Where has literature gone? It has been 80 years since all the writers of the world were called upon to shed their irresponsibility and take up the causes of their times. Yet here we lie, remnants of an age that forgot its responsibility. The writer—and the artist in general—has allowed themselves to be quieted into the irony of a leisurely post-modernism, fleeing once more into the recesses of a society which increasingly views creation as a feature of the market, not as an act of commitment in a specific situation. Our age, in which only we can live and die, has been sacrificed for the ideal of a world so far removed from us it can only be accessed in those creations which promise it as an antidote to living in our world, down here, in the flesh. We recognize that we are again in a crisis of literature, and not only because of the not-insignificant threats literary freedom has received within the past year. The era of engaged literature has given way to the Theoretician and the Influencer, and both escape this world to offer an ideal antidote to the quandaries of our time. The former has placed art in a realm of pure experimentation, distilling it to an act of self-referentiality and ironic juxtaposition. Theirs is a form of careful deliberation, but which deliberates only on itself. Any experimentation is left to be its own end; complexity is confused for intellectualism, and the cause for reading becomes entwined with the amount of novelty present in the experience.

The Influencer is similarly an idealist, but they place the value of art in the appeal of its content. Rather than a piece which says something, they would rather a piece say nothing so as to appeal to as many consumers as possible. The Influencer often acknowledges this conceit when, after successfully selling their art to enamored crowds, they use their visibility to comment on things they would not have dared written. They know that solemn fact of humanity: it is easier to speak when everyone is already listening.

Instead of writing on the world as it exists for them and for us, they have chosen, even if they refuse to believe so, to write about worlds not yet known to us and which will be forever confined to the text itself. Nor is this choice made in a world without possibility. Just as Gide had the Congo, and Hemingway the Great War, and Sartre the Occupation, we have the rise of new tyrannies, the oppression of displaced voices, and the famine of cultural narratives. None of these exists as an alternative for writers today, but as confrontations, willingly or unwillingly; to not write about these things is as powerful a choice as writing about them.

Engagement does not mean critique, however, despite such a prevalent belief. This, quite to the detriment of engagement, has allowed another type of writer to emerge: the agitator. Though often unoriginal and repulsive, they speak with a voice which lends itself to be heard because of its volume and vitality. So often now do we see the charm in their smile or hear the sarcasm in their voice and rejoice in the comedy both provide, because their witticisms cut into the crises we face. But they are unironically serious of themselves, and, though they have little power as individuals, elevate themselves through careful posturing and exhibitions. Their most devilish tactic, though, is to convince us that we need not engage ourselves, because they are engaging for us. Their populism exudes a charisma that masks the fact that it is merely a resurrection of old tactics used to avoid the difficulties of the day. The agitator is not necessarily an individual, either, which makes them all the more devious. Too often now organizations take on this role, allowing their reputation or status to obfuscate their lack of commitment. The agitator bears the unbearable weight of engagement for us—and does so with a crucifix on wheels.

But we do not believe that engagement can be delegated. Every text engages with the world and commits its author in some way. Even in fleeing into ideal aestheticism, the author has committed to fleeing. We therefore have no interest in writing passive aesthetics, or describing the world in universals as if one experience were common to all of man. We refuse to believe that engagement is futile, or that the writer has no effect on their situation. On the contrary, we hold fast to the conception of man as a totalized entity, at once free and embedded in their particular situation which requires them and them alone to choose the meaning of that situation. We do not want a cross on wheels—we want to bear our world and take on that which it demands of us.

We are not naive, though; we also recognize that this situation has brought about another, perhaps more fundamental, crisis: a crisis of forgetfulness, where accessibility and diffusion have made action and concern seem antiquarian. When information is spread before us, ever increasing like the universe, we are caught between thesis and antithesis; if we pause to reflect or reconsider, the world leaves us behind. So what shall we do? Attempt to keep up, or allow ourselves to be forgotten by a world that wants nothing to do with us? Surely, it will be objected, this is not unique to us; did not earlier ages forget? Surely they did, but they forgot because they could afford to; we forget because we cannot afford to remember. Our forgetfulness has replaced contemplation with all the attributes of loneliness, despite the world around us reminding us of our unity. How can one be expected to engage when they haven’t the permission to do so? In addition to each concrete situation we find ourselves in, we also now belong to a more general situation of isolation.

In this sense, we have expanded what was originally meant by engagement. Rather than just texts that try to change our current society, we must also now disrupt forgetting, and commit to changing the conception of the world within society. Literature has gone the way of the penny slot, and readers the gamblers attracted either by flash or promises of easy wealth— it is our goal to change the rules of the game, so that engagement is not a luxury, but a precondition for a life well lived.

Our journal will defend these notions and the freedom of each human being to commit themselves to their situation. It will also take a position on the political and social trials to come. It will not do so politically—that is, in service of a particular party—but as an attempt to sort out and expose the conceptions that inspire each conflicting thesis. This will not be passive critique, however; and though our journal will comment on these issues, each article will commit its author alone. We hope only to provide a certain through-line that upholds our beliefs herein outlined. We have said before we are a centrist publication—this does not mean we believe all perspectives should be considered equally; nor do we think moderation is the solution for any society other than one which accepts those things which it ought not for the sake of maintaining a middling normality. Ours is a centrism which starts from a fundamental premise: that each of us is free within our current situation, not to do whatever we please, but to determine what our situation means for us and the rest of humanity. We are, at the start, a small team, who have decided to pursue these goals without any major financial or institutional support. We therefore call on all writers and artists; our journal will accept all manuscripts, of any genre, that are inspired by our own preoccupations and speak to our responsibility in our situation. Sartre was correct when he said, 80 years ago, that although there may be more beautiful times, this one is ours. 80 years later, let us give our time the art it deserves.

• Andrew Blight

• Yuan Changming

• Malcolm Culleton

• Laura Fay

• Stephanie Jones

• @Addison, Flores, Goyan, Khalil, King & Wong

• J.I. Kleinberg

• Peter Newall

• Mahsa Nourzadeh

• Kevin Novalina

• Donald Patten

• Victoria C. Roskams

• James Shapiro

• Richard A. Shury

• J.J. Steinfeld

• Craig Stockwell

• Walter Straughn

• Walker Watson

• Physical

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• Floppy Edition

Published by Encyclopedia Prismatica.

Printed by OnPress Printing for the 80th birthday of Les Temps Modernes.

Designed and produced in Providence, Rhode Island.