I’m not here to pretend to be a luddite. I use my Apple Wallet as much as the next guy. I Venmo my roommates constantly, for rent and groceries and Taco Bell delivery when I’m so high I can’t even think about getting behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. All I’m trying to say is that there’s a line, and you’ll know it when you cross it.

Take my last trip to my local Kroger. As I walked up to the sliding doors, I noticed a woman sitting outside wearing one too many scarves, asking for donations to Breast Cancer research. I thought to myself, “You know what? I have a few extra bills in my back pocket. They might as well go to a good cause, if only to make me feel a little better about myself.” So, I sauntered up to the lady and asked where her donation bucket was.

“Oh, no,” she replied, “if you want to donate, you have to download our app. It’s subscription based– we start at $20 a month. Here, let me show you our QR code.”

Are you seeing it now? The line?

It’s everywhere. In the Starbucks app, where you’re forced to load up your “Starbucks Card” in increments of $25 just so you can order ahead at the airport and avoid being the idiot that misses their flight for some overpriced coffee. In your conversation with your new landlord, when he offers you the exciting opportunity to put your security deposit into Bitcoin for some fucking reason. And it’s proudly in Elon Musk’s stupid little EVs where the full-self driving feature is locked behind a monthly fee. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is half the reason people buy those shitboxes in the first place.

And the names, God, the names. They drive me nuts. Concerned about your poor financial decisions? Try “Affirm,” where we use therapy language to put your anxieties on layaway. Feeling like your life is lacking that special sauce? Try “Sezzle,” where we’ll set your heart (and your savings) on fire. Missing the young lover you met on a Grecian beach back in the sun-kissed days of your youth, wondering if you’ll ever experience love again? Try “Klarna.” We’ll bring her back to you, no matter how many hits to your credit score it takes.

At the end of the day, technology is a wonderful thing. It’s helped our society in so many ways, from medicine to aviation to the ability to watch Abbott Elementary on the treadmill while I try to get myself back in shape. So please, don’t take any of this the wrong way.

But I swear to God, if I show up at a house show looking to get drunk to the tune of some halfway-decent synth-metal band, and the guy manning the door asks for my Ethereum wallet key? I’m killing everyone inside that house and then myself.

And you can bury me with my cold, hard cash. Bitch.

1. Either/Or by Elliott Smith (1997)

The true tortured poet of the modern age, Elliott Smith died as he lived: mysteriously, viscerally and tragically. Either/Or is widely regarded as his magnum opus, ranking at number 216 on Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list. The album is short, only 36 minutes, but each song is packed with piercing emotion and scathing self-examination. Smith’s spidery, multi-tracked vocals and haunting indie-folk instrumentation carry the record from great to timeless, with a few songs even being featured on the soundtrack of Good Will Hunting, an all-time favorite film of mine (and hopefully yours.)

Biggest Hit: “Between the Bars”

Personal Favorite: “No Name No. 5”

2. Songs About Jane by Maroon 5 (2002)

Though Maroon 5 has become something of a figurehead for bland pop rock nowadays, their debut album is anything but. Songs About Jane effortlessly blends alternative rock, funk, and soul with punchy and poignant lyrics, and it propelled the band to the Billboard charts and eventually the 2005 Grammy Awards, winning them Best New Artist. It was a favorite of my mom’s during my single-digit years, and so became a favorite of mine. “She Will Be Loved” was my first favorite song, and though my tastes have shifted a lot since the sun-bleached days of my early childhood, the record will always have a space on my shelf.

Biggest Hit: “This Love”

Personal Favorite: “The Sun”

3. Plans by Death Cab for Cutie (2005)

From the moment I first discovered this album back in 2019, it felt nostalgic to me. I later found out that it had been an obsession of my uncle’s when he was helping my mom with childcare in the year following my birth, and he often played it to help me sleep. The record itself is a feat of indie rock, a meditation on love and mortality recorded entirely in the Middle of Nowhere, Massachusetts. The marriage of acoustic instruments and supernatural synths give this album an ethereal feel, like an old film photograph of someone you don’t know anymore. It wraps around you like a cold, quiet night, curled up in an empty train car with a cup of Baileys hot chocolate.

Biggest Hit: “I Will Follow You into the Dark”

Personal Favorite: “What Sarah Said”

4. A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out by Panic! at the Disco (2005)

A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out exploded onto the pop-punk scene with an absurdist aura of clown makeup and glitter, bending genres and upending expectations. Signed to Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy’s newly minted record label Fueled by Ramen, the Utah foursome went straight from high school to the stage where their electric, baroque-inspired sound captured the hearts of emos everywhere. This was one of the first pop-punk records I ever listened to, and it inspired me to get into Chuck Palahniuk’s work, an oft-cited influence by guitarist and lyricist Ryan Ross. I highly recommend tracking down a copy of Diary- it’s a gripping little novella that serves as inspiration for one of the album’s most recognizable interludes.

Biggest Hit: “I Write Sins not Tragedies”

Personal Favorite: “Camisado”

5. Infinity On High by Fall Out Boy (2007)

There’s a lot of debate among Fall Out Boy fans about which of their albums is the best, but Infinity on High is my personal pick. The album marks a period of experimentation for the band, with R&B and soul influences accenting their trademark pop-punk sound. The record boasts some of Fall Out Boy’s most iconic tracks – “The Take Over, The Breaks Over” and “I’m Like a Lawyer with the Way I’m Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You)” to name a few – and was their first album to make it to number one on the Billboard 200 list. Thnks fr the Mmrs, indeed.

Biggest Hit: “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race”

Personal Favorite: “Bang the Doldrums”

6. The Ever Dying Bristlecone Man by The Brazen Youth (2016)

I first listened to this album from start to finish on a CD I burned myself, letting the soundscapes echo through me as I sat on the porch in a witching hour thunderstorm. I don’t think there’s a much better way to experience this record. The lyricism is both deft and devastating, espousing themes of yearning, self-deprecation, and existentialism; the instrumentals are rich and otherworldly, combining indie-folk stylings with elements of ambient progressive rock. I’m often hesitant to label albums as “underrated,” but this one is truly a hidden gem.

Biggest Hit: “Center of Gravity”

Personal Favorite: “Cry for the Aliens”

7. Nothing Happens by Wallows (2019)

This album was a personal staple during my later high school years, often blasting from my car’s sound system as I drove 15 over down Pacific Coast Highway in the pitch dark. The record feels like ocean spray and stretch-cotton T-shirts, built by warm, grungy guitars and bright piano. Each track is an upbeat yet raw exploration of young adulthood and self-discovery, up until the band delivers a six-and-a-half-minute gut-punch with the final song, “Do Not Wait.” I couldn’t have asked for a finer introduction to the indie rock scene.

Biggest Hit: “Are You Bored Yet” feat. Clairo

Personal Favorite: “Treacherous Doctor”

8. Inside Every Fig is a Dead Wasp by Lunar Vacation (2021)

The first album from Atlanta five-piece Lunar Vacation, Inside Every Fig is a Dead Wasp weaves mature and introspective lyrics with lush, spacey soundscapes to create the feeling of floating weightlessly through life. The record also showcases impressive range, going from bold and up-tempo with “Mold” to echoey and experimental with “Anemone.” I’ve been lucky enough to see this band live twice, and their hand-drawn psychedelic video projections are the perfect complement to their kaleidoscopic soft-indie sound. This is one of those rare moment where I know that, one day, I’ll be able to say, “I saw them before they were big.”

Biggest Hit: “Cutting Corners”

Personal Favorite: “Peddler”

9. hypochondriac by brakence (2022)

hypochondriac is the most authentic, acerbic musical representation of the early 2020s I’ve come across so far. Expertly synthesizing hyperpop, midwest emo and rap, brakence creates a truly unique and potent sound, complete with lyricism that balances razor-sharp wit with sepulchral vulnerability. The songs explore digital disconnection and personal identity, slingshotting between tantalizing highs and catastrophic lows fast enough to make you experience ego-death. This album helped me break out of my musical comfort zone and process the last vestiges of my buried teenage angst.

Biggest Hit: “deepfake”

Personal Favorite: “teeth”

10. Waiting to Spill by The Backseat Lovers (2022)

A softer sophomore release from The Backseat Lovers, Waiting to Spill split my ribcage open, gripped my beating heart, and squeezed out some of the most paralyzing lyrics I’ve ever heard. The record’s primarily muted and moody atmosphere feels like a freezing drizzle of winter rain, while the breakthrough moments of explosive instrumentation and gritty vocals feel more like breaking down sobbing in the shower at one in the morning. If their first album, When We Were Friends, is the soundtrack to a brightly colored coming-of-age movie, Waiting to Spill is that of an experimental indie tragedy.

Biggest Hit: “Snowbank Blues”

Personal Favorite: “Words I Used”

Honorable Mentions:

Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance (2004)

A Guide to Love, Loss and Desperation by The Wombats (2007)

Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez (2015)

I first came across this game at age 13 while watching Smosh’s Bored AF series, where the joke of the episode was that Sohinki – the sole Jew at the table – had ended up as Hitler. I bought the game later that day, and have been pestering people to play with me ever since. So, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to make a case for this game, Nazi namesake and all.

The Early Game

Underneath it’s Reichstag red coat of paint, Secret Hitler is a social deduction game, like Among Us or Blood on the Clocktower. At the start of the game, each of the 5-10 players receives an envelope containing their party affiliation and role. Then the players close their eyes and, just like in Wink Murder or Mafia, the Fascists reveal themselves to each other. Let the games begin.

Each round is played simply and silently, revolving primarily around two players: the President, a title which rotates clockwise, and the Chancellor, who is elected via group vote. The President takes the top three tiles from a stack of Policy Cards, discards one tile and hands the other two to the Chancellor, who discards an additional tile and places the remaining one face up on the table for the whole group to see.

This is usually how the game is won: if the Liberals enact five Policies, they win, whereas the Fascists need six. However, Fascist Policies sometimes unlock special abilities, which can complicate things for both parties. Be sure to stay alert and never become complacent to a player’s true motives.

He Said, She Said, They Said

Then it’s time for open debate. Players can ask questions, point fingers, go on lengthy tirades, or stay completely silent, but it boils down to the Liberals trying to sniff out the Fascists while the Fascists try to blend in. Let me make something clear: this is a lying game. If you are a Fascist, you can say whatever you want to deflect suspicion so that you can continue your covert hostile takeover. This may seem obvious, but I once played a game where – not ten minutes in – a friend of mine proudly proclaimed her Fascist affiliation and we all had to start over.

The debate stage is the beating heart of the game, and by far my favorite. There are no holds barred here; this game has made me look lifelong friends in the eyes accuse them of being dirty Fascists so loudly that we’re probably all on some kind of list now. I have a friend that, through this game, developed a sixth sense for when I’m lying and leverages that ability to this day. There is no bond like that forged by the heat of Secret Hitler– of this, I am sure.

A Secondary Strategy

I mentioned before that each party must enact a certain number of Policies to win the game. That’s not entirely true. Both parties have a secondary win strategy revolving around the player bearing the titular title of Adolf Hitler and the enactment of Fascist Policies. If three Fascist policies have been enacted and the Fascists can get Hitler elected Chancellor, they immediately win. No ifs, ands or buts.

If the Liberals enact enough Fascist Policies to unlock an assassination and kill Hitler, it’s game over for the Fascists. Both of these win conditions rely on a specific event happening to a specific player, so whenever a player is killed or elected a late-game Chancellor, they are asked one question: “Are you Hitler?” To this, they must answer honestly.

Final Thoughts

Secret Hitler is a whale of a time, and it never gets old because it’s so dependent on the people that are playing. Different types of people lead to wildly different strategies: a history nerd might use their knowledge of the actual Weimar Republic to lend themself credibility, while an acting major might put on a phony Germany accent and turn the whole thing into a roleplay exercise.

Perhaps most ironically, a Jew like myself playing as a Fascist might use their religious affiliation to guilt trip the rest of the table into leaving them alone so they can lead their team to victory. After all, no one wants to accuse the Jew of being Adolf Hitler. It’s a strategy that’s won me more games than it realistically should have.

So head down to your local game store and ask if they have a copy of Secret Hitler knocking around. If they don’t (or they give you a sufficiently concerned look), you can order a copy online, play with long distance friends over the internet, or even print the pieces out yourself with this handy PDF. And if you don’t think there’s anything funny to be found in a game about Fascism (or just don’t end up liking it), feel free to complain to one of the Republican representatives handily listed at the bottom of the game’s website.

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What was it like growing up in Savannah?

I moved here from a small town near Omaha, Nebraska around the start of junior high. My upbringing was okay, parents just raised us how they thought they could. It was what you would expect from being the youngest kid on the block in a neighborhood. School was very self-contained. It was mostly people just wanting to do their jobs and go the fuck home, and then these kids are sent there with their parents just not giving a shit. Adults don’t realize how much kids take from them, their actions. I was bullied pretty vigorously, and I have a lot of mental problems with isolation just because of that.

Who inspired you to start playing music?

I grew up around a fantastic music selection. Thank God for my parents. I listened to Gorillaz, Miles Davis, The Strokes, Metallica, The Ramones. Chuck Schuldiner of the band Death, he was very intricate with his lyrics. Lead Belly, great musician. David Bowie, quick witted until the day he dropped. The number one thing I’ll never get sick of: I love me some Iggy Pop. He’s fantastic. He loves to go on stage and not care, take his shirt off, make mean mug faces. Whenever you see him, you just know it’s going to be crazy.

My peers also inspire me a lot. I see them and I’m like, “You’re doing something right, and I fuck with it. I know you’re going somewhere.” I see their plans, their ideas, their art, and I’m just like, “Wow, I’m friends with this guy.” If I can do that for someone, make someone feel, that’s a goal of mine. But even though I take inspiration from people, I don’t want to be like anybody. I want to be someone that’s myself. I want to be my own individual.

