I have a confession: despite owning a copy of Lily Hoang’s The Evolutionary Revolution for over a year, I have yet to actually read it. The book was recommended to me by a classmate last spring when my writing was overtaken with evolutions of bodies and vocabularies. I bought it with enthusiasm, then failed completely in reading it.
My not reading this book is more an issue of time than it is desire. As a full-time MFA student with a habit of taking on far too many commitments, pleasure reading is a luxury I am rarely afforded. I can say that on several occasions, I’ve hesitated at this text, opened it to a random page, and absorbed some of Lily Hoang’s gorgeous words “rhizomatically” (to use a phrase of fellow Bombay Gin 38.1 contributor Bhanu Kapil). At the very least, these small moments I take with the text partially appease me, remind me of the worlds which wait on my bookshelf for the day when I finally have time. It is always the starting of something that is most difficult, isn’t it?
On the cusp of this 2012 spring, I am yet again drawn toward Lily Hoang’s writing. A recent blog post of hers spoke directly to what I (like many others) am feeling at the moment. There is an inherent and instinctual something about spring which makes us crave a new project, that clichéd fresh start. And along with it comes the anxiety of facing a fresh, open void of possibility. I am talking about my own writing. I am talking about the in-the-works next issue of Bombay Gin. I am talking about the garden I plant in my backyard every May which is officially dead by July. I am talking about that which you are on the verge of creating at this very moment.
May we all find some solace in Lily Hoang’s words (even if you only have time to scan them “rhizomatically”) so that we, too, can enjoy whatever bloom is about to occur.
– Jade Lascelles