Established in 1974, the Minetta Review is a literary and arts publication managed by undergraduate students at New York University. After a brief hiatus, Minetta was relaunched in 2023 by Julia E. Mejia and Ananya Chibber.
Book design and layout by Julia E. Mejia and Nicolas Pedrero-Setzer. Copy-edited by Kathy Ngo and Shreya Wankhade. All rights revert to the contributor, whose authorization is required for reprints.
@minettareview
Cover art by Kev Chaudhri
Dear Reader,
Relaunching The Minetta Review with my close friend and managing editor, Ananya Chibber, will remain one of my most treasured experiences. Together, we combed through tens of editorial board applications and hundreds of submissions from undergraduate and graduate students across the country. It was a difficult, lengthy process and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side. Minetta has taught me so much about both writing and friendship, and this letter is the most bittersweet goodbye.
Our Spring 2024 issue includes prose, poetry, art, and an interview with some of the coolest literary girls on the Internet. It explores ideas such as the failings of American consumer culture and the complications of interpersonal relationships. It includes works such as a photograph of Harlem, a painting of a garden, an illustration of a Chinese restaurant, and a Hayao Miyazaki-inspired poem. The issue launched on May 1, 2024, followed by a reading at 244 Greene St. (NYU English Department).
Congratulations are in order for the graduating members of our editorial team. It has been an honor to collaborate with you and discuss submissions, listen to your ideas, and get to know you all. I am so proud of our community of smart, creative, and talented editors, writers, and readers. Wherever we go next, creatively and physically, literature and its lessons will follow.
To Minetta’s editors, contributors, and readers: thank you from the bottom of my heart.
– Julia E. Mejia, Editor-in-Chief
Clara Chiu
Before you leave, don’t forget the butter, the quart of chicken broth, the onions and parsleywe’re almost out of milk, too, and patience; we need thyme for seasoning and rosemary for remembrance, because when the silence becomes real, the creeping uncertainties draw you back: it’s the fact that a cookbook is a product of trial and experimentation, just like chemotherapy thanks to Heinrich and Sweet, but we don’t talk about the MGH anymore - it’s funny how some acronyms leave your mouth jagged, AKA, HIV, IVF, WCNSF, here’s another packaged thought, just sentiment folded into language, but it’s funny how your language isn’t deemed “literary” enough, why you use alliteration as a crutch, how you toss one coin in the fountain but pocket two for some solipsistic self, selfish, self-ish, the fact that a hyphen can dehumanize, the fact that “I” contains both a sentence and a person, a life sentence - to serve for life, life served on a plate compliments of the chef (add salt to the list - Diamond Crystal - that’s what all the professional chefs use now), but who can really remember when the bullet echoes around the schoolyard, when, crouched under their desks, the children are more hunched than the chief of state, 1 2 3 eyes on me, quiet, pipe down, pipeline, school to prison, put them in jail because the best way to rob someone is to take their time, which is why, behind bars, they pour you dissociation from a bottle: here’s a cup of faith, don’t let it spill; it’s strange how we only ruminate on old things long discarded - maybe we’re moths, drawn to the fire, and in the torchlight,
she says Give me your dreams, your traumas, and I’ll bet them against the House; 4 5 6, remember manners are a litmus test for culture - we don’t eat cows, we eat steak - but you’re a nowhere man, an invisible man, a man unheard and therefore unseen, don’t worry, here are pills for happiness, and if that doesn’t work we have installed a multi-million dollar net to break your f a l l - 7-8-9, sorry, the visiting hours to see the trees are over, but from noon to four you can buy a postcard of the sea - it’ll be a rare collector’s item soon, the color blue is going extinct; 10/11/12 - it’s hard to count to twenty-one when the names don’t fit nicely on a memorial plaque, memorialize, memory, moment, morality, congrats! you’re young enough to have a kid but not a body, young enough to learn that freedom is expensive; but here you can buy knowledge cheap: truth for a decade of debt; now look down - it’s all turtles, really - your discontentment is dizzying, you need to stop, halt, red light, green light over the water, green-light the next execution, wish you were here, but really it’s amusing how, even after a hundred years of solitude, we still turn to the silver screen in search of gold, gold rush, golden age, golden potatoes - you need about 1.5 pounds of those for stew, peeled and chopped, and I almost forgot we need carrots and tomatoes for the salad, and avocados, but make sure to get the organic kind - I don’t want those pesticides clogging up my system, I swear, sometimes it feels like they’re trying to poison us.
Involved Isabel Geary Phelps
You are involved with a man who is taken. He has a girlfriend, and she lives with him, and you live with your parents. You never thought you’d be this person—the other woman. But it doesn’t happen the way everyone warns; you don’t see him across the bar—some woman stretching her thin arms around his shoulders, his hand lightly set on her hips—and think to yourself, I want what that woman has. You don’t slip over there when she goes to the bathroom, to whisper something salacious in his ear. Instead, he hires you.
He hires you, and you are well practiced at your job—writing phone orders for nachos and poutine like it’s your own name, eyes fixed on the front door ready to greet the incoming family of four—long before you notice him. Though you suspect he may have noticed you when you were still fumbling up the table numbers and miss writing the shorthand for the pub burger sub salad.
You go to the museum and you look at the art, think about rainy Parisian days and grainy bridges over lily-topped ponds and late night cafés all filled up with nighthawks. You pad through the rooms, listening to your feet on the wood and the whispers, like noise might disrupt the figures on the canvases. You stop before a mural. It’s red-hued and takes up the entire wall. The people in it are at a party—ball gowns, champagne-filled hands, and paintings in gilded frames. It’s a mural of a salon. The people are getting drunk and you wish you could hear them and their old-fashioned voices.
One night, the first night, he invites you back to the restaurant after hours to sample the new cocktails. It feels very different there without the lights and people. The corners fall away into shadow—holes dipping down into space. The hum of the kitchen persists into the night—you did not know this—the refrigerator like a car motor, the stove with its clicking. The cocktails are fruity and sour and sweet all at once.
