DappledThings.org

A quarterly journal of ideas, art, and faith

Candlemas 2019

Featuring Matthew Alderman on image making, poems by Maryann Corbett and James Matthew Wilson, the life of Oscar Romero, and nonfiction by Crystal Song.

The Sacramentality of Sci-Fi

Upon beginning to re-read Gene Wolfe's New Sun books, they're significantly better even than I remembered. I first read them about ten years ago before I was Catholic and clearly I wasn't prepared for them, because although I remember enjoying them, I missed how full of enchantment they are. The … [Read More...]

Gene Wolfe’s under-rated genius

Gene Wolfe, one of the best and most under-rated writers around – and, apparently, the inventor of the machine that makes Pringles - died on Palm Sunday. His Book of the New Sun is a challenging and beautiful read, focusing on the journey of an ex-torturer named Severian as he travels through the … [Read More...]

Tolstoy On Greatness

Guest post by Jeffrey Wald. Count Tolstoy’s magnum opus War and Peace can be read on a variety of planes: historical fiction of the Napoleonic Wars; explication of Tolstoy’s theory of human history; exploration into “The Russian Soul”; etc. But perhaps the loudest narrative thread is the author’s … [Read More...]

The Bus to Cuautla

Guest post by Paul Burnham. I didn’t believe in Mary in the same way my Catholic friends did. My own faith accommodated her immaculate conception and her divine errand. There was room for that. But I didn’t believe in her intercession—not on my behalf. And I dismissed her apparitions. I knew … [Read More...]

The greatest cathedral

I'm sure you've all seen the horrific pictures of Notre Dame Cathedral being consumed by a massive fire. During the fire itself, while the roof of the building was an inferno, a rescue effort began. What was saved first? Was it the priceless art, the statues, the moneybox, the gold candlesticks? … [Read More...]

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From the Archives

Bienville

Dena Hunt

Loxie sat at the table stirring her raisin bran. There was only a little milk, so it took a while to get the dry flakes moist. She looked at the paper sack of garbage standing under the sink and the empty Pet milk can on top. A roach ran down the side of the sack. “What you running for?” she said aloud. “You got nothing to be afraid of.” She stretched her long thin legs out under the table and studied the fruit basket pattern of the vinyl tablecloth, barely visible on the top, nearly vanished from many wipings, but around the edges, it was still vivid.She remembered when Mama bought the tablecloth five years ago, when she was only eight years old. She had long ago observed the placement of the various fruits in the baskets, counted each basket in the pattern; now there was nothing left to figure except maybe how many more wipings would be necessary before the pattern disappeared entirely. She occupied herself with this speculation now as she ate her raisin bran. It allowed her to dismiss the garbage sack, the roach, and the miserable steaminess of the New Orleans summer morning. [Read More…]

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