What bands have you been in? What bands are you in now?

Two in the past, two right now. I had a few one-off music things when I was younger, like- when I was 14 or 15, I joined a band called Deathgasm. We only played two shows, one in a grimy ass shed-basement-thing, the other in a living room. They both sucked. Everyone I played with was in their late twenties going into thirties and I was a fucking teenager playing bass, and they were all literally junkies, so I was exposed to that pretty early. That’s, like, more than D.A.R.E. could ever do.

The band I’m in right now is called Vivus.1 We play a mixture of brutal death metal, 90s thrash and modern-day hardcore beat-down. We were in high school when we decided to start playing music together, and it was really fun, but it was just a hobby. Then we realized that other local bands had started to like us and say, “You guys are actually doing something.” It kind of made me realize, “Oh, shit. This could actually be real.”

I’m also in a project called Warlock’s Pipe. We play a lot of doom metal and sludge, mixed with power violence. When we play, we try to get a point across, display an emotion so people can resonate with it. So much is happening right now. People are getting hurt, so if you have an opportunity and you’ve got a voice, you have to use it. You have to say something, or you’ll regret it.

Have you always played metal?

I started out with punk roots. When my bandmates and I were younger, a lot of the bands we were friends with were punk. Protozoan2 is one, they’re still active right now. Devin, the guitarist, is a great friend of mine. We text each other, never anything small, always full conversations, every time. Girlfriend from Hell also really stood by our side. We were, like, babies in the scene, and they really looked after us, made sure no one was fucking with us. There’s also Tim Walls from AURA Fest.3 He stuck his neck out for us, gave us shows. He and I have, like, a 20-year age gap and we can still sit down and have coffee and talk about real shit.

Is the Savannah scene mostly metal?

No, there’s a lot of good mixed genre shows here. I’ve seen a few at The Portal,4 like this band called AGONIZE. My friend Kelwin is in a power violence band called Found, he played there with a rapper named Reggie V, he’s super good. Some SCAD students are forming their own bands too, like this DJ group called Horoscope that I’m friends with. It’s always cool when you get these mixed shows, because you might think that a rap artist hates metal, or that a metalhead wouldn’t want to go to a rap show, but you are dead wrong.

I was thinking, on the way over here, how times have changed with music. In the 40s and 50s, you had kids listening to early rock, going out to the beach or their cars because they couldn’t listen to it at home. Then, in the 60s, you had the hippies growing their hair out, finding out about the war and protesting for peace and love. Another decade later, when the hippies realized that their voices weren’t being heard, they cut their hair off, and then you get punk. All these different music genres are all the same idea. We’re not so different, when you think about it.

What’s the community like in Savannah?

People here are very proactive. They know what’s going on. Music is very political, and we’ve had a lot more protesting in Savannah. A friend of mine was arrested for wearing a mask at a protest, because they were worried about being targeted by people online or police officers, and their name was on the news. But we have good groups of people that work together to look after our communities more than police officers do. No matter what kind of clique or scene you’re in, everyone looks after each other. The metalheads look after the punks, the punks look after the SHARPs-5 everyone’s got each other’s backs. It’s something I haven’t seen in a long time.

Why do you think alternative people are so politically aware and community minded?

You can’t have an agenda as a musician without a political point of view. I feel like the reason we’re all so involved is because politics affects everyone that we’re around, all our people. Everyone just loves each other so much. I can see someone that I haven’t seen in weeks, go up to them, give them a big hug and say, “I love you, bro. How are you doing?” And I know that if something happens, I’ve got their back and they’ve got mine. Simple as that.

Do you have a favorite show or venue you’ve played in Savannah?

I like to play at the Bean6 because you can run it yourself if you have experience. I like to make my shows all ages so anyone could show up, listen to music. My first show that I ever hosted by myself under Spiral Booking, there was this dad with his kid. They both had their own patch vests with all these cool bands’ patches and figurines stitched on them. The dad came up to me and said he was so happy that he could bring his child to a show and not have to worry about anything because it’s such a safe environment. Having a parent tell me that makes me think I’m doing something right.

Other than that, there was a venue– long live Lodge of Sorrows.7 I played my third or fourth gig there, and it was my favorite venue I’ve ever played at. We were so young, just moving around spastic. I still can’t comprehend how big of a show that was. The people that ran Lodge of Sorrows had to shut it down because of a confrontation with some college kid’s parents, but they’re talking about opening a new venue. We’re still waiting on that, but I believe it’s going to happen.

What from your time as a live musician has stuck with you?

We had a younger kid in the scene who recently passed away.8 They would go to our shows all the time; I watched them grow up. I didn’t realize, but our band was, like, the soundtrack to their life. I went to their wake, their funeral, saw them in the casket and everything. Their family talked to me, told me how much they loved going to my shows. To see that taken away over a small confrontation… it makes you feel like, if you could do something for that kid, who else could you do it for? If you’re giving someone an outlet to live their life, what else could you do, you know?

We’re doing a show for that kid in December and giving all the money that we make to their family. They’ve already buried them, but we just feel that it’s right.

Do you have any advice for people looking to get into the scene?

Be aware of your surroundings. Have a nice group of people– not even a group of people, just a friend, someone you know is safe. Other than that, life is a book, you have to write it yourself. Go out, have your own narrative of a night, go up to someone and say, “Hey, what’s up, I like your shirt, that’s a good band, I like that patch, it’s super cool.” And never, ever stop showing up.

Photo taken by Mel Mercer

Donate to the family of Shinobi Pitts

These marvelous math rocks make up the standard polyhedral RPG dice set, best known for being a core mechanic of the Dungeons & Dragons game system. As a seasoned D&D player and certified dice goblin (geek jargon meaning a person who obsesses over and collects dice sets), I’m here to tell you that not all dice are created equal. Welcome to the absolutely, 100% objective, unbiased and definitive ranking of the RPG dice.

Fair warning: as I am primarily a D&D player, many of my opinions on these dice are based on their utility under the D&D 5e game system. Proceed at your own risk.

7. d4 – The Lego Brick

The pointiest and peskiest of all the dice, the d4 has earned its title and spot on the bottom of the list for one simple reason: it hurts like a bitch to step on. That may sound like a dumb excuse for kicking this little pyramid to the metaphorical curb, but I guarantee that every single TTRPG player in existence has dropped this thing at some point and gotten impaled for their troubles. It’s just never worth it, especially if you’re a fan of the sharp-edged resin dice that currently dominate collectors’ spaces. My soles will never forget the sting of this tetrahedron menace.

6. d100 – The Blue Moon

Though the d100 doesn’t actively cause me literal physical pain, that’s about where the positives end. Its standard shape is flat and almost rounded, giving it much more potential to roll off the table into a dark corner, never to be seen again. But it fails most dramatically on two fronts: it’s almost never used, and it cannot be used alone. To get a single number between 1 and 100, you have to roll both the d100 and the d10– and that’s if you even need to roll a d100 at all. It’s a very rare roll to be asked to make (unless you’re playing Call of Cthulhu, a game I actively dislike), leaving this die a little too useless to rank any higher on this list.

5. d10 – The Average Joe

The d10 is the same slippery shape as the d100, but it ranks higher primarily because it sees so much more use. The d10 is often used to calculate hit points in D&D 5e and sometimes acts as a damage die for a few of the larger weapons. I have fond memories of rolling this pentagonal trapezohedron while swinging a glaive right into an enemy’s neck, watching it rattle around in my dice tray and hoping for a juicy ten-pointer. The reason the d10 doesn’t rank any higher on this list is that it’s just… a bit boring. It’s reliable, most definitely, but lacks the dramatic flair of those dice on the upper levels of this list.

4. d8 – The Hidden Gem

The d8 is the evolved form of the d4, almost like two d4s stuck together to create a satisfying diamond shape. But unlike the d4, this one lands with the points facing to the side and is therefore not a health hazard. Though imparting a fewer hit points than the d10, this octahedron deals damage for some of D&Ds most marvelous spells and many martial weapons, making it a powerful ally to both soldiers and sorcerers. At the end of the day though, shape is the name of the game here. Easily the cutest in the set. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, after all.

3. d12 – The Strongman

The little brother of the d20, the d12 is a dodecahedron that truly represents the will of the warrior. As the largest of the damage die and the hit die for D&D’s Barbarian class, this mighty math rock is the driving force behind every rippling muscle and blinding blade. There’s just something about it that feels powerful. Its weight in my palm, the punishing potential– the d12 is the epitome of “go big or go home.” And really, who doesn’t love a good pentagon?

2. d20 – The Hand of Fate

Oh d20, the adventures we’ve gone on together. This iconic icosahedron is the central game piece to the D&D 5e system, informing the outcome of every player action through the course of the campaign. Want to pickpocket that guard for his keys? d20. Want to hold your breath just that little bit longer as you struggle back to your ship? d20. Want to flirt with the horrifying creature your DM sic’d on the party because you think it would be funny? You guessed it, that’s the d20 too. This die has almost become the face of the TTRPG scene, a signal to other nerds that you are one of them and you are proud of it. If nothing else, the d20 represents that anything is possible if fate is on your side.

1. d6 – The Forefather

I’ve spent a good chunk of this list harping on about D&D. That ends now. Though not the most important to Wizards of the Coast’s iconic d20 system, this classic cuboid with its prestigious pips is still the quintessential die in the minds of most people on the planet. It makes an appearance in almost every popular tabletop game: Monopoly, Yahtzee, Craps and CATAN to name a few. The d6 tops the list because it transcends the TTRPG space. This is a die you could take home to Mom, play a few rounds of Liar’s Dice with, and leave on the dinner table while you curl up on the couch. Because the d6 isn’t just for nerds. The d6 is for everyone.

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Pollywog Protocols

The essentials of the game are quite basic. You play as a frog sent down to a fragment of a broken planet, known as “The Shard,” to play clean-up crew for any leftover landmasses floating through “The Aether.” The Shard is made up of hexagonal tiles, some of which are Barren and some of which have Land stacked on top. Your job is to gobble as many Land tiles as possible into your Gullet, then hop off the game board into The Aether to barf them up into your Vault for safekeeping. At the end of the game, whoever has the most Land tiles wins.

Players each take one Action per turn. With these, you can move around the game board, gain and store Land and Oomph – an in-game resource used to power certain Actions and Abilities – and attack, push and steal from your fellow frogs. Each frog also has a special Ability Card that provides special abilities and influences their playstyle. The game ends when either The Shard becomes too unstable, or when all the Land tiles are gone. However, my favorite aspect of this game by far is how it handles turn order; instead of going around the table, players pull colored cards from the Action Deck, each of which corresponds to a frog. How changeable!

The Tadpole Years

After reviewing the rules (and some other gameplay details that I won’t bore you with) we were ready to play. The game started off strong with my boyfriend, Arlo, pulling three Blue Action Cards in a row and scooping up some Land for himself, making grotesque gulping noises with each tile added to his Gullet. I also got off to a decent start with an Ability that helped me hop much more swiftly from place to place. Our roommate, Michael… well, he was trying his best. His boon was an Ability that forced us to spend Oomph if we wanted to Attack him, which kept him safe while he wandered around. But I doubt either of us would’ve attacked him anyway- we were all mostly leaving each other alone, laughing and making silly sound effects as we each found our footing.

As the game progressed, Arlo’s luck took a turn for the worse. A chance event forced him to give up an Attack-focused Ability Card that he was planning to use to rob me and Michael blind, and then he kept getting stiffed by the Action Deck. On the flip side, I came into possession of a new Ability Card that allowed me to Harvest exponentially more land. And Michael held on to his safety blanket. Between the three of us – hesitant to attack as we were –we quickly devoured the rest of the Land on The Shard, the last tile falling into my own Gullet.

Frog-sticuffs

At that moment, I thought I had won. I had by far the most Land in my Vault, and I had just cleared the board. The game was over, right? Well, no, Arlo pointed out. I had overlooked one tiny detail: The Shard clearing is a sign of the endgame, but the game doesn’t actually end until the Action Deck is fully depleted. And unfortunately for me, our Action Deck had just been reshuffled. With no more land to collect, the only option was combat, and I was public enemy number one.

What followed was a generational run of dice rolls. Cosmic Frog’s system of combat has both the attacker and defender roll a die, and if the attacker’s roll exceeds the defender’s, the attack is successful. The game has three different colored dice, all of which are 6 sided, with the white dice numbered 1-6, the yellow dice from 2-7, and the coveted red dice from 3-8. What color dice you use is dictated by your Ability Card. Looking at my own Ability Card, I realized that I had zero combat advantage. I was stuck with the white dice. Shit.

But after a rocky start where I lost in Aether combat and got banished to the shadow realm – aka the Outer Planes, where you can’t take Actions and all your Land goes up for grabs – I came back with a vengeance. Another Ability Card switch-up landed me with a nifty combat boost, and I started taking fights and taking back any Land that had been stolen from me, along with some that hadn’t. All Arlo and Michael could do was watch as the Action Deck (and their Vaults) slowly ran dry. Eventually, with one last burglary attempt from Arlo, the game ended. I reigned supreme. So supreme, in fact, that my thoroughly emasculated fellow players refused to even tally up the points. Sore losers, am I right?

Personal Hop-pinions

Overall, I had a very positive experience with this game, though I might be biased since I absolutely wiped the floor with Michael and Arlo, and I do love to win. But even when I was losing, the game was still fun. The celestial aesthetic and the chaotic gameplay really appealed to my eccentric sensibilities, and though some of the mechanics seem complex on the surface, the game is quite easy once you get to playing. Michael generally agreed with me; Arlo felt differently. He wasn’t a fan of the random turn order and chance events, especially since he kept getting his plans turned upside-down by the game’s changeability. But these things are features, not bugs; Arlo is a strategist by nature, enjoying games like CATAN and Stellaris that reward long-term planning and consistency. If you happen to be that type of player, Cosmic Frog may not be the game for you.

