping Point, Green Eggs and Ham, Charlotte’s Web, Bossypants, How to Win Friends and Influence People, The Da Vinci Code, Moby Dick, The Fault in Our Stars, A Hillbilly Elegy, Maus, Gravity’s Rainbow, Looking for Alaska, Woman Book, Lord of the Flies, Divergent, Eat Pray Love, Manufacturing Consent, The Hunger Games, All About Anthony, A People’s History of the United States, Little Women, Filth, A Confederacy of Dunces, The Art of the Deal, Arthur, We Bought a Zoo, Who Moved My Cheese, White Fragility, They Call Me Brickface, Cam Jansen and the Mystery at the Monkey House, Dune, Devil in the White City, My Face Looks Like a Brick, Ender’s Game, Buffalo Lookers, Call Me Connor, Poop in a Bucket, Flowers for Algernon, Inherent Vice, Ass Ranch, The Runaway Bunny, Crime and Punishment, Living with Horse, Touchdown Buddies, Heart of Darkness, The Catcher in the Rye, Old Pete, A Moon Beyond, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, The Hobbit, The Hate U Give, If You Give a Mouse A Cookie, Garth, The Satanic Verses, The Littlest Leaguer, Goosebumps, Beezus and Ramona, Ramona the Pest, Lolita, Chunky and His Frog Friends, The County Festival, Instant Butter, The Fountainhead, Elvis and Me, Frindle, Mein Kampf, Geek Love, The Road to Serfdom, Rocks and Stones, Bugman, Eight of a Kind, Banana Street Blues, God and Man at Yale, Manlet Manor, If I Did It, All My Goyim, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Too Many Sausages, Boy Town, Roots, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, A Feast for Timothy, My Nephew the Dolt, Bofa Nut, Fatter Johnson, My Brain is Made of Aquafresh Toothpaste, Where the Wild Things Are, To Kill A Mockingbird, Curious George Goes to Prison, No David, David Goes to Prison, Henry Ford and the Jews, Corduroy, Flat Stanley Goes to Prison, Encyclopedia Brown Gets Shot.

and it turns out Tolkien was just writing biblical fan-fiction this whole time.

I even sold off my wardrobe along with all of my clothes after reading that Computer Science Lewis guy because I was afraid a flock of annoying British children was gonna pop out at any moment. And don’t even get me started on Stephen King.

I thought this guy just had one crazy spooky life but no, he’s just a dude from Maine with too much time on his hands and some weird fetishes.

To be fair, not all books are disgraceful lies: Hunter S. Thompson did in fact take all those drugs, J.D. Salinger was genuinely sexist, and Isaac Asimov really was terrified of those Chuck E. Cheese animatronics. When I’m in the mood for real honesty that I can see with my own two eyes, I just watch one of my favorite movies from the Star Wars franchise. Man, space is one crazy place! Thankfully nobody can take that away from me.

—A. Beer

—H. Rubin IT WAS ALL JUST MADE UP! I’m a big reading guy. Me and books go way back; I’ve spent years of my life reading them to help make sense of this crazy world, but I’ve just uncovered something asinine.

Apparently, these so-called “authors” have been lying to their readers this whole time and publishing whatever balderdash comes to mind. It was all just made up!

That’s right, not only did Vonnegut lie about the existence of the Tralfamadorians from Slaughterhouse Five, but the first four Slaughterhouse books never even existed! I just thought they were always out of stock at Barnes and Noble. Here I was losing sleep over this evil dude named Sauron trying to take over the world,

—A. Mitchell

The Great American Issue

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Encyclopedia Brown

This was the moment. If Encyclopedia were to feel anything meaningful in his life, it would have to be now. But he experienced little more than a slight flutter in his heart, and after a few moments that too had disappeared. Encyclopedia was disappointed, but he knew his own nature.

This was the curse of having an encyclopedia for

by M. Bamberger a brain—all the cognitive wonders of the world just lay there, alphabetically arranged, awaiting perusal. The fact of their total accessibility removed from them any true value. Encyclopedia had thousands of books, porn catalogs, and accounts of the most gruesome murders and sex crimes imaginable all ordered neatly in his brain from eleven years of living, learning, reading, and effortlessly memorizing. All that knowledge—and none of it made him feel a thing.

Encyclopedia wondered at the pain an omniscient God must feel, and at his relationship to such a being, but this thought was fleeting too.

He noticed Betsy eyeing him for a reaction at the grisly sight that lay before them. She had, for once, stopped chewing.

“It’s terrible, to be sure,” he said to her, and then, feeling this wasn’t enough, made a little sad face. She, he noticed, exhibited surprisingly low levels of emotion given the scenario. “Likely psychological shock,” he thought.

Encyclopedia approached the body to get a better look at the scene. He examined the tomato sauce that had overflowed off the plate and onto the table, and the two knives stuck deep in the dead woman’s back. He looked up at Betsy and quipped, “Suicide, do you reckon?”

Betsy did not laugh, and Encyclopedia imncyclopedia Brown was sitting in his calist ideology, in which the police state was the mediately regretted the joke. He turned his gaze garage one late afternoon when he heard epitome of all evil—the Idaville Police Departback to the knives, noting a lack of fingerprints a familiar chewing sound outside. The ment specifically was a collection of the most chomping got louder and louder until—sure self-serving and dim-witted individuals that Ency- on either. He spotted a handkerchief beside the enough—Betsy “Bubblegum” Barton appeared clopedia could imagine. All this, of course, would body and, looking closer, noticed some cigarette ash crinkled in. He took a short whiff—Marlboros. in the doorway. “Encyclopedia,” she said, go far over Betsy’s head, Encyclopedia thought “Say, Betsy,” Encyclopedia said, turning his between deafening chomps on her gum, “I’ve to himself, so they continued the walk in silence, gaze back to the fifth-grade dame, “does anyone got a real doozy of a case for ya.” save for Betsy’s unbearable gum-chewing.

Everyone in the fifth grade hated Betsy, and “Hey, Encyclopedia!” yelled an old woman in your family happen to smoke cigarettes?”