Your friends say his girlfriend is old and not pretty. “She probably can’t even get wet anymore,” one says. And though you laugh because they do, you feel connected to this woman. You are sharing a man with this woman. And you do not believe that she isn’t pretty. She very much is.
When your mom finds out, she only says, “Well, just don’t have any kids with him.” She knows you want them. She knows this is a way of saying do not be with this man without actually saying do not be with this man. You keep being with him anyway. And like that the routine is set.
He picks you up in a beat-up Subaru after his shifts, telling her the night was slammed. Everyone was in the weeds, the restaurant is a mess, he’ll be late, don’t wait up. You get drunk with your brother and his friends at your house—Bulleit and coke, cheap red wine with a twist-off cap that you open with your teeth, and shots of whipped cream Burnett’s that send you gagging. He texts when he’s outside and you run there in an oversized t-shirt from some ex-boyfriend, and a pair of worn pj shorts. You hook up there, night after night. He drinks you like soup and puts bitter fingers into your mouth; you get dropped back off at two or three, hoping your brother
and his friends are still up so you don’t have to return to an all black house, the feeling of empty sick already settling into your stomach like tar.
At work, you follow him around. He says you act like a dog that someone once kicked really hard in the ribs. He laughs when he says it, so you do too, but your eyebrows twitch. What’s the joke? You marry the ketchups, one in each hand, shaking out the red gunk to turn two half-filled bottles into a full bottle. He nudges the bartender and then says to you, “Look us in the eyes when you do that.” You stop moving your hand up and down. Why does he want to share you? You do not want to share him.
He comes to your house only once. Your parents are away—your mom’s at her sister’s and your dad drove to Akron on business. You feel sophisticated, like this is your house, setting flowers in vases and lighting candles that smell faintly like earth. You buy two steaks to cook and watch YouTube videos on how to baste them with salted butter, garlic, and rosemary, but when he gets there, he says he’s already eaten and let’s just go to your room. He fucks you in your double bed with daisy sheets and mismatched pillow cases. You talk until you can’t keep your eyes open and the whispers sound delirious with sleep—the orange of a sunrise is seeping in through the cracks of the window blinds. It feels like just a blink, but suddenly he’s up and pulling his pants back on. You say, “Don’t go.” You say, “It’s Saturday.” You say, “Please stay.” He says, “See you at work.” And you lay there all day. You don’t open the blinds. You don’t get on your phone. You don’t cook the steaks. You let them go bad over the next two days, and the day your parents get home, you
throw them away and clean up fallen petals and melted wax.
But then, finally, a real date. Before you go, you watch porn. You practice the faces in the mirror and arch your back like a cat that’s stretching. You want to show him something new. You don’t want to be the only one doing the learning. You make noises into your pillow. You want to be better than her. Or, at least different—new. He picks you up down the street and you listen to Rainbow Kitten Surprise on the drive. You look up into the windows of the city buildings—bright in the night—and wonder who is still in there. You split a bottle of cabernet at the bistro near his house—round marble-topped tables, honey-scented candles, baskets of warm bread with salted butter. He holds one of your hands across the table and rubs your wrist with his thumb. You wonder what the waiter thinks. Can she tell this man is not yours? He says you look nice and the smile you sprout nearly hurts. You drink too much and hold on to him as you walk back to the car. He’s invited you over for the night. She is out of town and this night is only for you and him. His place is neat and smaller than you thought it would be. It’s warm and everything is low—the sectional, the short coffee table before it, the lamps, squat and square. His desk is by the TV, with a brown leather chair pushed in, and you picture him there, typing and working, imagine yourself cooking in this house, folding laundry, and falling asleep over and over and over. You sit on the couch and stretch your bare legs out along it, thinking they look very thin and very smooth, and you bend one while you keep the other straight, toe pointed. But just when he has set the turntable right and just when
he has set the turntable right and just when you’re sipping the sweet whisky sour he’s shaken, and just when he has lifted you from the couch and laid you on the bed and plucked each of your shoes as carefully as if you were a doll, she calls.
You throw up in the bathroom and walk home, barefoot in the dark.
Work is harder now. You take up smoking so you can hang around out back with the kitchen guys when the restaurant is slow—embers in your throat like a firebreather. You endlessly check on your tables, busying yourself so as not to stand in the well by the half-rotted slices of orange and lemon and lime, the juices mixing with those of the martini olives, where you used to stand and stare up at him as though he was the Jesus in a Raphael. Your mom says you seem off, so you start spending your mornings at the café down the street with the huge macaroons. You eat one everyday. They have art hanging on the walls. It’s all done by local artists. One is a rectangular painting of a bus. It looks like it’s from the ‘80s, with a rounded front and the Volkswagen logo painted carefully in the center. It’s painted red and yellow and at first it makes you feel carefree. Then it makes you sad. You look at another—big yellow sunflowers cover the canvas and you wonder why you aren’t good at anything, why you’ve never even tried to do anything.
You think about quitting your job, but you don’t. You switch off his days and apply to the community college
your mom keeps bringing home brochures for. You think about becoming a vet tech or an artisan baker or an apiarist or a bounty hunter. You think about keying his car, but you don’t. You think about telling his girlfriend, but don’t. And when he calls late at night, you think about answering. But you don’t.
“A” is for Aggrandizement
Arjun Dhar
50,000 in escrow. Some get trampled in the race, I hear no complaints, let’s go. He’s on some kid shit like velcro. It’s just me and the void, two free throws. I split. Tobacco ash in an empty pit, reload and try again, I’m quick. It’s that time of the year when the bigwigs stop making sense. No matter the casualties, that’s money well spent. I touch the kettle, get burned and touch it again. It was always a question of when. Watch the walls cave and bend. He articulates sins, desensitized to the brim. Limbs extend to protect the rim. Not enough guap to play the game, never enough time to rehearse what to say. Next thing you know you’re tap dancing for the white man on the stage. Nameless and estranged. Applause elicits an untamed pain. There’s nothing to do but smile wide and dance. Ignorance exposed, exploits unopposed. The enraged underbelly grows. Eyes wide open, lined up in imperfect rows. We rode till we were saved. Knowingly sip the Kool-Aid, no shame. Expressions fade. Your car goes fast but mine smells fear. Spontaneous dogfight. What a delight, they brought guns and we brought spears. My cabin uninsulated, cause of death debated, there was no point in saving. To reach enlightenment I must rid myself of needless craving. The fine line between betrayal and the perfect design. It takes time. It’s just me, myself, and whoever’s next to resign. Traversed through pine with no destination in mind. The perfect crime, can’t afford that. Last words embroidered on the door mat.