The only negative impression that I personally have with this game came from the rule book. It’s decently long – over 15 pages – but I’m a Dungeons & Dragons player, so that wasn’t the issue. My gripe is with the writing; A fair bit of the information is either optional or redundant. Not only did I find myself consistently repeating rules during my out-loud narration to the entire table, I also came across a bit of a consistency issue. Some sections of the rulebook were easy to digest, while others required a second (or even third) re-read to comprehend the mechanics they explained. It’s in this area that I believe the game fails, but I’m not a bitter critic- it’s nothing a re-write couldn’t fix.

So if you’re like me and you enjoy a healthy dose of haphazardness with your extensive ruleset, I highly recommend you pick up a copy of Cosmic Frog, either from an online retailer like BoardGameGeek or on Berserk Games’s Tabletop Simulator. Because sometimes, you just need to get weird and shovel pieces of a floating island into your giant frog mouth. In space.

Final review: 7.5/10

Alice is Missing

A gripping and poignant experience, indie sensation Alice is Missing tasks you with solving the disappearance of your classmate Alice Briarwood, a high school junior from the sleepy town of Silent Falls. The catch? You can only communicate through texting. This compact yet complex game will test your sleuthing skills and emotional engagement, challenging you to solve the mystery in only 90 minutes before Alice is lost forever in an experience critics call “unforgettable.” Let’s just hope you’re up to the task.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Apocalypse World

Origin of the now widely used Powered by the Apocalypse engine, Apocalypse World has a simple yet effective premise: The apocalypse is here. Can you survive? Storming onto the scene in 2010 with just enough setting to get players hooked and just enough freedom to keep them playing for years to come, this violent D6 system has become a must-play for any apocalypse fan wanting to prove their mettle. So, will you join the swaths of Savvyheads and Skinners making their way through the wasteland, or die like everyone else?

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

ARC: Doom

Equal parts whimsical and woeful, ARC: Doom is a lighthearted game where you try to stop the apocalypse before it plunges the world into eternal darkness. Can someone say narrative dissonance? Well, no, not really. Despite impending ruin, hope and wonder underscore the world of ARC and the simple system invites even the most novice TTRPG players. The whole game was designed, written and illustrated by one independent creator, and the love she feels for the project oozes from its pages. Undoubtedly, ARC is perfect for any player.

Ars Magica

The TTRPG Titan of magic systems, Ars Magica drops players into “Mythic Europe,” an analogue of the High Middle Ages where all the folk tales are true and mages study the 15 magic arts so they might write their names in the books of legend. This system is dense, mechanically and narratively, with an extensively developed world for players to explore and shape. The historical accuracy and implementation of real-world mythos make this game a treat history buffs and fantasy fans alike, allowing magic to flow from our fingertips and reshape the fabric of the past.

Badger + Coyote

This quaint and pastoral two-player tabletop game explores an unlikely friendship based on a real natural phenomenon: badgers and coyotes, working together in the wild. What a formidable fluffy pair! This short and sweet system prompts a pair of players to collaborate, using their individual skills to help each other survive. Though these creature companions may never speak, Badger + Coyote shows that they can have each other’s backs all the same.

Blades in the Dark

Possibly the single most successful indie TTRPG of the past decade, Blades in the Dark pits players as a group of ne’er-do-wells trying to get by in the haunted Victorian city of Doskvol. In a world where danger lurks in every alley, who will be your next score? While Blades in the Dark’s steampunk setting and scrappy scoundrels make it a hoot for any gaming group, its system is the real gem. Based around a D6 pool and its ‘progress clock’ mechanic, the streamlined ruleset has since been licensed as Forged in the Dark and made available for use in other games. But at the end of the day, there’s no substitute for the real thing.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Brindlewood Bay

A cozy murder mystery, Brindlewood Bay puts the love in Lovecraftian. Playing as a group of old ladies from a book club, you and your crew will uncover the dark occult secrets of your cushy New England home and try not to throw out a hip along the way. Leveraging the iconic Powered by the Apocalypse system, Brindlewood Bay will let you live out your Agatha Christie fantasy and is best enjoyed with a good group of friends and some hot tea. Just… be sure there’s nothing lurking in your cup.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Call of Cthulhu

As popular as it is punishing, Call of Cthulhu is perfect for the player who wants to feel powerless in the face of overwhelming and incomprehensible eldritch horror, yet attempt to resist anyway. Built on the iconic Cthulhu mythos and a brutal D100 system, this is a game H.P Lovecraft would be proud of.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

City of Mist

Looking for a town where the stakes are high and the martinis are dry? Look no further than City of Mist, a neo-noir urban fantasy filled with intrigue and incantations- and everyone is hiding something. Making use of the robust Powered by the Apocalypse engine, characters in City of Mist gain their powers from an unlikely source: the spontaneous awakening of a mythical creature or figure within them. This refreshing combination of esoterica and espionage makes City of Mist a delight for anyone looking to learn more about the legendary beings of the world and a great way to flex all that latent knowledge of Greek Mythology from your Percy Jackson phase. Or you could just gun down some grifters. It’s really up to you.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Colostle

A more recent indie standout, Colostle is exactly what it says on the tin: a colossal castle. So colossal, in fact, that it encompasses the whole world, complete with cities, oceans, and monstrous foes for you to seek out and slay. Unlike most TTRPGs, Colostle doesn’t rely on dice. Instead, a standard 52 card deck is all you need to drive the story and further your exploration. You also won’t need to put together a gaming group- Colostle is designed as a solo experience, where the only limits are the cards you draw and your own imagination.

Coyote & Crow

Have you ever asked yourself the question, “What if the Americas were never colonized?” Well, Coyote & Crow’s science fantasy setting posits that, in the wake of global ecological disaster, Native cultures have risen to prominence emboldened by magical gifts and technological advancements. But now that the disaster is over and the world has begun to heal, the question remains: what comes next? With the gaming space so often dominated by Euro-centric viewpoints, Coyote & Crow is a breath of fresh air, developed by a team of Native Americans with the intent to be enjoyed by people from every culture.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

CY_BORG

“Rules-light and rage-heavy,” CY_BORG puts a savage spin on a classic cyberpunk setting. The doomed city of Cy is infested with poisons, drugs and megacorps, all ready to hijack you and your ragtag team of punks and drain you of every last cred. Against those odds, what is there to do but rage against the machine until it all goes to hell? The game's stunning graphic design only emphasizes its chaotic energy- each page is bursting with electric colors, jagged typography and gruesome glitch patterns that make you want to ram your brass knuckle implants right through some SecCorp’s stupid face. Let’s just hope you can find one before the world ends.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Cyberpunk

The epitome of the genre that bears its name, Cyberpunk is the corporate sci-fi sensation that spawned a global franchise complete with multiple RPG editions, a TV show, and an award-winning video game. In this dense dystopia, players will reach the Edge or die trying. Originally published in 1988 as Cyberpunk 2020, this world has had many years to develop a dense history and even its own iconic slang, shedding many of the shortcomings of the original game and gaining new facets along the way. So, whether you want to get chromed up by a ripperdoc, zero all corpos, or just chill with your chooms, Cyberpunk has you covered. Just be sure not to go cyberpsychotic.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Death in Space

The universe is collapsing, but where most see oblivion, Death in Space sees opportunity. This rules-light RPG will take you and your crew through the Tenebris system, doing odd jobs for a pittance that you’ll use to turn your Hub into a home. And, if you get lucky, the void might even grant you a gift to help you survive the vast reaches of space.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Dialect

A siren song for linguists and conlangers, Dialect is self-described as “a game about language and how it dies.” With nothing but a deck of cards, you and your friends will define communities with just the words they use, exploring their identities and beliefs, from the beginning to the bitter end.

Dungeons & Dragons

What is there even left to say? Dungeons & Dragons is far and away the most popular TTRPG of all time, and for good reason. It’s just… D&D. Need I say more?

Yes. D&D is a wonder, with a rich history and an even richer setting. The classic Lord of the Rings playstyle is just the tip of the iceberg, with near-infinite supplemental content making space for all kinds of players; there’s Spelljammer: Adventures in Space for the sci-fi fans, Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft for the horror fans, Strixhaven: Curriculum of Chaos for the Harry Potter fans, and much, much more. This, along with a painstakingly perfected D20 system, has lodged Dungeons & Dragons in the hearts of players across the world, right where it belongs.

Eat the Reich

Do you like vampires? Do you hate Nazis? Then this is the game for you! Claw your way through occupied 1943 Paris and sink your fangs into as many members of the Third Reich as you can before reaching the ultimate prize: Hitler himself. With a violent streak the size of Texas, Eat the Reich’s classless D6 system gives you and your crack team of vampire commandos every opportunity to spill blood and create carnage with no restraint and no remorse. Because, let’s be honest, those Nazis had it coming.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Fabula Ultima

A classic table-top fantasy game with a Japanese twist, Fabula Ultima seeks to bring the aesthetic of the JRPG to a new audience. Perfect for fans of Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest and Persona, this substantial system provides the perfect framework for the quest of your dreams.

Fiasco

Fiasco is the name and disaster is the game! This black comedy will throw you and your crew into the deep end of an unstable sting operation and laugh when it all inevitably goes sideways. With both card and text-based systems available, Fiasco is great for gaming groups accustomed to any playstyle that are looking to temper their ambition with absurdity.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Girl by Moonlight

A genre-flexible story of oppression and self-actualization, Girl by Moonlight uses the Forged in the Dark engine and magical girl trope to tell stories of queer struggle, social defiance, and the importance of community and relationships. With influences from across the media landscape, this genuine and heart-wrenching title will hit you right in the nostalgia.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Goblin Quest

Are you sick and tired of goblins always get the short end of the stick in fantasy games? Well, look no further than Goblin Quest, a side-splitting adventure system packed to the brim with stealing and shenanigans that finally puts the power into those little green hands, for better or for worse. Probably for worse.

GURPS

An acronym for Generic Universal RolePlaying System, GURPS is a very special case. First published in 1986 when specific and self-contained settings were the talk of the TTRPG space, GURPS took the opposite approach: complete genre agnosticism. GURPS has no setting, just a sleek core ruleset and a wealth of supplementals that make it compatible with any environment or playstyle. Groundbreaking in its time and reliable to this day, it’s the perfect choice for even the most indecisive gamer.

im sorry did you say street magic

A city builder with an urban fantasy flair, i’m sorry did you say street magic is a colorful and collaborative game that lets you and your friends build out your world, from ancient mysteries and dynamic characters to the design of the bench at the end of the cul-de-sac. Compassionate and contemplative, this game is nothing short of spellbinding.

Into the Odd

Into the Odd draws out the inherent cosmic horror of industrial capitalism and lays it out in front of you, daring you to pry into its dark underbelly and explore the farthest reaches of reality. Titillating and terrifying, there’s no end to the oddities players can find, but there is one thing they must always remember: Bastion is the only city that matters.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Kids on Bikes

An adolescent adventure, Kids on Bikes has a lot in common with its eponymous storytelling trope. Inspired by properties like Stranger Things and The Goonies, this rules-light D20 based game sows big mysteries into small towns, and sends you and your group of middle-school friends into the forest with flashlights to figure it all out!

Lighthouse at the End of the World

Sinister yet stirring, Lighthouse at the End of the World is a solo journaling experience where you, the lighthouse keeper, must fend off the dark forces that threaten your work. Be it crashing waves, crushing solitude or creatures unholy, you must persevere. Because without your light, humanity is sure to fall.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Monsterhearts

Filled with teen angst and talons, Monsterhearts explores the turbulent lives of teenage monsters, from unconventional romance to the horrors of supernatural puberty. Known for its immersive character creation and queer themes, Monsterhearts will make any Jennifer’s Body fan swoon.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Mörk Borg

Gritty and gruesome, Mörk Borg is the doom-metal darling of the indie RPG scene. With blood-soaked pages telling tales of hideous creatures and corrupted prophets divining the Miseries that will bring about the end times, this game will work its way under your skin like a parasite and leave you hungry for more.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Mothership

An acutely hostile piece of sci-fi horror, Mothership leaves no asteroid unturned when looking for ways to make life harder for players just trying to survive the inhospitable cosmic landscape, including every table-top gamer’s nightmare: the dreaded D100 system. So keep your suit secure and cobble together your ship’s security systems; you never know what could be lurking in the darkness of space.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Old Morris Cave

Artfully complex, Old Morris Cave is a solo game that’s equal parts TTRPG, scientific journal and worldbuilding exercise. Build and rediscover human history encoded in the very dirt you stand upon by excavating the interior of a cave mouth campsite, and maybe learn a thing or two about yourself along the way.

Paranoia

Ding dong! It’s digital dystopia calling! In Paranoia, a self-aware and sometimes unreliable black comedy, players attempt to complete missions on behalf of their friend The Computer, who definitely doesn’t have the entire city under its authoritarian rule. Just do your job, keep your head down and relax! Everything is a-okay! The Computer is your friend! Everything is a-okay! The Computer is your friend! Everything is a-okay! The Computer is your-

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Pathfinder

Looking for a speculative setting with that classic 1980s crunch? Pathfinder is your new best friend. Originally a hack for edition 3.5 of Dungeons & Dragons, Pathfinder has become a formidable system in its own right, with the wildly popular supplemental Starfinder expanding its scope from fantasy to sci-fi. A good solid game, Pathfinder brings the retro vibes back into fashion.