“Why, sure,” Betsy answered, chewing with Encyclopedia was no exception. She was insuffilling out a crossword on a bench as he and Betsy dull excitement. “My dad does! Only Marlboros ferable and loud, but Encyclopedia had become passed. “What’s a twelve-letter word for the though. He’s napping upstairs right now.” bored by the monotony of everyday life. Solving only fifth-grader I’m looking to keep me warm “Well, Betsy,” Encyclopedia responded crimes was the only thing that made him feel any- tonight?” with a tinge of irritation. “It might take a little thing close to real emotion. “I’ll take the case,” Encyclopedia had grown used to Idaville’s time to confirm, but I think we found our killer.” he said. He followed Betsy out of the garage and predatory elderly population and their collecup the block towards her home. tive sexual obsession with him. “Ignore her,” he WHO KILLED MRS. BLANCHE “Encyclopedia, I’m tellin’ ya, this is a real grunted at Betsy, and she kept chomping away toughie. I thought about going to your dad about at her gum, too moronic to notice anything past it but decided I’d rather tell someone I trusted.” her nose. In some ways, Encyclopedia envied her Encyclopedia offered a reassuring smile, though complete ignorance—surely it was preferable to inside he was scoffing. Betsy had no reason to the burden of knowledge. trust him. Encyclopedia’s face was familiar to her The pair finally arrived at Betsy’s home, and from their shared third-period gym class—any fur- when she opened the front door for Encyclopether relationship between them was an illusion. dia to enter the situation became immediately Still, he was glad she had turned to him apparent. Betsy’s mother, whom Encyclopedia over his father’s good-for-nothing police force. recognized from the annual Scholastic Book Fair, Encyclopedia respected the Idaville Police Dewas sitting at the dinner table, face planted in a partment less than the worms in his backyard—or full plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Two long even than Betsy, perhaps. This was not just a kitchen knives sprouted like orchids from her result of Encyclopedia’s general anarcho-syndiback.

And the Case of the Spaghetti Facial

E

Encyclopedia carefully removed the knives from Mrs. Barton’s back and took them, along with the handkerchief, back home to his garage. He used the three-million-dollar forensic analysis equipment he had stolen from his father’s lab (that Idaville Police Department really is a gang of nincompoops) and found that Betsy had slain her own mother. Betsy! Can you believe it? Encyclopedia couldn’t. He’d been sure it was her dad! Gosh. Betsy! That slimy, conniving, bubblegum bitch.

Betsy!!

The Yale Record

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FORGOTTEN CLASSICS

GREAT DEDICATIONS IN LITERATURE

Deep Waters and Deep Love on the Mississippi by Mark Twain Twain wrote Deep Waters just before his death, perhaps to reflect on his time as a riverboat captain. The protagonist, Pecan Clarence, spends his days hauling cargo down the Mississippi instead of finding the woman he will marry. One night, Clarence casts a line to kill some time and catches a female catfish. The boat captain and the catfish, whom he names Selma, begin a tender relationship, and the remainder of the novel details the struggles of an interspecies relationship in the Antebellum South. Tragically, the book ends with Selma being fried and eaten by Pecan Clarence’s shipmates. Twain vehemently denied this was in any way based on his life.

“To my dearest shawty: who got them apple-bottom jeans, boots with the fur, and the whole club lookin’ at her.”

—F. Rida, Low “To me; I do not cook, I do not clean, but let me tell you how I got this ring...”

—C.B., W.A.P “For a mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido yeah, hey.”

—K. Cobain, Smells Like Team Spirit “I dedicate this work to Jessie’s girl. I wish that I had her. I hope to find a woman like that.”

—R. Springfield, Jessie’s Girl “Dedicated to someone I will never give up, never let down, never run around, and never desert” —R. Astley, Never Gonna Give You Up “To Darkness, my old friend.”

—S. & G., The Sound of Silence “To the wheels on the Bus. I always appreciate your consistency in going round and round, round and round, round and round.”

—V. Hills, The Wheels on the Bus “Once Again To Zelda” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Snow Cold Hearts by F. Scott Fitzgerald Written during a bout of cabin fever induced by a long Minnesota winter, F. Scott Fitzgerald details the struggles of local snowmen in his little-known gem Snow Cold Hearts.

The book explores class differences, such as how richer snowmen are able to avoid the slush and sunshine that plague the lives of poorer “Frosties” (derogatory). The main character is Nippy, a newly rich “four-baller” (a snowman made of four snow spheres) who made his fortune in weather speculation but has trouble breaking into the high society of Saint Paul’s elites, where historic dynasties loom large. The book concludes with Nippy being snow-plowed in pursuit of his old-money love interest Chilly, who loves him but can’t seem to ignore his modest upbringing and squirrel-ravaged nose.

Needless to say, this book has remained on the other side of paradise. Is the American Dream a lie or is Fitzgerald a helpless drunk? Likely both.

—M. Elliott

Cracked Eggs Can Still Make Fine Omelettes in Tennessee by Robert Penn Warren Robert Penn Warren’s novel describes the sudden political rise of Donnie Bedford Forrest, a mentally-challenged Tennessean who rises to the Governor’s office in 1932. Despite being unable to read or write, Donnie secures the governorship by receiving the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan, a political reality that occurs due to him being the greatgrandson of Nathan Bedford Forrest, the group’s founder.

The Klan had assumed Donnie would be a Trojan horse for advisers to implement racist policy. However, influenced by his friendship with Reginald Freeman, the Black man who worked as the help in the Forrest family’s home, Donnie is able to pass some of the most progressive civil rights legislation in the nation. The book found almost no audience, as it angered both conservatives and progressives alike.

—E. Bohannon

—L. Conklin

The Great American Issue

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GREAT WORKS OF HISTORICAL FICTION Triangle Shirtwasted — Alcoholic father Chuck Murphy is just trying to do right by his family, but there’s one thing standing in his way: the largest industrial disaster in American history.

The Roooooaring Twenties — Follow rough-and-tumble Larry the Lion through the 1920s as he juggles parties, automobiles, mating, and his imminently doomed stock portfolio.

Lincoln in a Lincoln — This daring novel asks the question, “What if Abraham Lincoln could drive?”

I Fucked the President Too — The historical classic delves into the personal lives of Betsy Carrigan, Grace Jones, and Charlotte Nightingale—the other three women who got down and dirty in the oval office with JFK. What will happen when they all meet at his funeral?