Light the candle, illuminate. Steel cages hold the crudest fate, arriving late. You were the hardest to accommodate. The weaker polity gets the nicer tray. Ash till it’s strained. A pleasurable pain elucidates names I can’t remember. Coldest winter. In another life, he was a mediocre sprinter. Refused to speak because he wasn’t the best, a wounded goat. Vivid dreams of lies emboldened is what he spoke. Born to choke. The cost of hope is forty acres and a gram of dope. I’m an avid saboteur, but blood is thicker than water. Deadbeat fathers. The longing for a hug is as clear as mud. Set the precedent and break it in a second, trench warfare, well rested, chew the cud. A different kind of animal, roles intangible. Sprinkle sugar amongst the bad news to make it palatable. Daily dose. Talk to God. Crack a couple jokes and cast the rod, even the odds. I take a seat at the head and distribute the laws, no cost. Not at all, not at all.
It’s a free-for-all at the annual ball. Glass doors with slogans scrawled. Watch them fall, watch them fall. Unwrap the gift knowing damn well what’s inside. Hide your pride. Eagle-eyed the dome, I clutch chrome and let it roar. Tweaking the score, I can’t get fired tonight. Not tonight. Drag me by the back of the hand, peel flesh and drape it in sand. I accept. Coffee dates at the MET, we wept. Fingers pointed at the sky, that’s for theft. You and I, loud as the space between us. I document the downward spiral. Upload and go viral. Different names, different titles. Different names, different titles. Pour it in the vial, stand trial but you no-showed. I grab the rope and follow leads till I can’t cope.
If it goes without saying, it goes without saying. Hopeless romantics stand stiff as if they’ve never heard the classics. I wave my arm and yell “that’s it”. Case closed. Everyone knows that when it snows, it snows. I grin as I tell you “I told you so”. Open air, perfect for the debonair, I choose to stare to check the vibration. Everything I know is built on faces. One more page and I’m free. Make sure your laces are tied when they choose to go on a spree. Ain’t no one safe we gotta hide behind the queen. I paint sepia scenes. He said he had a hard time dreaming until he just let be. Separating wants and needs like my kin, I can’t help but glare as they lower the rim. The proceeds taste like gin. I mutter devious schemes under my breath just to sting. A choir drenched in sorrow belts a hymn, I can tell time is borrowed when I bowed next to him.
The ants move in masses. The fact is universally known but no one dares to call it tragic. On my way to the altar, I broke my rose-tinted glasses. Ash scattered to alleviate what was left of the clashes. I scroll blissfully, blind of what they see. They say good things come in threes. I sigh and chalk it up to be make believe. My back is hunched, I can’t tell if this is the new me.
Guardian of the sandbox. It’s all fun and games till you get doxxed. In his free time, he resorted to picking locks. Piranhas in the well, I sell to make a profit. All prophets never dwell on the ones who stocked lockets. I decide to call it once I scan the field. Cannibals, all fours, lurking for their next meal, kept me on my heels. Forged the autograph just to tell you that it’s real. Graphic tees scare the elders, they think I worship “he” but I’m just soaked with religious zeal. The Navy SEAL recruiter pulled my boy outta class and said “we need you”. Blurry eyed and hypnotized, he waltzed into the yard of all that he knew. The end was nigh you should see what he drew.
Marionettes galvanized in a pot of odorous stew. In other words, nothing’s new. All I know is the open road, riddled with roadkill, animals unknown. Tempted by growth, I unearth the poles of my home. Cop car sounds like a y2k ringtone. Holiday cheer, I heat mittens on the stove till they’re stuck. Button down untucked, I’m lousy. If you take what’s mine just know I’m coming for you like Jadaveon Clowney.
Sara Ibrahim
Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, the wind is passing through. from Jirô in Hayao Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises (2013)
I thought I had washed it over, that dull severance in my sternum cutting me in half. I had bandaged it. Closed it shut––soaked and soaked the bleeding with a cloth until there was no more, but now it seems a hemorrhage has reopened.
How I was so eager to leave that I wore that red tank top trimmed with a delicate lace, paired it with those white scalloped shorts I reserve for summer.
How I wanted to be seen in my full glory, as I arch like a bow, golden arms seeming longer than they are, and thrust the ball to the other side.
In my bedroom now, I change back to my nightgown, tie my hair in braids around poles of light: every direction I turn, my neck is pulled, and my braids stretch, holding me like leashes to my head––
The wind rises, I must try to live, whispered Jirô to himself when he was trying to hold on to his dreams.
As I watch the movie, I forget for seconds at a time that I wish to be somewhere else, and hold his gaze, as we pass a volleyball across the net, and he makes me feel like I’m the only other player on the court.
So, when Jirô finally designs that fighter plane that beats 200 knots, I too imagine, in some small way, that I can harness the engine of my heaving chest. So I untie my braids and open my deck to dance in the breeze of night.
Claire Sohn
The blooming of daffodils. The three leather bags sitting at the front door. The weeks-old merlot on a pink satin blouse. The lavender remedy to sandpaper skin. The heaving open of dirt-covered windows. The frigid spring breeze sweeping through the kitchen. The dawn of a new day.
The clicks of black stilettos that fill the hall. The ticking clock and head-on collision. The sheets of paper that fly everywhere. The lingering of calloused hands. The blue-on-brown gaze. The trembling of voices and shifting of boots. The wishing upon a constellation of paper cuts.