Perils & Princesses

Once upon a time, there was a game called Perils & Princesses where players took up the mantle of magical fairytale heroines to save the realm from evils great and small. Inspired by classic Disney princess movies and Grimm’s Fairy Tales, this light fantasy adventure is the perfect way to get younger players into table-top gaming.

Raccoon Sky Pirates

Congratulations, you’ve found my personal favorite game out of all 50 available options. Hats off to your impeccable taste.

Raccoon Sky Pirates is a game where you and your group become a gaggle of garbage-gobbling critters that have somehow managed to build a flying machine and are now using it to rob suburban neighborhoods blind. Skitter through manicured lawns and scratch up polished hardwood floors collecting spare parts, shiny trinkets, and lots of yummy trash to snack on during the flight home. That is, if you make it out alive.

Root

The epitome of the “small mammal on a big adventure” trope, Root takes your classic Tolkienesque TTRPG setting and asks: What if everyone was a cute little critter? That doesn’t diminish its complexity, however- this is still a high-stakes high fantasy adventure, just with a few more furry friends than usual. And, as a bonus, it’s available in as a board game for players wanting a more paws-on experience.

Shadowrun

The crunchiest, crackliest cyberpunk sibling, Shadowrun is a system most TTRPG players have a love-hate relationship with. The rules are chaotic and convoluted, with no edition free of significant mechanical flaws, but what it lacks in system integrity it more than makes up for in setting. An artful interweaving of tech and arcana, players’ primary objective is to successfully carry out titular shadowruns- covert criminal operations where stealth is sacred. With supplemental sourcebooks rattling around the corners of every retro game store on the planet, Shadowrun is well worth a try, even if it means contending with its less-than-stellar system.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Sleepaway

On the surface, Sleepaway is a cozy game about summer camp and self-discovery, with campers and counselors alike searching for somewhere to belong. But at the fringes of the forest lurks an ancient evil, a shapeshifter whose threat turns this simple summer camp into a shelter from its creeping darkness. Exploring themes of ostracization and queer trauma, Sleepaway is sure to be a haunting yet heartfelt experience.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Tales from the Loop

In an alternate universe where research on particle acceleration skyrocketed in the 1940s, the teenage protagonists of Tales from the Loop navigate the remains of a failed technological utopia to uncover old conspiracies and track down the strange creatures they unleashed onto the world. Just make sure you’re home in time for dinner.

The Burning Wheel

While The Burning Wheel’s familiar fantasy setting may seem unoriginal at first glance, the narrative focus of this game is far removed from its sword-and-sorcery brethren. The Burning Wheel shifts players away from combat mechanics and puzzle solving, instead directing them to build deep and complex characters with realistic motivations, needs and flaws. As your heroes go on their adventures they will grow and change, something this system actively encourages and explores, making The Burning Wheel the perfect choice for any player looking to deepen their understanding of character dynamics.

The Hidden Isle

Set on the secret island of Discoria, The Hidden Isle is a Renaissance-inspired narrative adventure game with a fun mechanical twist: instead of relying on dice, The Hidden Isle uses tarot cards as the driving force behind its system. Supplemented by gorgeous storybook-style artwork, this unique system beckons players to give the game a try and discover what quests the cards have in store.

The Quiet Year

A poignant exploration of the power of the human spirit, The Quiet Year is a meditative map-making game that takes players through a single year in the life of a small community attempting to rebuild after a devastating apocalypse. A 52-card deck dictates the events that move the year along, and players must figure out how to content with them. But no matter what you do, at year’s end the Frost Shepherds will come, and the world will end. Will you try anyway?

The Wildsea

Want to be a pirate but hate the thought of getting wet? The Wildsea is the game for you. After an overgrown apocalypse covered the Earth in greenery, transforming it into a massive sprawling forest, newly minted ‘Wildsailors’ retrofitted their ships with chainsaws and got right back to plundering. But the dense foliage has become host to all manner of crafty creatures, and you’ll have to stay one step ahead of them if you hope to survive.

Thirsty Sword Lesbians

Have you ever been watching Merlin or The Princess Bride and found yourself thinking, “Man, I wish this had more lesbians?” Then look no further than Thirsty Sword Lesbians, a game of questing and queer romance where your own ungainly attempts at flirting might be the most frightful enemy of all! Utilizing the iconic Powered by the Apocalypse engine, this game takes queer stories that have been previously relegated to fanfiction and puts them right at the forefront of play, highlighting the often-suppressed sapphic side of the queer community. Plus, you get to swing swords around! Truly, a flawless concept.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

This Discord Has Ghosts In It

This Discord Has Ghosts In It is exactly what it says on the tin: a discord server with ghosts in it. It isn’t just your average hangout server, however. This discord is a virtual haunted house, where players split into teams of ghosts and investigators to haunt and explore respectively. The ghosts can only type, filling text channels with spooks and secret motives, while the investigators can only speak, jumping from voice channel to voice channel as they try to understand the nature of this ectoplasmic infestation. A mystery for the modern age, This Discord Has Ghosts In It is the perfect game to play with those pals that live in a land far, far away.

Thousand Year Old Vampire

The pioneer of solo journaling TTRPGs, Thousand Year Old Vampire is less of a ruleset and more a book of writing prompts. Players will create an immortal vampire, chronicling their life from the moment of their turning to their eventual destruction centuries later. The game is rife with loss and lasting decisions, many of which will leave a pit in your stomach. It is not for the faint of heart, but Thousand Year Old Vampire is a truly moving experience for those that can stomach it.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Transgender Deathmatch Legend

A rare pure-action game, Transgender Deathmatch Legend is a violent hexcrawler filled with chipped teeth and trans rage! Pair up with other pitfighters to see whose legend can take the most tricks, dust off their knuckles and live to fight another day. With front-facing queer themes and rampant aggression, Transgender Deathmatch Legend finally lets you “put the hurt in HRT.”

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

Vampire: The Masquerade (World of Darkness)

The sovereign of TTRPG gothic horror, Vampire: The Masquerade has players tell the intimate personal stories of young vampires grappling with their new inhuman impulses while navigating an underworld of peril and political intrigue. Originally published in 1991, the wild success of the system allowed it to spawn a whole extended universe of similar games known as the World of Darkness, including Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Mage: The Ascension and more. Now in its 5th edition, Vampire: The Masquerade can be seen proudly displayed on the shelf of any avid table-top gamer.

Warning: This game contains mature content. Discretion advised.

VOID 1680AM

A casual catastrophe game, VOID 1680AM is a solo game that puts players in the position of a post-apocalyptic radio host, queueing songs and interacting with cryptic Callers. Though you may be alone in your radio tower, you are desperate to be heard, a concept that provides the game with its beating heart. Eerie and enthralling, VOID 1680AM is the perfect game for those people that make a hobby out of making playlists.

Wanderhome

Calm and cozy, Wanderhome is a dreamlike pastoral fantasy filled with creatures great and small. Unlike most TTRPGs, there isn’t an enemy lurking around every corner- in fact, Wanderhome has no combat mechanics at all, instead urging players to focus on interpersonal relationships and emotional journeys to build dynamic characters and lifelong bonds. And maybe, just maybe, you can make the world a little bit kinder along the way.

Yazeba's Bed and Breakfast

A serene slice-of-life story, Yazeba’s Bed and Breakfast chronicles the lives of a swath of quirky characters who have all found their home in a rickety cottage where it’s always September 15th. Split into 1-2 hour “chapters,” the game is both simple and sincere, with themes of queer found family and emotional healing underscoring every page. So if you’ve been feeling lost or confused, it might be time for you to take a trip down to Yazeba’s Bed and Breakfast.

These words, spoken by Roman Fruehan at age 13, were in response to a group of school friends asking if he wanted to join their game of Dungeons & Dragons. Fruehan, now 30, has been playing TTRPGs for over a decade and currently works at Planet Fun, a vintage toy and game store in Savannah, Georgia. Though his primary experience is with D&D, he has also tried out Vampire: The Masquerade, board games like One Night: Ultimate Werewolf and Secret Hitler (a game I can personally vouch for despite its somewhat unsavory title), and is hoping to start playing Shadowrun in the near future.

So, what changed? What turned TTRPGs from “nerd games” into a lifelong hobby? And what even are TTRPGs?

TTRPGs, short for table-top roleplaying games, are most commonly a combination of setting and system that players leverage to collaboratively tell engaging stories. The setting is the background, the overall genre and the world in which the story takes place. For example, the setting of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings is Middle Earth, and the genre would be high fantasy. The system is the mechanics of the game, rules used by players to interact with the setting and determine the outcomes of uncertain situations. This is usually done by rolling dice, trying to hit a specific target number to successfully carry out an action. These target numbers are set either by the system itself or by a designated Game Master. The breadth of the role of Game Master varies from system to system, but their primary purpose is to serve as adjudicator, keeping the players in check and ensuring that everyone is (mostly) abiding by the rules. Now throw in a cast of kooky characters developed by the players and healthy dose of improvisation, and you’re well on your way to an exciting first session of gameplay.

So how does one go about getting started with TTRPGs? Well, according to Fruehan, the best way to engage with this activity is to step out of your comfort zone, which is exactly what he did. Despite his initial aversion to the activity, he ended up giving that game of D&D with his school friends a shot. In his words, the experience was “an absolute blast, and [he] was hooked from then on.” And just like that, a small moment of discomfort made way for an enduring passion that would spark joy and creativity for years to come. Not a bad trade off.

Fruehan isn’t the only one to struggle with that first leap into table-top gaming. I personally didn’t start getting into the hobby until a few short years ago, intimidated by the seemingly overwhelming rules and endless choices. It was hard to take that plunge, force myself to drop $50 on my first Dungeons & Dragons sourcebook not knowing if it would be worth it. Obviously I’m glad I did, even if my wallet is a fair bit lighter for it, but I still wish I’d had someone to tell me where to start.

Luckily, since you’re reading this article, you won’t have that problem.

Below is a quiz painstakingly crafted to match your wants and needs to a specific TTRPG, providing you with the starting point that I never had. It has 50 possible results, ranging from the scene’s most tried and true to indie projects that are still being funded on Kickstarter. And when you receive your result, I hope you can find the courage to take that first uncomfortable step and give the game a try. It could be the gateway to a wonderful new world.

Access the quiz here!

Curious all the possible results? You’re in luck! Check out the TTRPG Quiz Result Masterpost here.

Imagine a painting. You came across this painting online as a child, too young to understand the subject but old enough to see the careful beauty in it, built from bricks of brushstrokes and gently held in an ornate frame. Even at your early age, you recognized the significance of this painting, felt its soul touch your own and vowed one day to see it in person. You’ve returned to the image of the painting throughout the years, slowly comprehending more and more of it, and have only become more steadfast in your conviction that this painting is the most important creative work ever to exist. You’ve dreamed of seeing it for so long, observing the flaws and finesse that have spoken to you in such a profound way, feeling the light reflect into your eyes off of that delicate impasto. Imagine years later, you’re finally old enough and have enough of your own money to book a trip to see this painting, which you do without a second thought. Finally, your lifelong dream will be realized.

Now imagine opening your phone to the New York Times a week before your flight and seeing that a bunch of geriatrics in suits have set the painting on fire, and are now using it to roast marshmallows.

That’s about how I’ve been feeling the past few days.

The worst part is that it wasn’t always this way. Not too long ago, the geriatrics in suits were middle-aged people in suits who would never even think of setting the painting on fire (at least, not our painting. Some other country’s painting, sure, but never ours). But times have changed and, since the woke left banned fossil fuels and set up internment camps to summarily execute any hard-working American that still relies on them, the geriatrics have had to get creative in finding new ways to roast their marshmallows. Can you blame them? They need their marshmallows to regulate their blood sugar. Lord knows even they can’t afford insulin.

Now, my opinion on any form of government should be taken with a grain of salt. I’m a contrarian by nature. I’ve often said, “I don’t have a problem with authority, authority has a problem with me,” which seldom impressed my mother after yet another meeting with my primary school teachers about my behavior. Words like “uncompromising”, “impertinent” and “insubordinate” were common company, though my grandfather once remarked that if a male student had exhibited these behaviors he would have been labelled “a leader”. But I’m also careful and ambitious, and I learned very quickly that sometimes you have to play a game you hate so that, one day, you have enough power to change it.

So I did. I played the game. I went to school, got good grades, did my extracurriculars and stayed out of trouble. I kept my focus on my academics, relegating my interest in the arts to the background at the behest of my teachers and the expense of my mental health. I stayed in when my friends were going out, mostly because I had work to do but also because there was nowhere for us to go where we weren’t forced to spend money we didn’t have. I went through the proper channels to get a diagnosis and treatment for my ADHD when it became a problem, despite the countless hours I have to spend on hold with my insurance company to this day. I applied to over twenty colleges, paid the fees, did the time, and got into a whopping three of them for my troubles. And for the past three years, I’ve been diligently working towards two undergraduate degrees on an academic honors scholarship and making Dean’s List every semester.

And still, the painting burns.

It’s dishonest. It’s sickening. It’s the bulldozing of a finish line I’ve been racing towards my entire life but somehow I can’t stop running because it’s all I know. It’s a passport that my parents worked tirelessly to get for me rotting in a drawer because it’s essentially useless, a platform I dedicated almost half my life to and spent months learning to leverage being ripped away due to fabricated national security concerns, having to read a book about Earth’s natural wonders for a freelancing class while my home state burns on live television. It’s my future turning to ash and choking on it.

So forgive me if I’m getting a bit sick and tired of watching geriatrics eat marshmallows.