Ellis Island — Immigration Museum tour guide Oleg Kaschlovitch is forced to change his name to be more visitor-friendly, and the whole thing is super symbolic.

I Fucked the President Too: The Prequel — Set twenty years before the original smash hit. It turns out FDR had quite a few mistresses too.

—J. Bock

MY MOVIE IDEA

By W. Cramer There should be a movie about a nostalgic writer who is transported back to 1920s Paris every night at midnight to talk with some of the greatest American artists and writers of the time and it can star anyone except for Owen Wilson.

You might think I’m crazy, but here’s my big pitch. What if there were a film about a successful but disillusioned Hollywood screenwriter, let’s call him Gil Pender for the sake of this article, who vacation to Paris with his fiancée Inez and her wealthy parents? In my head, I can see Gil struggling to finish his debut novel. Of course, Inez writes off his passion for literature rather than support him. To kick off the action, I think it’d make sense for them to meet Inez’s friend, Paul. If a Wikipedia article on this film that I am visualizing in my head were ever written, it would describe Paul as both pedantic and a pseudo-intellectual.

Naturally, Paul would be a big presence. He’d clash with Gil but Inez would

love him. All of that is kind of up in the air, but one thing’s for certain—Gil can be played by anyone except Owen Wilson.

The character is versatile and I’m sure a litany of talented actors could bring their own unique style and flavor to the role. The voice of Lightning McQueen, however, must be ruled out from the casting call. He is the only person in the entire world that has no right to play this character.

Back to my big idea: Gil would get drunk one night and find himself roaming the streets of London alone. A vintage car from the roaring twenties would pull up beside him, and soon he’d find himself at a party with Ernest Hemingway, Cole Porter, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein. They’d guide him through the age, consult on his novel, and introduce him to even more artists of the past century. In this section of the film, the character of Gil will evolve from an eager protagonist to a passenger along for the ride. It’s not a big ask for the titular role, but it’s definitely too much for Owen Wilson specifically to take on. The giggly blonde is hard to take seriously next to his contemporaries; there’s no way he could hold his own in a parlor of

—M. Kuo some of the western world’s greatest minds.

Soon, Gil would encounter Pablo Picasso’s lover, Adriana, and the two would hit it off. They’d fall in love and the story would unravel from there. Ultimately, Gil would realize that there is no one definitive golden age. Adriana’s longing for La Belle Époque shows him that we all romanticize the past. Our mundane lives in the present will always leave us wishing for more.

Luckily for us viewers, we wouldn’t need to wish for much. All we’d have to wish for is that whichever actor in this world, English speaking or otherwise, is cast in the role of Gil, he/she is not Owen Wilson, the beloved regular co-star of Vince Vaughn and star of 2013’s Free Birds, an American computer-animated science fiction comedy film about two turkeys traveling back in time to prevent their kind ending up on the menu for Thanksgiving.

Oh, and also this movie about an incredible woman falling in love with a mediocre man probably shouldn’t be directed

by Woody Allen.

—W. Cramer

The Yale Record

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BURN THESE BOOKS

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban British

We all agree that freedom of expression is essential to any society, but let’s also agree that there are some books that should be cast into the inferno, never again to be read by any mortal eye. Here are our top picks for books you should burn on sight.

Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary 11th Edition Too wordy

1984

Green Eggs and Ham

The Cat In The Hat

Animal Farm

It’s 2022.

Too much nudity

Not enough nudity

Allegory not clear enough

To Kill A Mockingbird

2019 Dover High Yearbook

The Great American Issue

Fahrenheit 451

Condones killing, condones mockingbirds

Daniel only won Best Smile because his dad’s rich

Not that great, not that American

Criticizes book burning

The Great American Issue

WHY THE BIBLE IS A GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL It Condones Day Drinking. If it’s 9 AM on a Sunday and a wrinkly old man isn’t pouring cheap pinot into your mouth, you’re doing something wrong. In the Bible and in America, you are free to drink at any hour, just as the Founding Fathers wanted. That is, as long as the first shot goes to the troops—they defend this right for you.

It Promotes Capitalist Values. You think they have Medicare behind the pearly gates? Think again, bucko.

Don’t bother loading your pockets with posies—load them with cold hard cash. Just like in the old U. S. of A, you’d better be able to pay out of pocket if you have any medical emergencies in heaven. Or offer sexual favors.

It’s Full Of Food Insecurity. Like more than 38 million Americans, good Christians willingly fast. During Lent, it is essential that you clear your cabinets—God wanted food waste. The Bible was a weight loss program before Weight Watchers. Punish yourself for eating the chocolate you promised to quit, not for hoarding enough wealth to have a second home in the Cayman Islands.

It Takes Place in America. The sun is rising over a little stable with no modern medicine. Nestled in the coal mining mountains of Pennsylvania, there sits a little town called Bethlehem, where a baby boy is born. His dad’s first name? God. The date? December 25th: Christmas… ever heard of it? Probably not these days, with all of this “Happy Holidays” nonsense going around.

It Preaches Peace (enforced by the Strongest Military in the World). As Jesus preached in his Sermon on the Mount (Rushmore), “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall invade Iraq and search out those pesky weapons of mass destruction” (although I’m not really sure why our boys were looking for them—the best WMDs are made right here in America!).

It Gives Men More Rights. As Paul mandated in Ephesians, “Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord.”

There’s a reason they’re called the Founding Fathers, not the Founding Mothers. The Bible was, after all, written by men, so you know they were never biased about who they thought should rule.

—L. Conklin DOES F. SCOTT FITZGERALD EVER SPECIFY THAT JAY GATSBY IS NOT BLACK? I don’t think so.

—W. Cramer

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HUCKLEBERRY FINN THINKS HE’S REAL? WHAT A LOSER...

By J. Mansfield As a precocious seven-year old, Mark Twain’s mystifying wit and tasteful use of racist slurs are often my sole companion in my bedroom at night. I can curl up and revel at depictions of a Southern Antebellum society for hours, trading in the chains of bedtimes for those of slavery and blood feuds.

However, a glaring flaw in Huckleberry Finn’s character consistently prevents me from taking his character seriously, despite his homespun ingenuity and happy-go-lucky charm. Throughout The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, there are several eyebrow-raising references to things like motivation or emotions. Now, I’m no expert—although I just got a perfect score on my Social Studies test—but those seem like human notions, and everyone knows that Huckleberry Finn is clearly a fictional character.