The gentle pitter-patter of summer rain. The quickened pace that masquerades as serendipity. The accidental caresses and bright red cheeks. The embarrassed chuckle that slips out at the slightest compliment. The crumpled orange paper slid under the door. The little dots and symbols exchanged like secret code.
The clumsy kiss under the stars. The cardboard boxes and cluttered cupboards. The bare feet dancing on the kitchen floor. The purposeful tracing of fingertips. The delicate brush of rouge on nude. The three-hour drive to the beach. The two carats nestled within purple velvet.
The cotton candy dotting an apricot sky. The silver chain caught on knotted lace. The pink tulip petals littering the aisle. The three tiers of almond and mascarpone cream. The gallons of Taittinger dripping down jawlines. The teasing of brothers and scolding of sisters. The drunken promise of a rose-tinted future.
The gold falling from branches. The three leather bags collecting dust in the closet. The mornings of burnt toast and over-medium eggs. The evenings of burgundy splashed across marble. The frustration resolved with lipstick marks on collarbones. The unexpected dizzy spells. The two red lines.
The frost creeping over the window panes. The cracks in the walls where the warmth escapes. The sisterly advice that falls on deaf ears. The dinner growing cold at an empty table. The paragraphs replaced with just two letters. The dimming flames and melted wax. The hush that blankets the house. The first fall of snow.
The mildew gathering in the corners. The bruised fingers clutching loose threads. The piercing roars that cut the eerie silence. The shattering of glass that echoes down the corridor. The slamming that loosens the hinges. The maroon splattered on plaster. The illness that takes its toll. The blood of a life that will never be.
The soot on the hardwood. The reckoning. The dignity in giving up. The remorse that swells up too late. The dilatory pleads. The frozen side of the mattress. The burn of Tanqueray to blur the senses. The wailing into a night devoid of stars. The deafening nothingness that responds.
The life packed away in three worn leather bags. The shiny brass unlocking a new door. The Pine Sol on white oak flooring. The rolls of floral wallpaper stacked in the bedroom. The dusted mahogany shelves. The whistling copper kettle on the stovetop. The smell of dew on the balcony. The blooming of daffodils.
Etiology Derek Witten
if Hercules held the world for apples then if you make something you can’t make while watching the Sopranos then if sea foam is Heaven’s genitals cut, tossed seeping into ocean then if you name what part of me washed in this morning with the seaside then if Venus is the daughter of blood and seas that peak in darkness then if you walk a water to our bed without inscribing it in stone then if a cliff that gives an echo is a bone from love we never spoke then if you will tell me why you’re sad before you’ve gotten happy and forgotten then if you will tell me why you’re sad before you’ve forgotten
Louise Kim
locate us tilted in and out leaking from the ceiling geographic chaos theory nonlinear one dip upon another but linear eyes upon eyes call me that again worlds shatter into each other in your silence there is alarm but you are more than sound in a sound-filled world twins perseid meteor shower one look and i’m back here again and i didn’t think i’d be brave enough to ask but tell me that when worlds sputter and burn you will be holding a lighter to the heart you will be spark that grows to engulf and i will be orbiting what they call the essence of being which in other words your fingers and wrists and honey and lemon slices, tea, and my dear (that again) you are brilliant, brûlant (burning), from the french briller, from the italian brillare, from the latin beryllus. like beryllium, like beryl. sparkling with light and luster. precious. sea green. in the glimmer of car headlights reflected in puddles i think i see a shadow of your dust-beryl-perseid-moon soul.
Alysia To Emulation of ‘Outer Robe (Uchikake) with Mandarin Oranges and Folded-Paper Butterflies,’ 2020
Ari Elgharsi
Harlem, 2021
Annie Williams & Julia E. Mejia
A novice might believe that literary social media starts and ends with Goodreads, the website dedicated to cataloging and rating books. However, any internet-savvy lover of literature knows where to find the best book recommendations, which usually pairs with the prettiest layouts and insightful reviews. Readers all over the world have created their own corner of social media, in which users primarily utilize Instagram or TikTok (more commonly known within the online community as ‘Bookstagram’ and ‘BookTok’) to post and review whichever book has been on their shelf, alongside book hauls and aesthetic shots of their TBR piles. Book creators often do more than post books, also infusing elements of their personalities into their accounts, whether it be posting personal annotations of Sally Rooney novels, uploading outfit photos to their stories, or sharing their favorite music with their audience. The landscape of book content is incredibly vast: it ranges from the stereotypical BookTok romance lovers to nonfiction enthusiasts to the [large] swath of literary fiction enjoyers. We were fortunate enough to interview some creators active on Bookstagram and BookTok about their journeys, their motivations, and their thoughts on the effects of what they do (along with a couple fun questions).
1. Can you provide a brief introduction of yourself, your background, and any other information you’d like readers to know about you?
Eva: My name is Eva and I’m currently a first year law student in Boston. I grew up in Connecticut and went to college in the Midwest. I graduated with a degree in English (surprise surprise) last May which already feels like forever ago! I review books on @ thegirlwhoreadsonthemetro on Instagram and make more varied content on TikTok as @yearofthedragoness.
Kayley: My name is Kayley Sakamoto, I’m twenty-five and I live in Los Angeles. I’m a writer and I run @coolgirlsreadingbooks on Instagram.
Malissa: My name is Malissa. I currently live in Seoul, South Korea,
but I grew up in the Washington, DC area. For my entire life, I’ve had an affinity towards reading books.
2. Could you share the journey of how you became a Bookstagram/BookTok creator? What prompted you to start your account and begin posting your thoughts about (and recommendations for) books?