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As is custom, much has changed since I last posted here. I finished out my sophomore year of college with perfectly acceptable grades, brute forced my way through a particularly tumultuous final summer as a camp counselor, got involved with a punk chick who ghosted me a few months later (which may have been for the best), and much more. I've got a new piercing, a few new tattoos, a buzzcut, and a boyfriend and - late-stage-capitalist-society-typical-exhaustion notwithstanding - things are going pretty well.

But let's go back to that last thing. A boyfriend. He's been the biggest change.

We met for the first time back in March, when my roommate's boyfriend M decided to invite a whole group of friends out to see Dune 2 in IMAX. Those invited included my roommate F, myself and our third roommate by extension, a few of M's other friends, and M's roommate C. I hadn't met C before, but M had mentioned him to me a few times by then. They'd been randomly assigned freshman year and, just like myself and F, had decided to continue living together. I knew he was smart and nerdy, and the only member of the group who had actually read any of the Dune books. That was about it.

So imagine my surprise when I got to the theater and met a boy with a high-pitched giggle and a deep understanding of science-fiction who looked for all the world like Milo from Disney's Atlantis. I was instantly smitten.

We didn't get much chance to talk that day since the movie was very long and we all had to get home shortly after, but I saw him again a few weeks later when M hosted a late-night Twilight watch party for the same group of friends. I spent the whole night cracking as many jokes as possible, turning up the charm and positioning myself to try and get C's attention. Looking back, my conduct is somewhat embarrassing, but it did work so I can't be too upset at my past self for their efforts.

Unfortunately, that would be the last I saw of C for quite some time. School caught up to us all, we got busy, I took my finals and got involved with the aforementioned punk chick and went to New England for work and almost got fired and got uninvolved with the punk chick and then suddenly it was the last day of August and M, F and C were all standing in the doorway of my apartment so F could pack for a trip to Orlando that I had completely forgotten I was invited to.

In my defense, I'd had a lot going on.

The trip had mostly been planned to celebrate M and C's birthdays, which both fall at the beginning of September. F's family are huge theme park people, so they invited me, M, C and our friend Z to stay at their timeshare for a week and go to Universal and EPCOT. I had readily accepted, excited to go to Harry Potter World and on Remy's Ratatouille adventure, and then promptly put it out of my mind until F showed up at home asking me why I wasn't packed yet.

I decided to drive down separately and meet everyone in Orlando since our first day was just going to be spent unpacking, grocery shopping and sorting out tickets. But even those few evening hours we spent at Publix pulling different cereals off the shelves was more time than I'd gotten to spend with C since we met. It was nice, being around him. He calmed me somehow. I couldn't explain it.

The next day, it was finally time for us to hit the parks. A later start meant that we didn't get there until after the main park had closed, but Islands of Adventure was still open for business, so off we went. We started at the Incredible Hulk, where I spent my time geeking out at the science-y plasma props and decorations- until C mentioned that he couldn't read any of the fun flavor text on the walls without his glasses (which were considered a "loose article" by theme park standards and had to be left in a locker). After that, my time was spent reading things out loud to him. The ride itself was fun too, of course, but hearing him laugh at all the antiquated Marvel Comics references might have been even better. We went on a few other rides after that - Doom's Fearfall, the Amazing Spiderman, Skull Island - but turned in early. After all, we had a big day ahead of us.

The next day was for Harry Potter World, and Harry Potter World only. One of the things that happens when you grow up in England is that Harry Potter encodes itself into your DNA and never, ever leaves, no matter how much you come to hate its author. Safe to say, my pursuit of C was forgotten in lieu of having the time of my absolute life going on Escape from Gringotts, the Hogwarts Express, the Forbidden Journey and Flight of the Hippogriff as many times as possible. No Hagrid's Motorbike that day, though- the line was unjustifiable. We also explored Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and did the Ollivander's experience. And who was chosen for the wand selection ceremony? That's right, yours truly. It was magical. My friends took videos. I bought the wand. And a Gryffindor scarf.

However, there was one thing that was starting to grate on me. As a group of five, we kept running into the issue of there not being enough seats in a row on the rides for all of us, leaving us to split into a pair and a three. Somehow, the three ended up as me, F and Z, with M and C as the pair. Now, absolutely nothing against F and Z - I love them both to death - but I really wanted to sit with C. Especially the next day when this convention continued and we sat separately on the E.T. ride, which has some serious romantic potential if you play your cards right.

There was one thing that disturbed this grouping every so often, though: Z gets motion sick.

Obviously, that's not fun for her, and we did our best to space out the more intense rides to give her time to recover. But there were some rides that she decided to sit out and even a day where she unfortunately had to head back to the timeshare early. In those instances, since F and M were already dating and most of the intense rides sat in pairs, C and I ended up together by default. And because of that, we got to talking.

We talked about space, literary conventions, video games and so much more. He made the walking and the wait times go by like nothing, even the nearly two-hour wait for Hagrid's Motorbike that we eventually decided to tackle. We actually got to ride that one twice in a row- the ride operator recognized M's Cowboy Bebop shirt and let us go again. It was awesome.

Day four was to be our single day at Epcot, as well as M's 21st birthday. He wanted to drink around the world- we convinced him to limit it to Europe. I won't belabor you with too many details about our walk around the countries; we ate good food, went on Remy's Ratatouille Adventure (which was amazing), got rained on in Norway, the works. The whole day, C stuck right by my side, chatting away about anything and everything. It was... lovely. So lovely.

We didn't spend all our time in the countries, though. We went on the janky old EPCOT ball ride where I was paired with Z, which was actually the best possible scenario since she has a passion for that ride in particular and her enthusiasm made it much more magical. Though, the glittering ceiling of stars was pretty magical on its own. We rode Soarin', which I'd already been on in California but F's dad was very excited about. We did Guardians of the Galaxy, which had the best line in the world with models and projections and storytelling that C and I were both nerding out over (and the ride is incredible to boot). And just before the fireworks, we ran over to jump on the Nemo ride.

Well, I say we, but C and I were the only ones running. Everyone else either had an umbrella or just didn't want to run, but when C took off from under the food court awning I took off right after him. He was fast, faster than I expected, and he kicked up some puddle water onto my jeans on the way there, but as we stood outside the World Nature building laughing and panting and holding our arms above our heads, I couldn't help but think to myself- this could be something. This could really, really be something.

Then I shook the water in my hair out onto him. He shook his out right back.

The Nemo ride was fun - C and I shared a shell and I got to see a manatee in real life - but the real highlight was the fireworks. I love fireworks, always have since I was a kid setting off sparklers in my grandparents' backyard, but this was something else entirely. An orchestrated show of light, love and music- it's hard to even describe. But the best part by far was seeing the stars in C's eyes as the fireworks went off, painting him in pinks and blues and greens until he almost glowed.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. I wanted so desperately to hold his hand. I'm still not sure why I didn't.

That night, back at the timeshare, we decided to watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. We'd watched Sorcerer's Stone a few days before, so we were all eager to continue the series. On previous nights, C and I had sat on opposite ends of the couch, but that night the only spot left after I changed into my pyjamas was on his side, right next to him.

We kept our distance until the end of the movie, but the air between us felt charged. I think everyone else could feel it too. As F, M and Z got up to head to bed, C asked if anyone wanted to stay and watch Prisoner of Azkaban, and when they all said no, he turned to me. Now, I'd been walking around in combat boots all day. It had been hot enough to kill in the morning and rainy in the afternoon. My contact lenses were dried out, my back was aching, and I had a minor headache from going on one too many roller coasters.

"Sure," I said, "I'll watch Prisoner of Azkaban with you."

Within ten minutes of the movie starting, we had our arms pressed against each other. At the halfway mark, he put his arm around my shoulders. By the time Hermione pulled out the Time-Turner, I was practically in his lap. And as soon as the credits started rolling, C grabbed my chin, turned me to face him and kissed me.

"Sorry for not doing that earlier," he said as we broke apart, "I just really wanted to finish the movie."

We spent the whole night talking about our lives, our dreams, our fears. The next day we held hands on the rides where our friends couldn't see, until eventually I kissed him in Honeydukes in front of all of them because I was sick of hiding for no reason. We went on E.T. again, and I got to be with him under the trees and stars. And when we eventually had to leave Orlando, he decided to take the four-hour drive back to Georgia in my car instead of F's.

We've been together for just over four months now. He's met my mother, my uncle, my grandparents, and next month he’s coming to New England with me to meet my cousins. He told me he loved me two weeks in, drunk off his ass, and told me again the next day when he'd sobered up. He let me stay with him when Hurricane Helene took out my power for almost a week and played at being disappointed every morning when I told him it wasn't back yet. He blows air in my face when I do something he thinks is cute, refuses to give up his corner of the couch to anyone but deigns to share it with me, and gets excessively competitive playing card games because he knows I think it's hot. He challenges me, teases me, and engages me in a way no one ever has.

And sometimes, when he looks at me, I see the same stars in his eyes that I saw that night under the fireworks- except this time, I don't hesitate to hold his hand.

The car’s engine has started to make that hollow sputtering noise, and August knows he has maybe twenty-five miles to find a gas station before they’re both well and truly fucked.

If he’s being honest with himself, he has absolutely no excuse. He’d known he was leaving today. He had to, considering he put his notice in at the office exactly two weeks ago – and subsequently endured the false platitudes from his boss about how sorry they were to see him go – and didn’t email his landlord politely informing her that he’d like to renew his lease the way he’d done every six months since he moved in. He still remembers the first time, how he waited patiently for her to email him and ask if he wanted to stay. He lost track of how many times he refreshed his inbox.

Still, August had slid into the driver’s seat this morning and instantly clocked that Ellie was low on gas but started driving anyway. He gave himself some bullshit excuse about it being too early in the morning, too dark to go fill up, but deep down he knew he was just too lazy, sluggish from sleep and the wind chill of the apartment parking lot. Anyway, he had an important place to be.

Now though, he’s kicking himself. Trust him to leave things to the last minute.

He lets out a deeply long-suffering sigh and resolves to keep an eye out for an exit sign with a Shell logo on it. Only the best for his girl.

His playlist ticks over to Say Yes by Elliott Smith, reedy layered vocals coming cleanly through his speakers. The only part of his car he’d ever shelled out the money to upgrade was his sound system; he hadn’t been able to handle the tinniness of the old one. It’d made his ears feel full, like he was on a plane right as it started going down. Now, though, the smoothness of the guitar buzzes right through his chest, warming him up better than Ellie’s aging heaters ever could.

Elliott Smith’s story is still one of his favorites. Grew up dealing with a shitty stepdad and an oppressive religion, started drinking and doing drugs at fourteen to cope. Learned to make music with a beat-up acoustic guitar and a tape recorder, got out of the stupid small towns he’d spent his life in, wrote some of the most beautiful songs the world has ever heard, and consistently tried to kill himself the whole way through. And then, when he’d finally started to get clean, someone broke into his house and murdered the poor bastard. It’s the most absolute example of the tortured artist’s life, and August loves it. He’s loved it since the day he learned it, trying to pick out Between the Bars on his first guitar and wondering who this guy who wrote this haunting song was.

As the song fades out, August notices the yellow-and-red logo he’d forgotten he was looking for pop up in his windshield and merges over to the right lane. He doesn’t bother with his turn signal; there’s no one else on the road, anyway.

***

He’s leaning against Ellie, watching the numbers on the gas pump continue to climb in the low light of the sunrise when he hears muffled shouting coming from the Shell’s convenience store. Flicking the ash off his cigarette, he cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of whatever idiot decided to cause problems out here in the middle of nowhere before rush hour. He gets what he wants sooner than he expects- the cashier shoves the perpetrator out into the brisk morning, shouting obscenities at the kid before slamming the door shut and loudly locking it for good measure.

Because that’s what he is. A kid. A gangly pile of pale limbs and white-blonde hair that cannot be more than sixteen years old, wearing nothing but a tattered flannel and a pair of faded jeans. August takes a cursory look around the station; there are no cars here other than Ellie. No indication as to how the kid got here, or how he plans to leave. He’s just… here. With August, in this no-name town in West Virginia, looking about as lost as any person can look.

August seriously considers getting in his car and leaving, but then the kid looks up and locks eyes with him from across the lot, so now he’s stuck.

As the little shit-stirrer starts to walk over to him, August can see that he’s wearing a stretched-out Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt under that threadbare flannel of his. So, maybe this interaction won’t be entirely unbearable.

“Can I have one of those?”

August blinks, raising his eyebrow, until he tracks the kid’s eyes to the cigarette stub between his fingers. Seriously?

“Seriously?” he echoes out loud. “Absolutely not. What are you, twelve?” He knows the kid’s older than that, but something about being kept from his road trip a little longer than he anticipated has him prickly.

“Okay, fuck you man, I’m eighteen.” August seriously doubts that. “And I was just asking, there’s literally no need for you to be like that. It costs you absolutely nothing to be kind, dude, come on.”

The lip on this kid, good god. It’s no wonder he got kicked out of that convenience store. August can’t resist snarking back, “It’s costing my time and energy, child, and those are very valuable things. Now, did you need something other than the cigarette you’re definitely not getting?”

The kid pauses and has the decency to look at least a little bit sheepish. “Well, I was actually gonna ask for a ride to the nearest bus stop. It’s, uh, it’s a longer walk than I thought it was.” He shuffles his feet, looking everywhere except August’s eyes.

August pretends to think about it for a moment, then says, “I’ll give you a ride if you tell me what you did to piss that cashier off so badly,” because he can’t help his curiosity. He watches a fire light itself up in the kid’s eyes.

“Oh, I swear, some people get so upset over absolutely nothing. All I wanted was a sandwich because I haven’t eaten since like yesterday and I’m a growing boy so obviously I need my food but this asshole decides he can’t spare a few bucks for a child in need and has the nerve to accuse me of stealing from him! Like, what a dick, am I right?” The kid looks at him expectantly, but August’s brain is spinning with new information. Like the fact that, looking more closely, this kid isn’t lanky like he thought. He’s skinny. Really skinny. And if he can’t even afford a sandwich, there’s no way he can afford a bus ticket.