Take this passage for example: “I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight.” Here, Huckleberry appears to believe that he has “asked” a question, even though he does not exist and therefore cannot “ask” anything. Frankly, I think Huckleberry Finn and his equally NOT REAL compatriots are all idiots and should never be turned to for advice on any subject.

How could you possibly think a name on paper— who, by the way, consistently misspells words like “civilize,” something well within the reach of a firstgrader—could ever have anything interesting to say on the human condition?

When I brought up these sound, dare I say mature conclusions to my teacher, she laughed at me! The audacity! Critical race theory is clearly corrupting our American inquisitive spirit and educational institutions.

Yesterday, after telling me to “see her after class,” she mentioned something along the lines of “those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” She said that I have “no self-awareness” and am simply a character in a satire magazine! Hogwash! Whatever the “Yale Record” is definitely can’t beat my status as Mrs. Brown’s class line leader.

The Yale Record

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SPARKNOTES+

IN DEFENSE OF CHILDREN’S LITERATURE

Don’t have the time, energy, or desire to read the great American classics? Don’t have the time, energy, or desire to read the SparkNotes of the great American classics? Try Sparknotes+: the SparkNotes to the SparkNotes of the great American classics.

Some of my less talented colleagues like to dismiss vast swaths of the literary canon as “children’s literature.” This sort of pompous and empty-minded belittling does a criminal disservice to the age-old tradition of literary analysis. Today, as an exercise in close reading, we will examine Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree.

The Great Gatsby — More money, thus more problems. And For those unfamiliar, Silverstein’s seminal work follows the unattainability of the American Dream for those born the relationship between a boy and an apple tree. As a child, outside the cushioned enclave of the elite. the boy plays with the tree, climbing her trunk, swinging from The Catcher in the Rye — Think baseball mitts, but also her branches, and eating her apples. However, as the boy gets really its more the ducks, and you could even make an older, he visits the tree only when he wants something for himargument that carousel. self—for instance, he brings his new girlfriend there for a late The Scarlet Letter — Fuck the church, just don’t get afternoon liaison. In an effort to make the boy happy, the tree caught. willingly gives up parts of her body: the boy sells her apples to Fahrenheit 451 — make money, uses her branches to build a house, and makes a Grapes of Wrath — They’re fruity, and they’re pissed. boat from her trunk.

The Crucible — McCarthyism with zest.

It is perfectly obvious that the story’s tree represents the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest — Likable misfits suffer male phallus. In turn, this phallus acts as a physical embodifrom imposter syndrome. ment of the boy’s homosexual temptations. Though SilverDeath of a Salesman — A salesman dies. stein’s use of feminine pronouns for the tree might confuse the Walden — Literally, please take a walk. Don’t BeReal it. novice reader, this simply indicates that the tree is a bottom.

Just walk. Please.

It is also fascinating to reflect upon the boy’s contrastThe Jungle — Meat, city, meatcity. ing foray into the heterosexual realm. The girl whom the boy brings to the tree represents the apex of his heterosexualism.

—J. Downey It is clearly implied that, after the two carve their initials into the tree, they have sexual intercourse upon the tree’s roots. By forcing the tree to be a voyeur to his heterosexual jaunt, the boy gets a thrill. His heterosexualism does not fall far from the tree of his homosexualism (literally and figuratively). But, over time, he drifts away from his natural urges, only returning when it is materially beneficial. For instance, the boy has “gay sex” (makes a boat) when it coincides with his larger goal of “sleeping” (boating) to the top of the economic ladder.

However, the boy’s selfishness catches up with him. Over time, the parts of the tree he instrumentalizes—which represent his homosexual options—permanently disappear. Finally, when the boy grows old and hopes to return to the joyful homosexuality of his youth, he is left with nothing but a tree stump—symbolizing his limited sexual opportunities and the short, stump-like nature of his remaining options.

From this exercise in close reading, I hope it has become clear that literary analysis is a conceptually straightforward process. It is my sincere hope that you will practice the art of close reading so that you will never be tempted—like some of my colleagues have been—to use the label of “children’s literature” as a cover-up for personal ineptitude.

Professor Richard D. Peters Endowed Johnson Chair of English Literature Harvard University —A. Hempel

—E. Gorelick

The Great American Issue

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The Yale Record

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The Great American Novel Contest Which of these novel fragments do YOU think deserves to be ghostwritten in full by our team to become the next Great American novel? Tweet your choice with the hashtag #MarchMadness to cast your vote!

In The Shadow of a Roar

Untitled Journal No. 1

by J.C.S. Eldred

by A. Burch

What is noise but an incoherent silence?

Noise bothered Silas Greene, but when all the waves anti-aligned perfectly, cancelled out to nothing, that new noise which they call silence bothered him too. Not that Silas Greene was an all too disagreeable person. He liked many things: his dog, his wife (different), and the smell of a chocolate croissant on a Thursday morning.

(The bakery washed the sidewalk Wednesday afternoons. All other days, the smell of piss mixed disharmoniously with that of the croissants.

Not that he held anyone in contempt for it—he walked his dog down that street himself.)

And it was on this particular Thursday morning that he had left his 13th story apartment (14th if you asked the elevator buttons; Fuck you if you asked the mailman) without his dog or his wife, planning to buy and then eat one such croissant at the Green-awninged café two blocks down Broadway…

Author’s Note A truly great novel—a novel that demands and rejects and maims with quick sure strokes, that drags you to the edge of existence and pulls a stone idol out of the nothingness there—can of course only be written by a truly desperate man.

Something inside you must break before you can break something of the world’s.

Chapter One First of all, let me get something straight: This is a JOURNAL, not a diary. I know what it says on the cover, but if Mom thinks I’m going to write down my “feelings” in here or whatever, she’s crazy. So just don’t expect me to be all “Dear Diary” this and “Dear Diary” that...

Moby Dick: A Whale’s Tale The Grapes of Wrath

by W. Cramer To the red country and part of the gray country of Sonoma, California, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth. The plows worked the fields, guided by farmers who had no idea what they were in for.

Across the vineyard, greenish-purplish fruits murmured to one another.

