Elsie Augustave’s The Roving Tree (Akashic Books/Open Lens, 2013) is a masterful work of fiction, meticulously researched and exquisitely written. Despite the publisher’s statement that it is “told from beyond the grave,” the narrator’s voice is flawless — I kept feeling I was reading creative nonfiction, a book that should share a shelf with Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love, and Maya Angelou’s Letter to My Daughter.

I literally stood up and shook myself to break the spell after the deceased narrator brought the story to a close during the final few pages. My next thought was: This book needs to be taught to university-level humanities students: students of political science, history, sociology, anthropology, comparative religion, African / African-American / Haitian studies, women’s studies — and literature. Above all, literature. Timeless, insightful literature that teaches us about our history, our culture, our social mores, the barriers created by our own unnoticed preconceptions and ingrained prejudices — this book belongs with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (Maya Angelou) and To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee).

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Errands

The veterinarian’s office had a noxious odor every time Angie Pell stepped inside. The odor was so strong that Angie found it hard to continue without a frown, and the frown would involve both the gray scoops below her eyes and the muscles that lined the back of her neck. She wanted to cover her mouth, and she wanted to provide commentary – good Lord, she wanted to say, before telegraphing her near-nausea via the sustained parting of her lips. She had never thought to worry about what caused such a foul smell. Her six-year-old daughter, Katie, introduced this concern.

“Why does it smell like throw-up in here?” the little girl wondered, not fifteen seconds in.

“Oh I think maybe that’s just medicine it smells like.”

“It smells like a baby died.”

Angie scowled. “Oh, Katie, please. Yuck. Come on,” she said. Angie looked at the only other patron in the waiting room, a woman whose likely age advanced the longer Angie studied her. She had passed fifty when the phone rang.

“Front Range Veterinary Clinic. Good morning,” the receptionist behind the front desk answered. Angie rolled her eyes. The receptionist was silent, the phone to her ear. Angie had to look away. “Hello?” the receptionist tried again. “Front Range Veterinary Clinic. Hello?” Angie rubbed her temples and spoke to her daughter.

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Fable Six: Dance

The dervishes are blown across
the desert lands like seeds,
they gather at the shrines
of Sufi saints to dance and pray,
they spin with arms stretched
up toward heaven, sprouting,
reaching for the light, longing
to learn to photosynthesize.

Fable Seven: Destruction

regarding the death of an oak in Syria, November 2013

Some call our dancing
heresy, took the shrine
at Atme, with their rifles
turned back those of us
who came to pray.

We gathered, then, within
the nearby shade of a large
weathered tree, made
our ablutions, spread our
carpets on the sand.

They came with axes,
proclaimed jihad with
chainsaws, toppled
the hundred-fifty-
year-old oak tree.

We take our mats—
the world is filled
with other places
to face the qibla.

Before we leave, we
turn and greet the angry
soldiers: Peace.

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-Ryan J. Hodge

For someone who enjoys a great story, is there anything better than a narrative that engages you from the very start? Imagine a world so rich you can almost smell the scents in the air, a delivery so clever it forces you to think in a way you never thought you would. I’m Ryan J. Hodge, author, and I’d like to talk to you about…Video Games.

Yes, Video Games. Those series of ‘bloops’ and blinking lights that –at least a while ago- society had seemed to convince itself had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. In this article series, I’m going to discuss how Donkey Kong, Grand Theft Auto, Call of Duty and even Candy Crush can change the way we tell stories forever.

What Moral Choice Systems Teach Us About Writing Better Characters

When we think of some of the truly great characters in contemporary narrative, one might notice that it is a certain type of character that rushes to mind above all others. The traditional hero may be all well and good, but does not lend itself to the same examination as Charles Foster Kane or Tony Soprano. In their respective stories, it can be easily claimed that it is the personality of these characters that drove the narrative forward and less the circumstances in which they found themselves.

There’s a reason they’re front and center.

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Due to previous technical difficulties, Synchronized Chaos Magazine’s March 2015 issue will go live Monday, March 2nd. Thank you for your patience!

Welcome, readers, to February’s issue of Synchronized Chaos International Magazine. This month, perhaps in line with a certain view of the Valentine’s Day holiday, we turn to themes of loss and longing.