August comes to the horrifying conclusion that he’s going to have to help this kid.

“Where exactly are you headed?” he asks, finally meeting the kid’s eyes.

They widen. “Uh, home. Modesto. California.”

No fucking way. “No fucking way.”

“What? Got something against California, bitch?”

“No, no,” August laughs, “It’s just that, I’m headed to Yosemite. So, if you want, it wouldn’t be much trouble for me to take you home.”

The kid just stares at him before breaking out into a grin. “Really? You mean it? That would be, that would be amazing, man, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. Just get in the car.”

And he does, sliding into Ellie’s passenger seat like he was always meant to be there. August watches him buckle himself in and rub his hands against the fabric of Ellie’s faded paisley seat cover. “By the way,” he starts as August pulls out of the Shell, “I’m Nicky.”

Nicky. It suits the scrappy little shit.

“I’m August. Nice to meet you.”

***

They stop for McDonalds.

The ride there is awkward. It’s so awkward. Nicky hasn’t said a word since he got in the car, and August has turned up his music to fill the silence. He can literally feel his car shaking from the way the kid’s bouncing his leg. It’s making him a little carsick if he’s being honest.

It's a blessing when they finally pull into the parking lot. The kid gives him this weird look as they approach, so he just tells him they’re stopping for food. The look somehow gets even weirder, but he gets out and follows him to the counter. August isn’t really that hungry, so he just gets a 6-piece, but he almost loses it when Nicky orders a happy meal. A happy meal. Eighteen years old, August’s ass.

They slide into a booth, and August decides it’s time he try to break the ice. “So, Nicky,” he says, causing the kid to look up from his fries, “How’d you end up all the way out here in West Virginia looking for a ride?”

Nicky shrugs, “Decided to take a gap year before college, travel, see the sights, y’know? Which was cool! Totally cool, just... figured it was time to head home.” His eyes are trained squarely on the table. August waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

There are... a few holes in that story that August is choosing to ignore. It's not his business, anyway.

“Well, what about you?” Nicky starts after a minute, leaning back and meeting August’s eyes. “Why’re you going to Yosemite, anyway? Not really tourist season.”

August debates not telling him, but ultimately decides, fuck it. What does he have to lose? “My mom always wanted to see it.”

“Oh, she meeting you there or something?”

“Nah. She’s dead.”

Nicky’s face drops. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” August waves off the apology, “It was a long time ago.”

“Still, that sucks, dude,” Nicky leans towards him, propping his elbows on the table, “And if you’re making this long-ass trip now, it must still be, like, a thing for you.”

Well, that was scarily perceptive. August feels his hackles raise, but the genuine sympathy in the kid's eyes has him lowering them again without a second thought. "Yeah," he sighs, mirth evident in his voice as he reaches for his drink, "Guess that kind of thing never really goes away."

There’s a moment’s silence, before, “At least that explains your sorry bastard music.”

August chokes on his Sprite Zero. “My fucking what?”

“Y’know, the stuff you were playing in the car. That ‘oh-I’m-so-sad-my-girlfriend-left-me-so-now-I-play-acoustic-guitar-and-drink-and-do-drugs-but-in-the-sad-way-not-the-cool-way’ stuff. Sorry bastard music.”

August can confidently say that he has never in his life experienced this combination of bafflement, offense, and amazement. “Elliott Smith is not sorry bastard music.”

“If that’s what we were listening to in the car, it totally is.”

Despite himself, August laughs. He must be going crazy. “Okay, Dave Marsh, what kind of music do you listen to, then?”

“Uh…” Nicky looks caught out. Serves him right. “Well, I… I like Radiohead, I guess, and Queen. And the Chili Peppers, obviously, they’re great,” Nicky says, gesturing to his shirt. He pauses, and a soft smile that August hasn’t seen before crosses his face. “I like Elvis,” he says quietly.

“Presley or Costello?”

“Presley. Who the fuck is Elvis Costello?”

August smiles. He can work with Elvis Presley.

***

Things aren’t so awkward after that. It seems that once Nicky starts talking, it’s hard to get him to stop. August learns that Nicky’s favorite color is red, he’s lived in Modesto in the same house his whole life, he used to have a greyhound named Rocky, his favorite Elvis song is Blue Suede Shoes, and he plays the piano. In return, August tells him that his favorite color is dark green, he has a twin brother named Alex, he’s always wanted to visit the Netherlands, he named his car Ellie after the wife from Up, and he plays the guitar. He introduces Nicky to all the best music he has saved – the kid needed a serious musical education, after all – and Nicky tells him all the best spots at Yosemite that he discovered living so close to the park for so many years. It’s nice. Comfortable.

August thinks it might be the most comfortable he’s been in a long time.

By the time they get to Louisville, it’s already dark. His stowaway is currently snoozing in the passenger’s seat, head leaning against the window. August is struck again by how young he looks; it’s especially apparent now, his face and posture relaxed in sleep. The traces of baby fat clinging to his cheeks don’t speak of someone about to start college. They’re much more reminiscent of how August remembers himself and Alex looking as they prepared for their sophomore year of high school, angry and hormonal and with no idea if their new placement with Sean was going to last.

But at least he and Alex had each other. From what Nicky has told him about his family and friends – namely nothing – August doesn’t think this kid has had anyone but himself for a while.

For a split second, August considers calling his brother.

His grip on the wheel turns white-knuckled as he struggles to keep Ellie from swerving. He hasn’t talked to Alex in so long. Calling him now would only hurt both of them. Why would he think that?

Luckily, August is saved from having to go any further down that particular emotional rabbit hole by the Quality Inn sign he spots coming up on his left. Thank fucking God.

Once he gets Ellie into a decent spot, he leans over to shake Nicky awake. “Hey, kid. We’re here.”

“Not a kid,” he hears Nicky grumble as he stretches, shaking off the lingering stiffness from his nap. If he can’t fall asleep because of this and keeps August up all night, they’re going to have words.

August drags the single suitcase he packed for this trip inside with his sleepy freeloader trailing close behind. He doesn’t tease him about it- he remembers what it was like to be that age, body always tired and sore from growing.

“Room for two, please,” he says to the lady behind the counter. Her graying hair and ostentatiously large hoop earrings glow under the fluorescent lights of the lobby.

“Just one night, hon?”

"Uh, yeah." August wasn't expecting that thick of a Southern accent, but they are in Kentucky. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised.

“Okay, well, it looks like we only have single rooms available tonight, so you and your brother will have to share. That alright with you, sweetheart?”

"Oh, he's not…" August starts, looking over at Nicky. It's at that exact moment that he notices the kid is leaning into his side, eyelids fluttering. "Yeah, that's okay. We don't mind."

“Wonderful! Lemme just get y’all checked in.” As the lady taps away at the computer, August slowly snakes an arm around Nicky’s shoulders. Just to make sure he doesn’t fall. “Alright, you two’ll be in room two-twenty-seven. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” August replies, taking the room key from her with his free hand.

As he starts to guide Nicky towards the elevators, he hears the lady call out “He’s a cute kid. Looks a lot like you. Though, I’m sure y’all get that all the time.”

There’s a second of confusion as August considers some of Nicky’s main attributes. Tall and lanky, pale skin, fluffy hair. Big eyes, a decently sharp jawline.

Huh.

“Yeah,” he calls back over his shoulder, “He does. We do.”

***

August wakes up to the sound of crying.

It takes his sleep-addled brain a minute to locate the sound. It’s coming from the other side of the decorative pillow barrier he’d put between himself and Nicky when he dropped the kid into bed last night, already basically snoring into his shoulder. August sits up and glances towards the window, seeing nothing but pitch darkness. He turns his gaze to the kid, whimpering even louder now, and sees that his eyes are closed.

Oh. He’s having a nightmare.

August drops his head into his hands. It’s too damn early for this. If the kid was any quieter August would just go back to sleep, but it seems like he’s only getting more agitated. Which means August is going to have to wake him up if he wants to get any more decent sleep himself.

Mentally cursing his current predicament, August grabs a piece of the barrier and starts gently smacking Nicky with it. Could he have woken him up more nicely? Sure, but August feels like he deserves a little retribution for getting so rudely awoken. He regrets it immediately when Nicky jerks up, panting heavily, eyes wide and glossy. Now that he’s sitting up, August can make out tear tracks on his cheeks. Shit.

“Hey, kid,” he says into the dark room, “You were having a nightmare.”

Nicky looks over at him, breath starting to slow. “August?” he whispers, “You’re still here?”

August’s eyebrows furrow. “Of course I’m still here. Where would I have gone?”

“I just…” the kid swallows audibly, “I don’t- I thought you left.”

This is getting weird. “No, kid. I’m taking you home, remember?”

Nicky nods, but August thinks it’s more for himself than anything else. “Yeah, yeah, right,” Nicky runs a hand through his hair roughly, “Duh. Sorry I woke you up man, I’ll- I’ll shut up.” The kid turns away from August and settles back into bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it tight to his chest. The sight of him looking so small sends an unfamiliar ache through August’s chest. He feels like he should say something.

“Hey, no worries. Get some rest.”

That’s the best he can do.

***

The next day’s drive from Louisville to Kansas City is smooth, if fairly uneventful. August drives through unidentifiable America while Nicky talks his ear off about some video game called Minecraft that he apparently loves. August tells him he should read more. They make a quick stop in St. Louis at the Gateway Arch, hop out and take a few pictures with the sun beating down on their faces. August hasn't taken pictures in a while and dutifully avoids being in any himself, but he gets plenty of Nicky pointing and laughing at the monument. Seeing pictures of Nicky in his camera roll makes his stomach twist in a way he can't quite understand.

They make it to the campsite as the sun is setting, and Nicky drags August over to the nearby lake to skip rocks. He’s immediately personally scorned by August’s skill, going on a truly verbose tirade about being bested by an inferior old man that has August doubled over laughing. Through tears, he explains that he used to skip rocks with his brother all the time. They would wish on them, he says. Nicky stares at him a moment, then tosses one more rock, smile fading. It skips once, twice, three times. More than any of his others.

They head back to the car.

***

They’ve just crossed the border between Kansas and Colorado when Ellie’s check engine light turns on. Fucking fantastic.

“Uh, August? What does that light mean? It looks bad, is it bad?”

August fights the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s the check engine light. It’s… not great.”

“Okay, so what- what do we do?”

“This.”

August pulls over onto the road shoulder and switches off the engine. They're really in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by plains and a distinct lack of other people. A quick glance at his phone shows 'No Service'.

August grips the wheel, takes a deep breath, and prays that this is something he knows how to fix.

Nicky instantly picks up on his nerves. “August,” he says, following him out of the car, “Why do you look like you’re gonna throw up?” August can’t say anything, climbing out of his seat and popping the hood. He squints, searching for what could possibly be wrong.

Oh. There.

He huffs a laugh, bringing a hand up to rub his face as relief bubbles in his chest. One of the engine belts is visibly loose, but he has spares. Thank God for Sean’s doomsday-prepping issues.

Nicky’s voice is shaking when he calls out from behind him, “August? Please tell me you know what’s going on.”

“We’re good,” August says, “Just need to replace a belt.” Actually… “Could you grab me the manual from the glove box? I have spares, but I don’t know off the top of my head which belt this is.”

The kid’s face visibly relaxes. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, I can do that.” He disappears back into Ellie while August searches for any other signs of damage. It would be his luck for something else to be wrong, but everything seems to be in its rightful place. He hears Nicky get out of the car as he’s starting one final sweep, just in case.

“August,” Nicky says slowly, “Why do you have a gun in your glove box?”

…

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

August whips his head up to see Nicky holding his small Smith & Wesson revolver gingerly in both hands, like it might bite him if he held it any tighter. Oh God fucking shit.

He does his level best to keep the panic out of his eyes as he walks over and grabs the gun from Nicky’s hands. “That’s- it’s for self-defense,” he says as he opens the passenger’s side door, fumbling with the glove box’s latch.

“Really? Because I’ve never seen someone use a gun like that for self-defense.”

Oh for- Of course he hasn’t. He’s from fucking California. “It’s a family heirloom,” August snaps as he tosses the thing back where it belongs and grabs Ellie’s manual.

“Seems pretty new for a family heirloom,” Nicky says, stepping forwards as August gets back out of the car. Damn this kid and his unreasonably sharp intuition.

When August tries to escape back to the engine, Nicky grabs his arm. “Look, August, I-”

“Fucking stop!”

Nicky flinches back, hard. There’s naked fear on his face.

August instantly feels awful. “I’m sorry,” he starts, hands held above his head and voice carefully level, “I shouldn’t have snapped. But the gun is a touchy subject. If I promise that I don’t intend to use it to hurt anyone, will you let it go?” Please let this work. Please, please let this work.

Nicky eyes him for a second, then relaxes. “Okay, August. I believe you.”

There we go. “Thanks, kid.”

“Not a kid.”

There's a pause, and Nicky purses his lips. Then, before he can blink, August is being tackled in a hug.

The touch burns, at first. He hasn’t felt it in so, so long. But slowly, ever so slowly, the burn settles into a warmth that reaches into August’s fucking soul. Despite himself, he starts to tear up and wrap his own arms around Nicky, who just squeezes him tighter in response.

They stay like that for a while. August doesn’t know how long. He doesn’t care.

Eventually, he pulls back, breathing freer than he has in months. Nicky looks better, too. Less tired. “Alright, kid, get back in the car,” he says, ruffling Nicky’s hair, “I’ll get the engine fixed and then we can keep going. Sound good?"