Today was the day everything would change, for the worse. Because these grapes were not happy. These grapes were angry.

Like, super angry. They were riled up for real this time. These grapes weren’t going to hang around and just take it anymore.

No, these grapes were so upset and vengeful, they were about to start the Great Depression...

by M. Kuo First off, it’s Mobius Richard, which is already an unfortunate name to have. People are always trying to shorten it, and there’s no good option. What kind of nickname is Dick, anyways? Where does the D come in? I’m Mobius Richard, Mobie Rich if really you want to keep it snappy. Get that through your thick human skull, which I can instantly crush with my 1,000 baleen plates.

Second, everything I did was in selfdefense (besides the part where I felt a little cranky and ate a couple humans). This Ahab dude tries to strip my blubber for ambient lighting, and I’m not supposed to fight back?

The fact that he nicknamed me—dare I say, violently—Moby Dick was honestly my last straw.

At that point, hell yeah I was down for revenge! I did what I had to do. But hey, at least I’m not that iceberg that hit the Titanic...

The Great American Issue

SITUATIONS IN AMERICAN LITERATURE THAT I WOULD HAVE HANDLED BETTER The Great Gatsby: The Car Crash — In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Daisy, the love interest of the titular Jay Gatsby, is a real shitty driver and crashes her car, setting off a tragic chain of events leading to multiple deaths. But if I had been in this situation, I would have not crashed the aforementioned car. I have actually never crashed a car, and I’m not going to start with this hypothetical fictional scenario set almost a century in the past.

Catch-22: World War II — Catch-22, by Joseph Heller, is a book that takes place during World War II. Most of the novel’s conflict stems from the “war” occurring in the novel—the aforementioned World War II. If I had been in this situation, I would not have let World War II happen.

World War II killed a lot of people and had a lot of negative effects on the world. Things would have been better if someone had just killed Hitler in 1929 or something, so that’s probably the approach I would have taken.

Lolita: The Whole Pedophilia Thing — Lolita is a 1955 novel by Russian-American author Vladimir Nabokov, in which a middle-aged Frenchman “Humbert Humbert” is obsessed with a 12-year-old girl. Many of the problems in this novel would have been solved if I had been in this situation instead of the story’s aforementioned protagonist, because I am not a pedophile. I think that pedophilia is gross and expect that I will still feel this way when I become middle-aged, move to France, and change my name to Humbert Humbert.

American Psycho: The American Psycho — In Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho, the main problem is that there is an American psycho named Patrick Bateman. Unfortunately for Patrick and for many people around him, nobody was there to look after his mental health. If I had been in this situation, I would have just told Patrick Bateman that it’s okay not to be okay. Delivering this aforementioned advice would likely have allowed Patrick Bateman to introspect, curb his toxic tendencies (e.g. murdering) and finally begin some much-needed therapy.

To Kill A Mockingbird: Racism — Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird is a classic American tale about how racist America was before Martin Luther King Jr.’s well-written and endlessly quotable speeches fixed everything. If I had been in this situation as a white Alabamian in the 1930’s, I would have just aforementioned off some lines about the contents of people’s character and the raging stream of justice or whatever, winning over hearts and minds of every race and creed. Problem solved.

Fahrenheit 451: Censorship — Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 is a book about a brutal society that censors ideas with flamethrowers and a guy named Beatty. But if I had been in the situation of Ray Bradbury’s aforementioned Fahrenheit 451, I would have just spoken my mind. Nothing can censor

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a true free thinker like me, and that’s just who I am. I’m not afraid of fire, and I’m especially not afraid of the aforementioned dude named Beatty. He wants me to shut up, he can come and try to make me.

The Book of Mormon: Hiding The Golden Plates — Joseph Smith Jr.’s The Book of Mormon: An Account Written by the Hand of Mormon upon Plates Taken from the Plates of Nephi is a book that claims to contain ancient writings from prophets who lived in America during antiquity. The double-aforementioned plates were supposedly made of gold, which, being rather expensive, would have been hard for the aforementioned Joseph Smith Jr. to forge. This would lend credence to the aforementioned claim that the tripleaforementioned plates came from aforementioned antiquity, but unfortunately the quadruple-aforementioned plates were hidden from everyone except twelve people. If I had been in this situation, I would have simply shown everyone the quintuple-aforementioned plates, instantly catapulting Mormonism into a world religion. Not that hard, Joseph!

—B. Hollander-Bodie

—N. Weiss

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT •

FRIDAY, MARCH 18, 2022

• VOL. LXVIII, NO. 6 • yaledailynews.biz

EXCLUSIVE: JD Salinger Opens Up About The Real Meaning Of The Catcher In The Rye

A: No, but it’s even crazier. One time, I was talking with my ma and I saw a man in a field holding some cauliflower. I turned to her and meant to say, “Look at the man in the field holding cauliflower,” but misspoke and said, “look at the man in the iflower holdin’ caulfield.” I liked how it sounded, and the rest is history.

BY ANDREW CRAMER STAFF REPORTER For years, the literary community believed that JD Salinger was fully committed to his status as a recluse. However, journalists at The Record recently uncovered a decades-old interview that the publication held with the now-deceased author. The following is that transcript from 1981.

Q: JD, it’s really an honor having you here. Thank you so much for agreeing to talk to us here at The Yale Record.

A: It’s a pleasure to be here!

I love meeting new people. And I have a bit of a soft spot for Yale. A few years back I was secretly visiting this hot young thing named Joyce on campus twice a week. Some lovely buildings. Tell me, is Calhoun still as beautiful as ever?

Q: Sure is. Anyway, JD, let’s get down to business, shall we?

What was the inspiration for The Catcher in the Rye? A: Well in high school, I was sort of an anti-Holden. Star of the basketball team, girls and guys both flinging themselves at me romantically, the life of the party. People loved me and I loved them. But this one kid, his name was Mark, he sucked. Just a real loser, no direction in life, and he and I never got along. One time, he beat me in ping pong, and that was the last straw. I wrote down everything I could think of to make him

seem like a loser in my diary. A few Junior in the sixth grade. So I’m not years after college, I found my old sure why people view me as a recluse. journals, changed some names, and I had myself a story.

Q: Fascinating. What role did you play?

