Here in Toad Suck (an actual moniker for this region), we have undergone an editorial evolution. We were once the mythopoetic Exquisite Corpse Annual, whose captain was the iconic and ironic Andrei Codrescu. But in literary journals as in life, things change rapidly when DNA is involved. In the case of Andrei’s chromosomes, they have retired to his secret compound in the Transylvanian Ozarks and we wish him all the best. We, however, shall keep plugging on.

 

Call this “the transitional issue,” call it “the debut of something new.” Whatever it is, we are born from the Corpse, whose experimental sense of humor and international enquiries will always inform our quirky aesthetics. And so we retain these core genetics along with our long skinny format—because we like it.

 

As for our vision, we intend to keep publishing the most happening works in the Universe. And in doing so, we intend to infuse our future with something of an Arkansense. Like this strange place of diverse cultures, our front and back covers reflect a tension that is uniquely American. On the back we have a flash from the Suburban Redneck Industrial Goliath right here in Urban Conway USA, which is pretty much self-explanatory. On the front we have a metaphor for the enduring nature of the state embodied in the image of the highly imperiled alligator gar (a fugly prehistoric fish I have an unnatural affection for), whose largest population in Arkansas schools right next door beneath the Toad Suck Dam.

Toad Suck: home of American Idol Kris Allen, the award-winning Oxford American magazine, Hendrix College, and an empire of school bus factories and mega-churches just brushing the Trail of Tears.

Toad Suck: a name inspired by the ferry boat captains who’d bloat themselves like toads, sucking down beer while waiting for customers to cross the Arkansas River.

Toad Suck: where the University of Central Arkansas provides for a cutting-edge brew of science, arts, politics and history; where we see the world and record it, along with sundry other places.

Toad Suck: now the name of an annual incandescent stew of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, translations and reviews; a place-based, pomo-inspired, international literary journal—now distributed to a wider audience than before, and at a less expensive price than before, as we bugle forth a call for new blood:

We want to invite the mainstream on board! We want to hear from the MFAs (the candidates, the graduates, the dropouts and dissidents)! But we also want scientists, hypnotists, chimney sweeps—anyone with work that works! We want scholarship, artwork, drama, hybrid mutations, and communiqués from outposts of dystopia! And being the gar-hugging activist I am, we intend to develop an eco-edge. So please submit to the Toad Suck Review!

Which will not just be paper and ink. As in our past incarnation, we will also be a series of events. In the last three years we’ve held readings, panels, rockfests, bandfests, launchapaloozas, and

have made our presence known at both national and local literary festivals. Like human growth hormones, we’ve injected a new energy into Central Arkansas—and these activities will continue.

We do this for our degree programs and editorial interns. We do this for our communities and the arts. We do this to maintain our reputation for excellence. And we do this in the name of Innovation, Imagination, and literary journals that don’t suck.

 

Behold our glorious Table of Contents: We’ve got the renowned insurgent Ferlinghetti, who needs no intro anywhere. But we also have three more Poet Laureates—like Antler, Boy-Loving Bard of Milwaukee, boiling down the galaxies; and Jack Hirschman, Communisto Extraordinaire; and the legendary C.D. Wright.

Witness also the Happy Hooker, Xaviera Hollander, ruminating on the Gone! Plus the über-prolific Lyn Lifshin, the hilarious Mike Topp, and the Transcendental Jack Collom. Talk about a line-up of established and emerging writers, people! We’ve got genre-busting veterans like David Gessner and Willie Smith sharing space with revolutionary upstarts like Myron Michael and Perrin Carrell!

 

As for International Luminaries, Viva the celebrated Surrealist Jacques Prévert, impeccably traduced by Norman Shapiro! Viva also Leticia Luna speaking through the blood of Toshiya Kamei! And make sure you check out the whacko woodcuts of South Amerigo’s Alfredo Benavidez Bedoya accompanying Daniel Grandbois’ “hallucinogenic memoir” excerpt. We’re also glad to showcase Jose Perez Beduya, Manillan winner of the Plonsker Prize.

Then there are the Arkansawyers, those ambassadors of the great tradition rendered vivid by Donald Harington, Frank Stanford, and the Meatwheel turning in the sky. Meaning Marck Beggs, Bernard Reed, Timothy Snediker, Stephanie Vanderslice, Kevin Brockmeier, and C.D. Wright again!

 

We also have Teresa Bergen (aka, Baby Lovecat), Menachem Feuer, Davis Schneiderman, William Lychack, C. Prozak, Kelvin Krill, Mr. Stir Fry, David X. Machina and Poetry Class. Artists whose work is colorful, provocative, and off the perennial chain!

 

Without doubt, this is the most exciting development in contemporary lit since, well... since 2009, when ye olde Exquisite Corpse came back into print, thanks to us.

 

And speaking of thanks, we’d like to acknowledge UCA, its College of Fine Arts and Communication, its Department of Writing, all the editors who gave us stuff, our contributors and audience (including our essential subscribers!), everyone and every organization involved in this project, and as always, our anonymous donor we can’t reveal, lest his neighbors suspect his respect for Poetry (which could lead to catastrophe—or at least a drop in business).

 

So welcome to the Toad Suck Review, and stay tuned... for Literary History!