Eva: I have always been an avid reader – my father used to read to me every night, from when I was a toddler until I could read independently. Throughout my childhood, my mother took me to the library every week with a huge monogrammed L.L. Bean boat & tote canvas bag (New England culture at its finest) that I would fill up with as many books as it could hold. Reading is such an intimate activity and as an introvert, it’s something I could pick up to occupy myself in any setting or situation. I would read through lunch periods in middle and high school, on buses, on planes, while waiting in lines, and even while walking in my neighborhood. During COVID, I was averaging even more books than previously and wanted an outlet to share about my reads. I used to journal my reviews in a spiral notebook, but I find that an online platform allows me to share both my thoughts and images and critically engage with others. @thegirlwhoreadsonthemetro actually started as a Kaia Gerber book recommendation account. I changed it to the username I have now because I read the book of that name by Christine Féret-Fleury and started posting photos of my reads in 2021 with brief reviews. A few of my recommendation stories/ posts were reposted by others on Pinterest and gained traction there. It’s fun to see some of those images recirculating even now.
Kayley: I was getting back into reading after a post-high school slump. I noticed accounts online posting photos of girls reading, usually in photo dumps, but the book was never mentioned. At the time, no one in my life read, so I usually got my book recommendations online, through these pictures or other people posting their reads. This resulted in me having to do a lot of zooming in on book covers. I went looking for an account that posted what these girls were reading and when I couldn’t find one, I made one myself. (I still do a lot of zooming in on book covers.) From the beginning, I went the route of a book community because I wanted to be able to talk about and share opinions on books. I can’t express how nice it was to have this community through COVID, when I was
stuck at home doing nothing but reading.
Malissa: One of my friends actually insisted I post fashion videos on TikTok. Whenever we would meet, she would ask if I had made an account yet. I do like fashion, but I didn’t want to be in that online space. When I finally downloaded the app, the algorithm brought BookTok videos to my attention. I was like, “Oh... this I can do.” At first I was terrified to speak and show myself in videos, so I only posted flatlays and photo carousels. Eventually I became more confident and started posting videos of myself, and it was surprisingly much easier than I thought it would be. I think when you really love something, it feels natural to speak about it. You want to share it with others.
3. What is your process when it comes to creating content?
Eva: I really enjoy looking at beautiful and interesting images, so I strive to create those for others to look at too. As a child, I aspired to be a fashion designer and would pore over runway collection anthology books and issues of Vogue. I think most of my sensibilities for layout, color, and display, come from all of those years of inadvertent studying. I continue to love the combination of objects, books, clothes, and places, because I think being a reader is a lifestyle, rather than a performance. In college, I would arrange my pictures using objects I had on my desk or photograph my reads in different locations on campus, write my review (sometimes literally in the notes app of my phone), and post. I particularly love a coffee shop book pic (what’s better than a drink of choice paired with a good read?) and return to that formula constantly. These days, there’s more of an organized structure involved because I am working around my law school school schedule, so I have a calendar for posting and plan out the types of content I share. I try to make time to read and review ARCs pre-release, although this is a time-commitment I’m still learning to balance with academic responsibilities.
Kayley: I usually have an aesthetic ideal in mind that I’m striving to achieve; I’m trying to convey a certain feeling. Even when I’m reposting photos of others, you’ll notice I’ll post cozier photos during fall/winter and sunnier photos during spring/summer. For me, social media has always been about conveying a feeling or capturing an experience. I almost only post when I’m filled with creative energy.
Malissa: I’m an MBTI “J” through and through, so I usually plan out my content. When I first started making videos, I made it a goal to post one video everyday, and I really wanted to make sure my videos were interesting and, I guess, “high-quality.” I don’t write out a script because I think that comes across as a bit robotic, but I do make bullet points of things I want to remember to say. As for topics, whatever I find interesting, I assume some other people may also find interesting so I make a video on it, even if it’s not a trending topic.
4. How do you think Bookstagram and/or BookTok has changed the literary landscape?
Eva: This community has increased the visibility of a lot of authors and specific titles. I’m very interested in literacy as a cultural concept and am excited that book content creators have caused people to be more enthusiastic about consuming books. There are so many societal benefits that come when people engage with ideas and perspectives that they may not otherwise have had. My Roman empire probably is the Gutenberg Press. I also think a tangible impact of Bookstagram/BookTok creators is the categorization of sad girl literature and contemporary writers publishing novels with that focus. Specifically, the introduction of writers like Joan Didion and Eve Babitz to 21st century girls has expanded the readership and opened the canon to more aspiring essayists.
Kayley: I think it’s changed a lot. Book social media had so much growth during COVID, and though that’s died down, you’ll still see authors blowing up because of viral videos and trends. I was working at a bookstore when Fourth Wing came out and went viral. The shelves were empty. Social media is such a powerful thing. A lot of authors have been able to get their work out there, but a lot of mediocre books have also been pushed to sky-high levels of success.
Malissa: Last year, I went to the park with a friend, and she asked me to take pictures of her reading this random business book. She didn’t actually read the book at all during our picnic. (And why would she? We were catching up.) I teased her thinking it was so silly, and she responded pragmatically, “Reading is the trend right now.” I mean we have Kendall Jenner reading Joan Didion by the pool and pictures of Audrey Hepburn and Jane Birkin reading all
over Pinterest. I think BookTok, Bookstagram, or just readers with any platform have been a big part of this. When people see other people talking about books on TikTok or sharing pics of their latest read on Instagram, it piques their interest, and they want to be part of it. Whether or not it’s performative is not my business. Also, for those of us who have been life-long readers, we have an actual community. Being part of something where you get to connect with others is such a joy for us humans. Prior to BookTok, I never really talked about my book thoughts with anyone. I wrote reviews in my book journal and that was it. Now I get to hear book thoughts, book reviews, book recommendations from people all around the world thanks to these online platforms.
5. Has being a creator on Bookstagram/BookTok changed your approach to reading at all, and if so, in what ways?
Eva: I used to exclusively be a mood reader but these days I can discipline myself and stick to a reading list or commit to reading a gifted book before its release.
Kayley: There was a time when I was getting a lot of FOMO when I didn’t read a new, trendy book right away. I also felt guilty during lulls where I didn’t feel like reading (I’ve seen others post about this as well). At a certain point I realized I wasn’t enjoying myself and I took a step back. Now, I kind of just follow my literary whims.