Nicky grins. “Yeah, sounds good.”

***

Ellie's engine runs smoothly after that, and conversation resumes as normal, but August can't seem to pull his mind away from the gun. He'd only been sort of lying when he'd said it was a family heirloom. That specific revolver has no actual sentimental value to him, sure, but Alex had one the exact same make and model when they were growing up. To this day August doesn't know how he got his hands on it, but after that third house, he'd been glad his brother kept it around. Just in case things were bad again.

August guesses that's probably why he picked it. Even after all this time, he couldn't shake his connection to his brother. That's just how twins are, he supposes.

They pull into their second campsite with little fanfare, go right to bed, and leave early the next morning. The view is spectacular, but neither of them requests that they stop to savor it. The trip is almost over, and August can feel it weighing him. Nicky, too.

That’s not to say things get awkward again. Quite the opposite. August can’t even remember feeling awkward around Nicky by now, having spent so much time with him the past few days. He feels like he’s known the boy his whole life. It’s strange, but it’s good strange.

As they ride through the Utah desert, Nicky starts to open up a little bit about his family. He’s an only child, parents are both lawyers who’re often out of the house working, so Nicky learned to take care of himself fairly young. The boy preens when he says this, but it makes something ugly curl in August’s gut. He ignores it.

August opens up too. He tells Nicky that he and his brother were foster kids. He doesn't tell him about the houses, only that there were a lot of them, and that their final placement with Sean led to their adoption when they were sixteen. August can tell Nicky doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't take it personally- people never do.

After hours that feel like nothing, they arrive at their final campsite. It's smaller than the others, nestled into a valley near the Manti-La Sal National Forest. They get there after dark and try to sleep, but August is too wired. When he checks on Nicky, he finds him awake, staring at the inside of Ellie’s roof. They share a look and then head out to lay beside each other on the hood of the car, no words necessary. The sky is a circus of dancing stars.

“Woah,” Nicky breathes, “Is this what the stars are supposed to look like?”

“Yeah, man. Wild, right?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is."

“Imagine getting to see this every night.”

August scoffs. “Right. Like that’ll ever happen.”

Nicky sits up, eyebrows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because that’s not how the world works.”

“Well, how does the world work then, Mr. Adult?”

Under the glow of the stars on the hood of his car, it all spills out, somehow. "The world works by cramming people like us into polluted cities to work dead-end jobs that make us just enough money to keep us alive so that we can keep going back to said dead-end jobs until we keel over and wonder where the hell it was that everything went so wrong. That’s life, kid. Get fucking used to it.” It’s harsher than August expects, but then again, the truth is harsh. He keeps his eyes firmly shut anyway. He doesn’t want to see Nicky’s reaction.

There’s a silence, and then- “Is that why you left, then? To get away from that life?”

What? “I told you, I’m visiting Yosemite for my mom.”

“Yeah, but you’re not just visiting, are you?” Nicky says, voice flat. “You never were.”

The words drive a stake through August’s heart, and his retaliation is ugly. “Well, you were never taking a gap year either, were you?” He hears Nicky’s breath catch.

“No,” he whispers, voice nearly lost to the valley wind, “No, I wasn’t. Guess we’re both liars.”

The cold reality settles over them, raising goosebumps over August’s skin. It’s out there now, in the open, what they’ve both known since the beginning. There’s nothing else to say.

“Nicky, look-”

“Just don’t. I don’t- I don’t wanna hear it. Tomorrow, you’ll drop me off at home and go to your stupid park and we’ll never see each other again, so I don’t wanna hear it. I just…”

August chances a glance at the kid and sees his scrubbing tears off his face. He waits for him to say something, anything.

“Never mind. I’m going to bed. I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning.”

And Nicky disappears, leaving August to wonder how he fucked it all up so fast.

***

Ellie is dead silent the next day. Nothing, all the way through the rest of Utah and Nevada, Nicky staring unflinchingly out of the passenger’s side window the entire drive. The air is heavy, and it gets heavier still as they pass the sign welcoming them to California. There isn’t even any music playing. August feels like he can’t breathe.

He wants so desperately to talk to the kid, apologize, fix whatever fragile thing it was that he’d broken, but they’re outside Nicky’s house before August can figure out how. It’s a nice place, white trims on baby blue siding and a well-kept front porch. There’s no car in the driveway and no lights on inside, but it’s also the middle of the day on a Thursday. Nicky’s parents are probably at work.

Nicky already has one foot out the door when August kills the engine. He runs up the porch steps, hands shoved deep into his pockets while August clambers out of the driver’s seat and runs to the other side of the car.

“Nicky!”

The kid freezes but doesn’t turn around.

“I… I’m sorry.”

He watches Nicky take a deep breath and turn around, meeting his eyes one last time. There's something indecipherable churning in them. August wishes he knew what it meant.

“Thank you for the ride, August,” Nicky says, curt and polite, “Goodbye.”

And then he’s gone, flecks of dust kicked up by the open and close of the front door.

He’s gone.

And August is alone again.

***

He settles back into Ellie in a daze. He turns his music back on, smooth guitar humming through his speakers but not quite reaching his ears like it should. He can see the trees flying by through the passenger’s side window clearly, no head of fluffy blonde hair to block his view, no cracking voice to distract him from the road ahead. Just how it was when August left Virginia. Just how it was always supposed to be, he tells himself.

He enters Yosemite near the Tioga Pass. Nicky told him that was the best way in. He drives past Tenaya Lake, then the Mirror, then to Glacier Point. Everywhere he looks, there's a grandiose mountain or a rushing waterfall, or the occasional straggler that decided to make the trip out this late in the year. He sits in the meadows listening to the whistling wind and the wildlife. It all sounds thin.

Eventually, he makes his way all the way down to the Mariposa Grove. His mother had talked about this place for hours on end, describing the overwhelming size of the great sequoias, how they put everything into perspective. These giants, they’ve been on Earth so much longer than us, she would say. It would be a privilege to behold them.

When August gets there, they tell him there’s no parking and that he’ll have to come back later.

He manages to find a place to stop on the side of a road somewhere with a decent view of the trees from above. It’s not exactly what he had in mind, but he’ll take what he can get. Leaning against Ellie’s hood, he can almost see the people milling around on the ground. They all look so small.

When he gets back in the car, it’s on the passenger’s side. The leather of the seat is stiffer than he’s used to, but not as stiff as he expected. With the last rays of sunlight streaming through his windows, August leans back and shuts his eyes. It’s time to get what he came here for.

Slowly, methodically, he pulls the Smith & Wesson out of the glove box. The same gun his brother promised would protect them from anyone who ever tried to hurt them again.

He clicks off the safety and raises it to his temple.

He takes a deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

…

But he can’t do it.

All this planning, all these years of wasting away, and he can’t pull the fucking trigger because all he can think about is that damn kid and how alive he’d felt when they were together. Memories start playing behind his eyelids, each one sending a jolt through his aching chest; Elvis, the Quality Inn, arguing about everything and nothing, that first and last hug on the side of the road. It’s an onslaught, a defibrillator forcing his dormant heart to beat again.

He has to go back. Fuck, he has to go back.

August realizes he’s shaking. Crying, too. It takes him a while to calm down, to feel okay enough to drive. But the second his vision is clear and his hands are steady, he gets back in Ellie’s driver’s seat, punches Nicky’s address into his GPS and goes, leaving the gun in the dirt behind him.

***

“Nicky? Nicky! Hey, open up, please, I need to talk to you!”

It’s dark out by now, and August is on Nicky’s porch banging on the door. When he pulled up, the house was exactly how he’d left it. No car, no lights. Just, empty.

Except it’s not empty. He knows it’s not.

“Nicky, come on, please! I just want-”

His voice trails off when tries the front door and it swings open with no resistance.

That’s… weird.

August steps inside and struggles to make sense of what he's seeing. At first glance, it looks like a standard open floor plan living room and kitchen, but the closer he looks the more confused he gets. For one thing, it looks like the place has been gutted. Sure, the furniture is all in place, but the shelves are completely bare and there's an empty TV socket above the mantle. The kitchen counters are devoid of appliances. On top of that, everything is coated in a thin layer of dust that swirls in the air when August steps further inside. He inches forward, genuinely considering the possibility that he's in the Twilight Zone, until he reaches the base of the staircase. Just barely, he can hear muffled sobs coming from the upstairs hallway.

“Nicky!”

August darts up the stairs and bursts into the only room with light peeking out from under the door. The first thing he notices is that this room looks way too barren to belong to a teenager, no toys or posters or color anywhere. The second thing he notices is Nicky curled up on the ground, hands fisted in his hair, shaking violently. It’s like a hot iron to the stomach. Oh, God.

August falls to his knees beside the boy, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Nicky, Nicky, hey, it’s okay, it’s- it’s okay. Do you think you can look at me, kid?” Nicky flinches away from the contact at first and August worries he’s fucked up again, but then the kid raises his head and looks right at him. His bright eyes are red and puffy. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and weak.

“August?”

“Yeah,” August smiles softly, “Yeah, buddy, it’s me. I’m here.”

“August-”

Nicky throws himself into August’s arms, and August holds him right back. “August, they- they’re gone, they fucking- they’re gone, and they took everything and they fucking left me, and I thought you did too but- but you’re here, oh God, August, they left me-”

“Shhh, shhh, I know, I know kiddo and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“What- what am I supposed to do? I’m fifteen-” Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, he’s fifteen, “-I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do this, August-”

“No, no, Nicky, I promise you, you don't have to do anything. I got you, kid. I got you."

They stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, Nicky crying out the last of his tears while August coos reassurances. Eventually, they settle, and August pulls back. He brings a hand up to the pale face of the kid who saved his life and knows he'd do anything for him.

“Get your stuff. We’re going home.”

Nicky leans into his palm, confused. “Home?”

“Yeah, kid. Home”

***

Nicky gets back in the passenger’s seat, right where he should be, and they tell each other everything. Nicky’s parents had been more and more absent, leaving him alone in the house for weeks at a time, so when they told him they were taking him on a vacation to Virginia, he was ecstatic. Only to wake up and find them missing from their hotel room the day after they got there. He didn’t know what to do, thought they’d made some kind of mistake, so he figured he’d just… try to get home. But it wasn’t a mistake. Of course it wasn’t.

August is fucking seething, but he keeps it down for Nicky’s sake.

He considers not telling the kid about the real reason behind this whole trip – he’s only fifteen, he doesn’t need to be exposed to that – but decides he has a right to know. When he finishes haltingly explaining the gun’s intended purpose, Nicky makes him pull over, checks the glove box, and then hugs him tightly over the center console. “Thank you,” he chokes out into August’s shoulder, “Thank you for coming back to me.” August can only nod, and think about how picking up this scrappy kid might just have been the best idea he’s ever had.

***

August is panicking. This was a terrible idea.

“Hey, chill, man. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you,” Nicky pipes up from behind him, but he’s still freaking the fuck out staring at the same green door he slammed shut behind him five years ago. That day is fuzzy in his mind, but he distinctly remembers thinking that he never wanted to see this door again.

Yet here he is, poised to knock. In the end, Nicky has to knock for him, muttering something about him being a wimp under his breath.

When the door opens, the first thing he thinks is wow, Alex grew his hair out.

Other than that, it’s as much like looking in a mirror as it always was. The same sharp cheekbones and dark eye bags he’s watched himself develop over the past five years, copied perfectly on his twin’s face. It’s uncanny. It’s beautiful.

“Hey Alex.”

“Holy fucking shit, August.”

And that’s all he gets before he’s wrapped in another hug that feels like coming home. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this.

The hug is quick and intense, much like Alex himself, but he keeps his hands on August’s shoulders when he pulls back. "Jesus Christ, Gus, where have you been?”

“Oh, you know, I’ve been-”

“Wait, Gus?”

He and his twin whip their heads around to look at Nicky who’s staring at August with a poorly concealed grin. “Your family calls you Gus? That’s such an old man name, dude.”

“Gus,” Alex says, deadpan as always, “Why do you have a child.”

August laughs and pulls Nicky up next to him. Now or never. “Alex, this is Nicky. He’s our little brother.”

“He is?”

“I am?”

These two are going to get along like a house on fire, August can already tell. “Yeah, kid. Of course you are,” he says, ruffling Nicky’s hair. The boy positively beams. Alex looks done with them already.

“Great, you would inherit dad’s thing for strays. Come on, bring your teenager inside,” Alex grumbles, heading towards where August knows the living room is. He follows suit, wrapping an arm around Nicky’s shoulder and dragging him along. The house has barely changed, still a cozy explosion of rustic colors and patterns. Nicky’s looking around like it’s a theme park attraction.

“Where is Sean, anyway?” August asks, settling himself and Nicky down onto the old paisley couch. Lumpy as ever, but somehow still comfortable. Nicky sinks into his side.

“Out working,” Alex says, dropping into the armchair across from them, “He’ll be upset he missed your grand entrance.”

“Sean’s your dad, right?” Nicky asks, voice quieter now. Something about this house has that effect on people. It calms them, lowers their defenses. Alex nods. Nicky shuffles. “You’re sure he won’t mind me being here?”

Alex and August scoff in tandem, and it catches them both slightly off guard. August shakes it off first. “Nicky, Sean would take in every kid in the system if he could. Trust me, he’ll be glad you’re here.”

“He’ll be glad you’re here too, y’know,” Alex adds, catching August’s eyes despite him doing his damndest to look somewhere else. His brother’s eyes are soft and sincere. “I’m glad you’re here, August.”

August swallows down the lump in his throat and tightens his arm around Nicky’s shoulders.

“Yeah. I’m glad I’m here too.”

And for the first time in a while, it’s true.