Elizabeth Hughes brings us reviews of several horror, thriller, fantasy and suspense novels in her Book Periscope column: Michael de la Pena’s FBI covert action thriller Coyote Wars, Marjorie Thelen’s utopian spoof of old-fashioned campy sci fi, A Far Out Galaxy, and Bobby Sutton’s Cajun horror tale Reunion: The Making of a Legend. 

What sorts of psychological longings are addressed by horror and thriller novels? Why do these genres continue to appeal to readers? Our colleague Merrick Hansen, in an interview with Bobby Sutton that we hope to reprint, suggests that horror appeals to our primal instincts, gets our attention and makes us feel something and remember that we are alive.

I and others see in these genres a way to experience intense feelings in a safe, vicarious environment. When my life is calm, I find myself enjoying something bolder and rougher, such as Coyote Wars or Reunion. When things become more chaotic, I seek out something more akin to A Far Out Galaxy, which contains plenty of action and suspense but affirms the power of love and connection. As much as some people make fun of ‘campy’ writing or pieces with happy endings, the fact is that books of this sort remain popular, in part because people seek out some basic order to the universe, some sense that even setbacks are part of a larger story that will eventually make sense. Brian Sutton points out that even horror is not necessarily nihilistic and can point to moral order without a requisite happy ending when seen as illustrating the ugliness and dangers of evil.

Elizabeth Hughes also reviews Deborah Hawkins’ Ride Your Heart ‘Til it Breaks, a literary romance whose characters grapple and choose among a variety of desires: for meaningful careers, stable relationships, passion, and finding their true selves. Hawkins explores forgiveness and self-discovery as ways to make peace with our past losses and present choices in her tale of an undying connection between a musician and a lawyer.

Some poets this issue express different sorts of longings. James Brush goes back to earlier poetic forms to convey something even more primal: the need for rain. Brush seeks out a more elemental, real connection to nature, to something visual and visceral. G.K. Brannen also speaks of harmony with nature, with the water and desert, in an authentic, tough-minded way. Just as Brush and Brannen encourage us to look outward and pay attention to our physical world, columnist Ryan Hodge looks to the ecosystem of video games to illustrate how much we can learn about our surroundings and how much of a story we can put together through careful observation.

Peter Jacob Streitz’ work laments that he never became bold and uncompromising enough in the quest for good, a piece inspired by the life of Martin Luther King. Kahlil Crawford also experiences a death of some of his idealism, as what he considers a worthy nonprofit turns out to be marred by systemic arrogance. Marjorie Thelen also fantasizes about expanding the possibilities of her life, envisioning different destinies in a more fanciful piece.

J. Lewis’ poetry illustrates grief in a piece inspired by the attack on the World Trade Center but intended to become more universal. Jordana Feld’s tango-inspired artwork celebrates a dance embodying longing and desire.

Arron Erickson cries out through poetry for a fairer world where there is recognition of activities less popular that competitive sports. Paul Beckman’s flash fiction piece shows how a man’s behavior leads to disappointment and loss in his life.

Alan Clinton’s quirky travel vignettes include lots of cultural references, from 90’s band Oasis to Babylonian temple customs. In this way his speaker seeks to be part of history, part of the global pantheon of culture. Ross Bryant plays with words, tantalizing us with a plethora of language that stimulates our desire to communicate and be heard.

Andrea Carr’s novel Family Tree the Novel: Family Tree’s protagonist Angel Harper longs for a family without secrets. In this novel, reviewed by Tony Longshanks leTigre, the loss of Angel’s sister drives her to reconnect with relatives and push for this level of wholeness.

Sue W-D’s poetic vignettes are suffused with intimacy and memory, and provide us with pleasing glimpses of her cat. This issue’s collection of Nigerian-inspired fables from Laura Kaminski are meditations on thought, awareness, and gratitude.

Virginie Colline renders death in a poetic stylized manner, perhaps finding beauty in the pain of loss, or softening it through art. And Christopher Bernard grapples with the killings of cartoonists at the Charlie Hebdo magazine through the medium of cartoons.

Thank you very much for considering the thoughts and works of this month’s contributors.

Paul Gauguin’s Mistral