Malissa: I do feel this pressure to read and recommend books that viewers want. I’m not saying this is a bad thing. For example, I think that in my first video I recommended horror books because it was October, then I made a video about Stefan Zweig’s books. In both videos, people commented asking if I could recommend good love stories. I’ve read many great love stories—for example War & Peace has some major lovelines. However, I’m aware that most people who ask for romance recommendations are not thrilled to hear, “Read War & Peace,” in response. These requests for love story recommendations has pushed me to read books I wouldn’t normally pick up, like recently A Room with a View by E.M. Forster and The Kites by Romain Gary—the latter has made it onto my All-time Favorite Books list.
6. What has been the most rewarding aspect of being a creator in the Bookstagram/BookTok community?
Eva: I have met a number of really great people who I am now close friends with and I have loved getting to meet up with some mutuals in person. I had the opportunity to visit bookstagram friends when I studied abroad during my senior year of college and I’m endlessly grateful for the global network this platform provides. Some of us are pen pals, which has always been a dream of mine. Moderating a book club is rewarding as well, as I get to share and discuss great books with people from everywhere. I’m also honored to be able to interact with writers I admire and major publishers on a regular basis. The first time a major publisher reached out to send me a book was a momentous occasion for me, and even now, when a publication I love and work with like The Paris Review messages me or sends me mail, I still feel like I’m dreaming. The ability to engage with incredible people and organizations is the best part of it all.
Kayley: Oh, the people for sure. I love having people to talk to about books. I’ve gotten and given so many recommendations and met so many friends. Social media is at its best when it’s social. (Also when I got a PR package for Elif Batuman’s book Either/ Or…. highlight of my life.)
Malissa: Posting on TikTok can sometimes feel like you’re speaking into the void. To say something like, “Hello anyone! I really loved this book and I want to share it in hopes that others will relate and love it too,” feels much more personal than posting something like a perfume review or a GRWM. To have people respond back with, “I also love that book,” or, “You’ve sold me on this,” feels so rewarding and comforting.
7. Given that social media (Instagram, especially) is inherently visual, how do aesthetics factor into the experience of being a creator on Bookstagram?
Eva: I think it’s a matter of taste. I’m inclined to capture photos that I think are beautiful, which is something I did pre-social media and something I imagine I’ll continue to do throughout my life, regardless of if there’s a place to put those photos. Having an independent sense of what is pleasing to the eye is what I think has made bookstagram creators successful. Being able to appreciate how something is presented (cue Susan Sontag) seems to me like one of those inherent inclinations. One of my friends recently com-
mented to me that I have a compulsion to enjoy things in the most suitable aesthetic medium – I was talking about listening to jazz on a record player as opposed to streaming it.
Kayley: I would argue that aesthetics are an essential aspect to being a creator on Bookstagram. Like I said earlier, you’re trying to convey a feeling. Some people may think that’s shallow, but does that mean art is shallow? Social media can feel overwhelming because of the sheer amount of content being produced on the daily and I find myself gravitating toward beautiful things rich with meaning.
8. How has short-form video content changed the way people review and talk about books? What makes BookTok such a popular conduit for creating new readers?
Malissa: The thing about TikTok is most people have a low attention span while on the app, including myself. Many creators prioritize making their reviews quick. You have to say something interesting in a short amount of time which can be quite difficult, but a lot of creators are talented at doing just that.
9. On BookTok, it often seems like personality is a stronger element in the success of an account than on Bookstagram, given the fact that many people will actually show their face and speak their reviews to the camera directly. How does this play into your TikTok presence, and your niche on BookTok? Is this something you curate intentionally, or is it a natural byproduct of you posting what you find interesting?
Malissa: I never intended to only post about books. A few other creators advised me to stick to a niche. Someone told me I should make all my usernames a certain phrase so that it could be “my brand.” I just want to post about all the things I love and am interested in. That’s what makes it fun for me. I’ve had people tell me they followed me for a random video, like my Super Milk review, but then from watching my other videos, they’ve now picked up reading as a hobby. I’m happy these people have stuck around to hear it all.
10. Though Bookstagram users often post faceless, aesthetic layout pictures, personal taste and style is still a definitive factor
in an account. Is this something you curate more intentionally, or is a natural byproduct of you posting what you find aesthetically pleasing or interesting?
Eva: I like to maintain a degree of privacy in my life so I share the things I like more than content about myself as a person. I’m intentional about this because I’d like for my pages to be more about a collective appreciation for things and ideas than of my person as a brand. There’s a fine line between cultivation and commodity these days and I try to maintain boundaries online. At the same time, you are what you eat and in a sense, the ideas I have and the reviews I write are who I am. I have also said in the past that the girl who reads on the metro is simultaneously the individual and the community. I stand by that.
Kayley: I think it’s mostly a natural byproduct. From being on social media for so long, I’ve developed my own “style.”
11. I’ve noticed that you primarily read and review literary fiction, which is certainly a departure from what the general public tends to associate with BookTok (usually romance or other genre fiction.) BookTok seems to have a number of communities within it, housing genres of all types. What has your experience been carving out a niche in the literary fiction space within BookTok? What makes the literary fiction side of BookTok different from others?
Malissa: I always get tagged under videos where someone is saying something like, “Doesn’t anyone on this app read actual books besides p*rn?” These videos annoy me. Let people read spicy books. If it’s not harming anyone, I don’t understand what the issue is. Also, the FYP is catered For You. I’ve seen several other litfic creators I follow post about this. If you’re looking for litfic, we’re here! Just come find us! To be honest, I don’t know much about the other sides of BookTok, but I think we’re all just reading books. Maybe for different reasons, but the act is the same.
12. How has the TikTok algorithm and the reduction of books down to key terms (messy woman, dark romance, etc.) affected the way you make content? What effects do you think it’s had on readers?
Malissa: Again, this is hard for me to comment on because I’m not as adept in this area of Tiktok. I have had many people request “enemies-to-lovers” book recommendations. TikTok is the first place I’ve ever heard this term before. I think some readers turns to books for pure mindless entertainment. (I turn to reality TV for that.) I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing, but BookTok shouldn’t be reduced to just those aspects. I trust most people will find what they’re looking for though.