Q: Very interesting. You A. With respect, I’d like to keep mentioned that you were quite my private life private. the social butterfly in high school. And I’ve heard rumors Q: I’m sorry, that’s very unthat, despite your public per- derstandable. How about this sona, you remain so to this day. one, then? Some people have Why do you think you’re so mis- speculated that you chose to understood, JD? use the name Holden Caulfield A: I don’t know. But I’ve al- as a way of sneaking in a little ways loved the spotlight. You know, wordplay about preserving inI starred in Seussical the Musical nocence. Any truth to that?

Cross Campus INTO THE MILD

Yale student Christopher Mackey ’24 set out last Thursday on what he described as an “Into-theWild/On-The-Road–style adventure across the United States” as research for a new novel. The young man tragically starved to death only two hours into his journey, on a highway outside Bridgeport. He will be missed. MORE ON PAGE 3

Inside The News Oh dear me! Whoever you are—I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Would a kind stranger please oh please write this article for me? I simply do not have the time and we’re printing soon.

Pages 6-7

Q: You’re a busy man, and I don’t want to take too much of your time. Final question.

Last year, John Lennon, a close friend of yours, I believe, was murdered by a man who considered your book his only statement. How do you feel about that?

A: John was a dear friend of mine. Back in our heyday, we spent hours smoking doobies together. He always knew where to get the good stuff. On a personal level, it was tragic to lose a good dealer so young. But on a professional level, it was such a rush to be talked about again—I was seeing my book everywhere! Heck, if you’re a fan and you’ve set your sights on Ringo Starr, don’t stop on my account.

Q: Mr. Salinger, thanks so much for speaking with me today.

My pleasure. Make sure to swing by my place on Saturday. I’m hosting a little shindig. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.

POINT: It’s Cool To Befriend 12 Year Olds (Non Sexual) by Boo Radley COUNTERPOINT: It’s Cool To Befriend 12 Year Olds (Sexual) by Humbert Humbert

Hey Guys, I Think The Old Man and The Sea Might Be An Allegory

ANALYSIS

OPINION

Page 3

Page 5

Page 8

DISCOURSE

I Like Huckleberry Finn But I Wish He Would Stop Using The N Word

ARTS

“Why do I write? It’s simple. I write because I owe Alfonso ‘Mr. Magic’ Bracco2 thirty grand and if I don’t pay up he’ll do unspeakble things to me. And also because of my love of the craft.” STEPHEN KING AUTHOR

REVIEW: “Death of a Salesman”

ing about arbitrage opportunities in unexploited sectors, like the part of the vacuum that goes gawoosh.

Arthur Miller’s Death of a One plot point that flummoxed Salesman was an excellent read. The me was when Willy lamented that characters are colorful, the themes nobody would show up at his funeral. are dark, and Biff is gay. Most im- Unfortunately, he had failed to make portantly, this play made me take a lasting friendships or even sustain long hard look at our once-great na- mundane relationships throughout tion. I’m starting to question whether his life, but there are other surefire this whole “American Dream” thing ways to attract heads to one’s funeral. is all it’s built up to be. Willy Loman, The audience is left pondering why a down-on-his-luck salesman, gets Willy neglects to consider the practiswept up in his dreams of the good life cal option: hide a large trove of bullion and forgets that success requires hard in a remote destination and initiate a work, luck, and a grandfather with a complex hunt to retrieve it. specialized shipping company that We’re all familiar with a secret secured a long-term contract with Dy- treasure can be located only upon son to send vacuum parts to Taiwan. hearing precise directions left in a Willy does not realize the sweep- deceased person’s will. Willy should ing implications of a global manu- have asked his neighborhood priest facturing network; despite the parts presiding over his funeral to spread being manufactured in Mexico to be the word of a magnificent treasure to sold in America, the products are as- attract adventure seekers and avarice, sembled in the Hsinchu province. Be- great minds and even greater greed. cause of this, he is unable to make his It is simple. It is obvious. But Ardreams a reality. Instead of relying on thur Miller refuses to even entertain likeability, a common theme through- the idea. Many playwrights fall short, out the play, Willy should start think- be it in their prose or their creativity.

WILL CRAMER COLUMNIST

Here, Miller shows an inability to understand realism and mankind’s undeniable lust for hidden treasure.

Another plot point that stood out to me was Willy’s infidelity. The beleaguered salesman cheats on his wife, Linda, with an unnamed woman.

First of all, adultery is never cool, unless it’s with someone hotter than your spouse. We never get a great visual of this woman, which leaves the status of the affair in the air.

On the bright side, I read this as brave commentary from Miller. In America, we’re taught that sex sells, but here we see a salesman having sex.

That reversal made me think long and hard about consumerism and my own sexuality.

Ultimately, this play made me reflect on the life I have lived and the life I want to live. Am I a Willy (A loser)?

Am I Biff (Gay)? Am I Linda (Being cheated on by my significant other)?

It’s hard to say. But one thing remains clear. Hide some treasure now and rest assured that your legacy will live on long after you die a tragic, empty shell of the man you hoped to be.

Sylvia Plath’s Lost Manuscript I then asked the family if they had a shredder (which they pronounce in Britain as “shred-dah”), American poet and author and they directed me to it, but I Sylvia Plath died at the age of 30 soon learned that they brought in 1963. Her only novel, The Bell the shredder, along with most othJar, is now considered a classic. er items in the house, with them For decades, many have specu- when they moved in 2015. lated that Plath left behind a manAfter a while I got antsy, and uscript for a second novel. I am these Brits were not too keen on among these speculators, but un- that. They told me I had interruptlike the rest of the masses, I don’t ed a family meeting about their just sit back and think there’s impending divorce. I told them it nothing I can do about it. No, I was okay because my parents are take action. With a lot of money divorced too. They kicked me out, and a little bit of hard work, I am and I was back to square one. Still, pleased to share my findings.

I had a feeling that if the manuIn order to find the manu- script was anywhere, it was here… script, I had to travel to the storied And boy, am I glad I trusted my land of Britain, England, where I gut. I stumbled upon a dumpster found Plath’s London “flat” cur- not far from the flat, and after a rently occupied by a traditional thorough search I found numerBritish “family.” After speak- ous pieces of paper. This had to ing with the “mum” and “pop,” be it.