13. What do you always keep in your tote bag or handbag?
Eva: This question makes me think of Didion’s packing list from The White Album, which is such a classic and a touchstone for me. In my bag, I always have my black blank Moleskine for journaling, a 0.38 mm black Muji pen (and sometimes its red twin), more than one book that I’m currently reading, earbuds, a vial of perfume, lip balm, my wallet and keys, a water bottle, charging accessories, a mini Magic 8 Ball for last minute decisions, and a tiny glass black swan for luck. I tend to cycle through a collection of other items, from postcards that I use for bookmarks, hand lotion, sunglasses, and coffee shop punch cards which I never fill up.
Kayley: I actually always do have a book on me. I’ve been trying to keep a notebook and a snack on me too.
Malissa: Sunglasses (because I got LASIK), whatever lip gloss I’m wearing that day, recently Akro’s perfume Bake so I can smell like a warm lemon vanilla cookie, and my current read.
14. Choose a book that describes you.
Eva: The Idiot by Elif Batuman. Humor aside, this is definitely the book I have related to most in the entire subset of sad coming-ofage literature. Prozac Nation and Girl, Interrupted are also phenomenal works in this category, even more than The Bell Jar. I love the way Batuman poses existential questions in the voice of the college-aged girl. Autofiction is arguably my favorite literary fiction niche and I connect a lot with the protagonist – Selin’s sense of bewilderment about the way things work and the way people behave. I’ve recommended this book to countless friends and I’m happy that some of my fellow creators have read and loved The Idiot because of me. I have a lengthy review about it on Goodreads so I won’t wax too poetic about it here.
Kayley: Mix Normal People by Sally Rooney and The Idiot by Elif Batuman–that’s me.
Malissa: Oh this is hard. It feels too personal to share. I’ll go with Villette by Charlotte Bronte if I’m having a good day. Abigail by Magda Szabo if I’m not.
15. Do you write creatively? If so, what are you working on right now?
Eva: I do. I attended the Yale Writers’ Workshop two summers ago, which was an experience that helped my craft and encouraged me to continue writing as a serious practice and not just in the interim between school. I just started a Substack (@spacesoftheeast) in pursuit of this goal and am excited to share some essays and short stories that I’ve been working on.
Kayley: I do! I’m currently bouncing between editing a novel I wrote in 2021 and writing a new novel. The one from 2021 is about a young writer living in Los Angeles (not autofiction I swear!) I had to take a break from it for a while, but I’m in a place now where I can go back and edit it objectively.
Malissa: I write in my journal daily. I don’t know if that would be considered creative writing though. As a child, I filled several binders with stories I had written, but since becoming an adult I haven’t revisited that hobby.
16. What is your favorite artistic medium outside of literature and what is your favorite piece within that medium (for example: film, In the Mood for Love)?
Eva: Film is by far my favorite medium outside of literature. I’ve always wanted to do a Letterboxd Top Four so I will take this opportunity to do that: In The Mood for Love, Ex Machina, Black Swan, and Past Lives are my current favorites. I would probably give the fifth spot to the live-action How The Grinch Stole Christmas with Jim Carrey. I seriously love that film.
Kayley: I really enjoy paintings, especially when it means I get to spend all day in an art museum. One of my favorites is Woman With a Book by Picasso, but since that’s a little too on brand, I also
want to mention Christ Crowned with Thorns by Matthias Stom.
Both of these are at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, and the latter always captures my attention for reasons I really can’t explain. It’s something about the expression on his face. I feel like I could reach out and touch his cheek. I’m not even religious!
Malissa: I love paintings. One of my favorite artists is Andrew Wyeth. Probably the most common question I get on my videos is about the painting hanging behind me. It’s Christina’s World by Andrew Wyeth. Some other favorites are Street in Venice by John Singer Sargent, The Pets by Eastman Johnson, and Alpine Mastiffs Reanimating a Distressed Traveler by Sir Edwin Landser. The last three are on display in the National Gallery of Art, which is probably my most-visited museum.
17. Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?
Eva: Including both the living and the dead, my guest list would be: Phoebe Philo, Carolyn Bessette Kennedy, Alexa Chung, Susan Sontag, Joan Didion, Eve Babitz, Patti Smith, Zadie Smith, Lucy Liu, Sofia Coppola, Marc Jacobs, Emily Stokes, Ralph Lauren, Fiona Apple, Caroline Polachek, Joni Mitchell, Jane Birkin, and Princess Diana. This is an amalgamation of my idols and muses that I think would make for an interesting evening of conversation. The list isn’t exhaustive though and I would probably answer differently if asked on a different day (and would include more men, like Spike Lee, Wong Kar Wai, and Jean-Luc Godard).
Kayley: So many friends, long distance and otherwise (@thegirlwhoreadsonthemetro being one of them), Camille Rowe, Elif Batuman, Orion Carloto, Alexa Chung, and Phoebe Tonkin (I’m a predictable girl). I would just love to have all my favorite girls all in one room chatting. I’d love to hear their thoughts on everything. (If this is a dead or alive scenario, scratch all of that. Just Joan Didion, Eve Babitz, and a few close friends).
Malissa: Shirley Jackson, Magda Szabo, Anne Bronte, Audrey Hepburn, the Lady of the Babushka. I thought about inviting Stefan Zweig, but let’s keep it a girls’ dinner.
18. Which book has influenced you the most?
Eva: I can’t ever pick one answer, evidently, so I’ll answer this in parts. Yu Hua’s To Live impacted me most in terms of identity. There’s so much important Chinese cultural content in there and it’s a book my dad gifted to me as a child. I feel very connected to the story and to the philosophy of the novel. The film adaptation is incredibly moving and masterfully directed by Zhang Yimou. In terms of my aesthetics, The Secret History, which I read in high school, altered the course of my life. (I was so inspired that I took Latin in college with the intention of majoring in Classics...which ultimately did not come to be.) I owe so much of my perspective to Donna Tartt. The Catcher in the Rye was also a massive influence on my personality in high school, and I’m a little nervous about rereading it in case I feel differently about Holden as an adult. Finally, I would say that If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino is one of the most influential works to my personal philosophy. I fell in love with postmodernism with his writing and I think for a while, my identity on Bookstagram/BookTok was tied to my love of his work. If I were to go back to school for a PhD, I would dictate a thesis on hypertextuality and metanarrative in Calvino’s works.