I learned that the flat had gone I flew back home, papers in through numerous renovations in tow, and started to piece together the past sixty years. the manuscript, which was vastly This presented my first chal- different from The Bell Jar. Inlenge; it wouldn’t be as simple as stead of the stories of working finding a manuscript on her desk in New York and receiving elecand saying, “Aha!” troconvulsive therapy, Plath had KAYLEE WALSH STAFF REPORTER

dropped the narrative structure entirely. At one point, she included coupons for a London grocery store. Later on, she created a science test taken by a fictional second grader named “Bobby,” who got almost everything wrong.

There were receipts for liquor stores, each one more expensive than the last, and a series of family photos, many with devil horns, buck teeth, and speech bubbles that said, “I’m the Bloody Worst!” drawn on the dad.

I was in awe of Plath’s genius.

Through this slate of entirely fictional documents, she allows the reader to piece together a story in their own mind. As I finally got the manuscript in order, I thought to myself, “Wow. She’s done it again.” And to think that this masterpiece was sitting in a dumpster for all those years!

Some people might say I’m the biggest hero in the history of literature. And I am one of those people. You’re welcome, and good night.

REVIEW: “Hills Like White Elephants”

BY MALIA KUO COLUMNIST The word that comes to mind is “disappointed” when I think of Ernest Hemingway’s 1927 so-called “masterpiece.” I thought that it would be a visceral, titillating story about a mound of dirt and its humane, at times sensual enjoyment of the soft, plodding footsteps of a white elephant on its plush surface.

But no. According to Sparknotes, it’s all secretly about abortion. What is this bullshit? Hills are hills. White elephants are white elephants.

And if the title says “Hills like white elephants,” then I’d better see some white elephant-on-hill action.

This is a rare miss from Mr. Hemingway. Let’s hope his next published work is better.

REVIEW: “Big Women”

BY RENA HOWARD COLUMNIST

Louisa May Alcott is wellknown for her timeless novel, Little Women, a coming-of-age novel about three women who, for some reason, complain about being women. Sure, that one was a bestseller, but in my humble opinion Alcott’s lesser known sequel Big Women is the novel that is truly worth reading.

Big Women follows the sisters as they survive scarlet fever, grow a solid 10 inches, and assemble a championship basketball team consisting of a couple of rabbits, a duck, a small yellow bird, and basketball hall-of-famer LeBron James.

It’s an action-packed tale of perseverance, teamwork, and— most importantly—aliens. So next time you find yourself in a Barnes & Noble, pick up this exciting novel. It will not disappoint.

22

The Yale Record

WRITING TIPS FOR NEW GREAT AMERICAN NOVELISTS In the hundreds of years that America has existed, no author has cracked the code on writing the undisputed “Great American Novel.” Thankfully for you, I’m here to share my best tips for new writers setting out on their Great American quest.

1. Writing courses are lame. If you’re literate enough to read this magazine, that’s good enough to get started. If you’re in such a program, now is the time to bow out and recover the precious time you would’ve lost.

2. Every writer needs a good backstory, so you’ll need to move to South Dakota or Idaho and get adopted by the local wealthy family. Make sure you experience enough hardship to write like a true tortured artist, but you’re well-off enough to be a novelist.

3. Countryside staples are a must for your novel. Fill it with small midwestern towns, beautiful rolling hills, starry night skies, and roadside Culver’s that really scream “America.”

4. Metaphors are so last year. Why would you say things are things that they’re not? It doesn’t make any sense, and just wastes time you could be using describing a Culver’s. As I always say, time is money.

5. Give your work a title that’ll shock the critics, like “Critics Suck.” Yeah, something like that. Anger is a great motivator.

6. Spend most of your time on the cover art. Everyone judges the book by the cover, even “authors” like you. Try putting something eye-catching like a hot babe on the front.

7. Last but not least, make sure to include me in your dedication page (only) if it’s a hit. After all, you won’t make the New York Times Best Sellers & Dedications list without a good dedication.

8. Be careful with foreshadowing the future. Hungry readers will investigate every inch you give them, so it’s best to waste their time wi—

immediately!

Tell a stranger about your uncle — “It’s nice when somebody tells you about their uncle.” Holden wasn’t kidding; he really thinks people should just confront strangers and tell them about that one time your uncle walked in on you changing, stood there staring, and commented on your dick size. They definitely want to hear about that.

Accelerate global warming — We get cold all the time, but no one gets cold quite like Holden does. “It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything,” he says about the state of the world. He’s fed up with this and you should be too. Buy a Hummer. Build more coal plants. Invest heavily in fossil fuels. Have a gender reveal party with fireworks in California. Just do whatever you can to make sure Holden’s dead body isn’t cold.

Snort coke off a hooker’s tits — Well he doesn’t explicitly tell you to do this one, but you should do it anyway in his memory…

Throw babies in a rye field — This is the most important thing you can do on this list. How could Holden be catching those babies in the rye field if no one was throwing them?

To make this a reality, rob the local maternity ward, go to your nearest rye field, and proceed to chuck these infants like you’re OJ throwing away evidence. You might ask, “But who’s going to catch them?” Doesn’t matter. That’s Holden’s job. Just focus on yours.

Become a phony — By this point you’ve realized Holden fucking sucks. To spite him, become his worst nightmare: a phony.

—E. Calderon

—T. Schroder OTHER THINGS THE CATCHER IN THE RYE CAN INSPIRE YOU TO DO Mark David Chapman famously shot John Lennon while holding a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. While you missed that opportunity, here are some other things the great novel could call for you to do.

Learn to read — Holden Caulfield famously said, “I’m quite illiterate, but I read a lot.” In this quote he’s calling you, the reader, to take up the monumental task of learning whatever the fuck is on this page.

Commit your mother to a psych ward — Warning! According to Holden, “Mothers are all slightly insane.” This should be a hair raiser for you. Convince your mother to go on a “special trip” with you and take her to the nearest mental institution

—G. Ellis

Ask Old Owl! Dear Old Owl, I’m an aspiring author and I really want to write the next great American novel, but it feels like every idea has already been written. How do I break into such a saturated market?

Dear Owlet, I completely understand your issue. It can be terrifying to try to enter a world that has been dominated by the greats for so long. As a novice author, you’re starting off with unrealistic expectations and setting yourself up for disappointment.

Instead of trying to produce the next Great American novel you should aim for a more achievable goal, like writing the next Great Latvian novel.

Because the national canon is less established and there are fewer potential competitors, Latvian culture could be a great jumping-off point for your artistic career.

While the First National Awakening got the ball rolling on Latvian writing, there hasn’t been a real bestseller since before the Singing Revolution.

Not to mention, very few novelists are working on accurate and emotionally raw stories of Latvian women, despite the country’s uniquely high female-tomale ratio.

In order to capitalize on this lucrative niche, you should move there immediately and fully immerse yourself in timber exports to get a sense of the national zeitgeist. After a few years spent appreciating the bucolic beauty of the fertile lowland plains and the art nouveau architecture of the thriving cultural hub of Riga, meaningful content should just pour out over a nice bowl of grey peas with speck.

Old Owl is the anthropomorphic mascot of the Yale Record, an alcoholic, nicotine-addicted nightbird that roams campus desperately scrounging for vestiges of the relevance he enjoyed in the magazine’s heyday. He now offers advice to you the students, free of charge. If you’d like to Ask Old Owl for advice about your weird life, email askoldowl@yalerecord.com.

Dear Old Owl, I’m taking my first ever English seminar and I’m nervous about participating. All the other students seem to know what they’re talking about and I’m really intimidated by them. How can I get on their level?

Dear Owlet, Get to the class 10 minutes early and hide under the seminar table as the other students filter in. Once they’re sitting, tie the laces of their shoes together in one big circle (you should bring extra laces for people in sandals or boots). After you’ve done this you can scurry out from under the table brandishing a pencil saying “whew finally found it” and pretend you had been sitting there the whole time. Then, halfway through class throw your copy of The Bell Jar into the air and watch them all leap to catch it and fall on their faces.

Once they’re all on the ground, you can stand on the table and declare yourself The Most Literate. Finally, to solidify your dominance, you should rip up their notes and snack on them like popcorn for the rest of class.

Dear Old Owl, I have to give a book report tomorrow in front of my whole class and I still haven’t read The Catcher in the Rye. How can I convince my teacher I read it and get a good grade on my presentation?

Dear Owlet, Throughout my education I pulled off many book reports that lesser bullshitters deemed impossible. I have a number of tips for tricksters still early in their academic careers.

The first option is a cheating classic: writing on your hand. If you write fast enough, you can have the entire novel scrawled across your arms and legs by the presentation tomorrow.

Option 2: rent the audiobook and play it at 5x playback speed on full volume while you sleep. You may wake up with a headache, but that’ll just be from all the knowledge you’ve crammed in there.

Movies (option 3) are another great, efficient alternative to reading the book. You could go on Amazon Prime and find the Oscar-winning film adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird starring Gregory Peck. It might not help you with this particular book report, but it’s a pretty good movie. If all that fails, you could always chain smoke some cigarettes and pay a prostitute to talk it through with you.

The Yale Record

24

Hardboiled

By J. Wickline

H

e perched on the leather stool, bony, like a bird of prey idling between kills. In one hand he deftly held a cigarette; in the other, a tumbler of something brown. A burnished copper nameplate on the desk gave all the introduction he needed: Sandy Burls, P.I. Drink was like a woman, he thought to himself as he gazed out the window at the downpour. It’d kill you one day, but you couldn’t live without it.

Here in the City of Angels, the coppers were in bed with the mobsters, and the mobsters were in bed with the mobsters’ wives. A fellow who stuck his sniffer in the wrong place might find it shot off, with a bullet from a gun. Sandy liked his sniffer right where it was: on his face. The city was like a woman, he mused as he took a drink from his drink. It would kill you one day, but you couldn’t live without it.

There was a creak, and Sandy reached for his .45. Some of the neighborhood cats had wised up to his operation; maybe they were coming to teach him a lesson. Then, a voice as smooth as honey: “Pardon me, handsome.” The door swung open and in walked a dame. She had legs that went all the way down to the floor and a bosom that would make you whistle dixie. She was like a painting, a painting of a beautiful dame, which was what she was. She was also like the city, or drink. Come to think of it, Sandy’s cigarette was kind of like a woman as well. Which made cigarettes like cities.

“Cigarette,” he shouted by accident, and dropped his on his lap. To distract from the burning, Sandy started to whistle a bebop tune. Let a dame know the score and she’ll strike you out looking, he thought to himself. A dame was like a baseball. The cigarette burned a hole in his slacks.

“I hope that ain’t for me, ace,” the dame murmured coyly, and Sandy realized he was still gripping his .45. The gun was like a cigarette—best enjoyed smoking.

The door swung shut in the wind and he realized that doors were like shops: sometimes open, sometimes closed. A shop was a part of a city, which made it like the dame’s arms, which were part of a woman, which was like a city. And drink.

The dame rapped her knuckles on his desk. “Hello? Gumshoe? I got a case, dammit, and the greenbacks are good too.”

Sandy stared dully at her necklace. Jewelry shined like the stars. Lots of stars in this city of stars. Hollywoodtown would eat you alive. The dame waved her hand in front of his face and Sandy counted her fingers.

One two three four. Was the thumb a finger? Thumbs up. Thumbs down. Thumbs were like little shopkeepers, tending to their wares. Sandy accidentally pulled the trigger of his .45 but it wasn’t loaded so it let off a faint click.

The dame stood to leave, and as he reached to shake her hand he knocked the tumbler over. Hot apple cider spilled over his lap, extinguishing the cigarette which had begun to eat away at his thigh. “You old fuddy-duddy,” she laughed. “Cigarette,” he shouted by accident.

The door closed behind her. The shop closed for the night. Cases closed, cases opened. Cases were like women.

Cases. Cases. His bread and butter. Butter on bread. A whole city of bread. A city of women. Sandy stumbled to the window and watched the dame get into her cab. His croak was inaudible in the downpour.

“I’ll take the case.”

1

This is an endnote, not a footnote, so it comes at the end the whole issue instead of just the end of a piece. This note is from the Editorial, not from Hardboiled. If there are a lot of endnotes you have to flip back and forth a ton, but in this issue there are only two. Any more than that would be plain silly.

2

Prominent Cincinatti loan shark famous for his iconic trick of pulling a quarter out of a debtor’s ear and then making them swallow it.