Kayley: That’s so hard to say. I think most books influence me on a very subtle level. Happy Hour by Marlowe Granados made me feel more comfortable about not knowing what I’m doing and sort of just winging it. Now that I think about it, I do think that book lingers at the back of my mind a lot.
Malissa: This question throws every reader into a fit. There are so many books which have influenced me up until now. If I absolutely had to choose only one right now, I would say The Post-Office Girl by Stefan Zweig.
Clara Chiu is a freshman at Amherst College, currently pursuing a BA in English and Philosophy. Aside from experimenting with form and syntax, Clara can be found playing the guitar, reading, and using writer’s block as an excuse for procrastination.
Isabel Geary Phelps’s short fiction and poems have appeared in The Greensboro Review, Eucalyptus and Plains Paradox. She was a fiction finalist with Split Lip and received an honorable mention from Glimmer Train, as well as the Battrick Poetry Prize. Recently, she completed a novel, Camille Leroux, the opening pages of which awarded her the Denver Women’s Press Association Scholarship. The novel is a meditation on family, beauty, illness, art, literature, and education. Phelps currently lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband and dog.
Arjun Dhar is the opposite of a dynamic figure. A master of none. Like a thief in the night or a jester living on minimum wage, he finds pleasure in lowering expectations and being flamboyant when it’s not appropriate. Whether he’s rhythmically slurring out the line, “this town needs an enema” or Freudian slipping his way through conversation, there is no doubt that his ego will remain untouched, his heart locked in the right place, and his eyes set on the prize. Arjun is the type to say “go for it” with his back against the wall, knowing damn well that the odds are not in his favour, but that never mattered to him. It was always about the friends he made along the way (not really).
Sara Ibrahim a first-generation Egyptian American writer and poet. She is part of the prestigious Area Program in Poetry Writing at the University of Virginia, where she has received rigorous training in poetry writing. Her poems are a personal and dynamic interaction with her understanding of the world, God, and the mysteries, discoveries, and paradoxes unraveled along the way. Her poetic inspirations come from beloved poets, such as Emily Dickinson and Claudia Emerson, and from other mediums such as impressionistic art, ballroom dance, and classical music. She hopes to one day publish her own collections of poems.
Claire Sohn was born and raised in the Bay Area, California. She has been an avid reader since elementary school (mainly fantasy and, now, romance), and she began her journey as a writer in sixth grade. Since then, she has written articles for her high school newspaper, The Stampede, and other stories for NYU’s own Generasian blog and Baedeker Magazine. Currently, Claire is a second year in NYU’s Liberal Studies program, intending to major in Media, Culture, and Communication at Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development, with a minor in Creative Writing.
Derek Witten was raised in Alberta, Canada, and is currently working on his PhD in English at Duke University. He, his wife, and his sons enjoy the sunny South and love the frozen North.
Louise Kim is an undergraduate student at Harvard University. Their Pushcart Prize- and Best of the Net-nominated writing has been published in a number of publications, including Frontier Poetry, Chautauqua Journal, and Panoply Zine. Her debut poetry collection, Wonder is the Word, was published in May 2023. You can find them on Instagram @loukim0107.
Elizander is a senior at NYU majoring in English on the Creative Writing Track with minors in Psychology and Creative Writing. His honors thesis is about how contemporary poets discuss complex identities, but he would much rather write his own poems or be walking somewhere. He divides the rest of his time between performing sketch comedy, hosting radio shows at WNYU, and practicing too many instruments. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, he now resides in New York City. His work has previously appeared in the Fall 2023 edition of The Weasel
Olivia Callender is a multimedia illustrator and writer based in New York City. Her practice is that of experimentation and exploration, and she likes to dabble in different media to allow herself the freedom of self expression. She works both traditionally and digitally, and aspires to combine her love for illustration and writing to create children’s books. She is working hard to branch out from the constraints of the educational agenda by pursuing her own projects. She enjoys collaborating with other artists and writers to create works that help others realize part of themselves while gaining insight into her consciousness.
Kev Chaudhri is an illustrator based in New Jersey, and current undergraduate student at Parsons. They’ve dabbled in many mediums and formats, from zines and comics to printmaking and paper craft, but ink and dip pen is by far their favorite. They enjoy making hyper detailed illustrations, of creatures and faces (with a fantastical bent) or abstract patterns. Their more introspective work focuses on feelings of alienation and anxiety, influenced by the storytelling of queer artists like Tillie Walden and Nagata Kabi.
Alysia, a Hong Kong-born illustrator, skillfully translates her emotions and personal journey into captivating artworks. With a keen eye for detail and a deep understanding of visual storytelling, she creates pieces that resonate profoundly with viewers. Drawing from her cultural heritage and life experiences, Alysia infuses her work with authenticity and depth, exploring themes of identity, resilience, and human connection. Her artistry transcends boundaries, blending traditional and contemporary elements to evoke powerful emotions and spark meaningful conversations. Alysia’s illustrations stand as a testament to the transformative power of art in expressing the complexities of the human experience.
Ari Elgharsi is a photographer, videographer, and director, based in New York City. His experience spans various realms of imaging, including photojournalism, street editorial, studio fashion, conceptual art, and the captivating world of moving images.
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Julia E. Mejia
MANAGING EDITOR Ananya Chibber
PROSE EDITORS Priscilla Hunnewell
JP Pak Dalya Turunç
POETRY EDITORS Amaya Jones
Angelina Wang
Annie Williams
ART EDITOR Samantha Williams
COPY EDITORS Kathy Ngo Shreya Wankhade