Savannah is known for its colorful colonial history, honored by tours and monuments throughout the city, but it’s not as widely known that Savannah had one of the first Jewish populations in the United States. Though the community was primarily comprised of Sephardic Jews at its inception, Ashkenazi Jews and their native language of Yiddish have had a place in Savannah and the American South since the very beginning. This essay will examine the use of Yiddish in colonial Savannah by prominent Ashkenazi figures and, later, the creation of an organization for Yiddish-speaking immigrants known to have established a chapter in Savannah.

The first Jews arrived in Savannah on July 11th, 1733, aboard the William and Sarah schooner (Cooksey). Though there has been some debate among historians concerning the exact number of Jews that arrived, the current agreed-upon number is 42. Of these 42 people, only 9 were Ashkenazi Jews – Jews from Central Europe – while the majority were Sephardic Jews – Jews from Spain and Portugal (Jones). The main source of information concerning these people comes from the journal of Benjamin Sheftall, one of the original Ashkenazim who arrived on the William and Sarah. Sheftall’s journal, which was dictated to his son Levi later on in his life, records the names of all Jews aboard the ship, along with those who immigrated later and their marriage, birth and death records. This was only one of the Sheftall family’s contribution to the city of Savannah’s Jewish community, more of which will be explored later in this essay.

Historically, Ashkenazi Jews living in England (the original home of the settlers) had been subject to discrimination due to their refusal to assimilate with English culture particularly in regard to their language (Jones). Unfortunately, this was also the case for the Savannahian settlers. There is extensive documentation of high tensions between the Sephardim and Ashkenazim, with the former looking down upon the latter and refusing to establish a congregation with them. While this could have been due to religious differences – Ashkenazi Jews tended to be stricter in their practice than Sephardics – it’s more likely that this was a cultural divide to which the language barrier would have contributed. It would seem that the Ashkenazim’s outsider status had followed them to the New World. Yiddish speakers were not entirely scorned, however; Johann Martin Boltzius, a Lutheran pastor who interacted frequently with colonial Savannah’s Jewish community, spoke favourably of the Ashkenazim’s ability to understand some German (the language in which Yiddish finds its roots) (Jones).

This overwhelming Sephardic majority caused the Ashkenazim to feel mistreated, but it was not to last- Spanish threat during the War of Jenkin’s Ear drove almost all the Sephardim (who had experienced the Spanish Inquisition firsthand) to neighbouring states, leaving the Ashkenazim behind to maintain the diminished community. Among those remaining were the Sheftalls: Benjamin Sheftall, the patriarch, his wife Perla, and their sons Mordecai and Levi. This Yiddish-speaking family was instrumental in the success of the Jewish community in Savannah. Benjamin Sheftall was a deeply religious person, as seen in the journals he kept in his native language, and he worked hard to preserve Jewish traditions such as b’nei mitzvot in the fledgling community (Morgan). His son Mordecai was also a zealot of the Ashkenazim, securing the necessary land for the construction of a synagogue and Jewish cemetery, becoming America’s highest-ranking Jewish officer during the Revolutionary War, and orchestrating the establishment of Congregation Mickve Israel, the third-oldest congregation in America (Jones). The torah that is still used by the congregation to this day was brought to America by the Sheftalls, likely written by a Yiddish-speaking scribe (Cooksey). Unfortunately, the mission of the Sheftalls and the other Ashkenazim was not to preserve their own culture and language, but the Jewish community as a whole. As such, when Mickve Isreal was officially established, the leaders of the congregation elected to use Sephardic liturgy in order to appeal to the majority of Savannah’s Jewish inhabitants (Morgan).

There is no record of Yiddish prominence in Savannah for centuries following this decision, but this changed in the early 1900s with the creation of the ‘Arbeter Ring’, or ‘Workmen’s Circle’. Established in New York City in 1900, Arbeter Ring was a secular left-wing organization committed to building community for Yiddish-speaking immigrants. To their members, they offered cultural events such as mixers and speeches, open political forums, fundraising opportunities, and Yiddish classes for their children. Though this movement began in the Northeast, catering to growing labor movements, it quickly spread through the country with chapters opening in Atlanta and Dallas in 1908. Sometime between then and 1916, Savannah’s chapter 383 was established (Parshall).

The cultural concerns of the south were very different to those of the north, so the organization had to pivot in their approach. They tended much more towards cultural education as opposed to discussions of socialism and other left-wing schools of thought. However, the primary thread of Yiddish education remained strong, with the creation of Yiddish libraries that provided members with texts in their native language and schools with dedicated Yiddish programs, the touring of prominent Yiddish speakers and musicians, and communication between in members in Yiddish. Eventually the chapters of the south merged to become the Southern District, with leaders being drawn from all the different chapters. Three of these leaders came from Savannah: H. Applebaum, the district secretary, H. Hoffman, the treasurer, and Harry Dun, the leader of the Savannahian branch (Parshall). Though there isn’t much record of the Savannah chapter available and Arbeter Ring has since returned to the northeast following divisions and restructuring, the existence of a chapter in Savannah at some point in the early 1900s, right around the bicentennial anniversary of the establishment of Mickve Israel, is inarguable. Through this, we can infer that there was a large enough population of Yiddish speakers in Savannah to warrant the opening of a chapter, and that these speakers were enthusiastic enough about the preservation and further teaching of their language that they funded and attended these community events. Considering that Ashkenazim were never the majority in Savannah, this is a remarkable achievement.

Though Yiddish is no longer a prominent language in Savannah (or anywhere else in the world for that matter), its presence among the early Jewish settlers and later Jewish community is undeniable. The fact that Ashkenazim, despite their ceaseless ostracization in connection with their language, continued to speak Yiddish, keep their records in Yiddish, perform their rites in Yiddish, sing in Yiddish and teach Yiddish during their time in the American South is remarkable. Their persistence and grace in the face of overwhelming odds makes them some of the most compelling of Savannah’s historical figures; I hope to someday see them (and their language) get the recognition they deserve.

Works Cited

“Bicentennial in Georgia.” New York Times, 8 May 1933, pp. 29–29, https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1933/05/08/105132562.html?pageNumber=29. Accessed 10 Nov. 2024.

Cooksey, Elizabeth B. “Judaism and Jews.” New Georgia Encyclopedia, 30 Nov. 2007, www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/arts-culture/judaism-and-jews/.

Jones, George Fenwick. “Sephardim and Ashkenazim Jewish Settlers in Colonial Georgia.” The Georgia Historical Quarterly, vol. 58, no. 1, 2001, pp. 519–537. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/40584466.

Jones, Harvie P. Architecture Notebook 80: Abraham Sheftall House on Columbia Square in Savannah, Ga. JSTOR, https://jstor.org/stable/community.34689222. Accessed 10 Nov. 2024.

K., M. J. “Jews of Georgia.” Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, no. 16, 1907, pp. 187–187. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/43059607.

Morgan, David T. “Judaism in Eighteenth-Century Georgia.” The Georgia Historical Quarterly, vol. 58, no. 1, 1974, pp. 41–54. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/40579667.

Parshall, Josh. “In Southern States: Historical Texts from the Arbeter Ring’s Southern District.” Southern Jewish History, no. 17, 2014, pp. 149–180, https://www.jewishsouth.org/sites/default/files/sjh_v._17_2014_parshall.pdf.

Schappes, Morris U. (Morris Urman), 1907-, and Jewish Peoples Fraternal Order of the I.W.O. (U.S.). Jews in American Democratic Movements: Facts and Aspects. 1949. Kheel Center for Labor-Management Documentation and Archives, Martin P. Catherwood Library, Cornell University; International Workers Order (IWO) Records, 1915-2002 (KCL05276), JSTOR, https://jstor.org/stable/community.20632811. Accessed 10 Nov. 2024.

Stern, Malcom H. “The Sheftall Diaries: Vital Records of Savannah Jewry (1733-1808).” American Jewish Historical Quarterly, vol. 54, no. 3, Mar. 1965, pp. 243–277. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/23874406.

When asked to imagine an art museum, the image that comes to mind is likely one of white walls, classical music and oil paintings. While this conjuration isn’t inaccurate, it fails to account for a form of art beloved by modern artists that’s recently had a resurgence: interactive art installations. This essay will examine two prominent works, Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirrored rooms and André Heller’s Luna Luna modern art carnival. Where Luna Luna was a collaborative effort meant to provoke childlike wonder in the masses, Infinity Mirrored is a solitary experience exploring death, inevitability and self-obliteration.^[1][2] Despite these thematic differences, both installations seek to bring avant-garde art to the wider community, explore taboo topics, invoke the cosmos and – most interestingly – both projects were failures at their inception and have since been revived and are now being exhibited to a modern audience.^[3][4][5]

Born in Matsumoto, Japan in 1929, Yayoi Kusama’s childhood was not an easy one. She came from a well-off family of farmers but was physically abused by her mother who disapproved of her desire to be an artist, and witnessed her father having several affairs.^[6] All of this, as well as the torment Japan faced during World War Two, prompted Kusama to move to New York in 1957 where she would live and create for the next twenty years, despite the prevalent negative attitude towards Japan and its people following the war.^[7] “Notoriously self-promoting and ambitious,” Kusama became a cornerstone of avant-garde in 1960s New York, building relationships with artists such as Andy Warhol, Claes Oldenburg and Donald Judd.^[8] Defying categorization, Kusama openly explored her experience with mental illness through many different mediums and forms of art such as performance, poetry and film. Her first Infinity room, ‘Phalli’s Field,’ was created during this time, fulfilling a “long-cherished dream” to replicate a feeling of self-sublimation from her childhood.^[9]

André Heller was also no stranger to the damage of World War Two. Born in Vienna, Austria in 1947 to a Jewish family of factory owners, Nazi persecution was a marker of his early childhood.^[10] Unlike Kusama, Heller elected to stay in Europe where he worked as a multimedia artist, actor, poet, singer-songwriter and even a circus impresario.^[11] Known for his “large-scale and offbeat” works, Heller’s outlandish and fantastical aesthetic gained him enough notoriety in the 1980s to pursue the creation of Luna Luna, a modern art carnival inspired by Coney Island.^[12]

While both Infinity Mirrored and Luna Luna were conceived as interactive exhibits, the primary difference between the two is in their theme and style of execution. As mentioned before, Kusama’s works are inseparable from her experience with mental illness, and this shows in her Infinity rooms. She speaks often of the concept of ‘self-obliteration,’ the sense that the world is consuming you, leaving you fragmented and invisible. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, however- Kusama herself says, “by obliterating one’s individual self, one returns to the infinite universe.”^[13] These rooms are works of deep contemplation meant to erase you completely. In contrast, Luna Luna was always a whimsical premise made to amaze audiences and encourage playfulness. In fact, when approaching artists to ask for contributions to the amusement park, Heller pitched the project as “a trip back to [their] own childhood[s].”^[14]

This leads to another core difference between the two works: Luna Luna was a collective project; the Infinity Mirrored rooms are an individual project. While Heller is the conceptual artist behind Luna Luna, the actual amusement attractions were designed by a large group of prominent modern artists and fabricated by a team of over 200 European artisans that Heller met through his work in theater and music.^[15] Artists such as Sonia Delaunay, Roy Lichtenstein, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Arik Brauer, David Hockney, Kenny Scharf and even Keith Haring all contributed designs and physical pieces to the carnival, some working with Heller over the phone and a few even travelling to Austria to work in person.^[16] The final installation was bigger than Heller or any of the contributing artists- it was a monument to the avant-garde that was open for the public to experience en masse.^[17] The conception and creation of Kusama’s Infinity Mirrored rooms couldn’t be more different. All the rooms, of which there are over 20, are created by and for Kusama. She explains it best herself in an Interview with BOMB magazine: “I am an obsessional artist… I only think of myself when I make my artwork.”^[18] This isolation extends from the production of the work to how it is experienced; only two or three people are allowed into a mirror room at once, for about thirty seconds at a time, and viewers are not allowed to touch any elements of the room itself.^[19] I was actually lucky enough to experience Kusama’s ‘Let’s Survive Forever’ Infinity room at the WNDR exhibit in Boston, where I had to leave all my belongings in a cubby and put plastic shoe coverings on before being allowed inside. Though Annie Dell’Aria ironically describes attending the Hirshorn Museum’s Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors exhibition as “more like an amusement park than a contemplative art exhibit” due to the length of the lines and brevity of the experience, it is vastly different from the open community experience of Heller’s actual amusement park.^[20]

But these differences are greatly overshadowed by the similarities between the works, particularly in their journeys through time and relevance. To start, the artistic elements of the installations are very similar. Both Infinity Mirrored and Luna Luna belong to the avant-garde art movement and have especially strong pop-art influences. Kusama even refers to herself as the “vanguard of pop-art,” and Luna Luna’s inclusion of Lichtenstein, Hockney and Haring speaks for itself.^[21] The bright colors and patterns of the ‘Love Transformed into Dots’ room and the ‘All the Eternal Love I Have for the Pumpkins’ room are also seen in Kenny Scharf’s Painted Chair Swing Ride, Haring’s Painted Carousel and Delauney’s Entrance Archway. The taboo elements of the ‘Phalli’s Field’ room that sculpturally mimics male genitalia also appear in Manfred Deix’s Palace of the Winds, an attraction where performers play classical music and pass gas into microphones on a stage painted with Deix’s iconic caricatures, and Heller’s Wedding Chapel, which allowed any park-goers (heterosexual or otherwise) to be married. The cosmic aesthetic invoked by flickering LED lights in the “The Souls of Millions of Light Years Away” and “Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity” rooms is carried by Luna Luna’s performers, interacting with the public dressed in vaudevillian moon and star costumes. And of course, the mirrors that extend Kusama’s rooms into infinity are key elements of Lichtenstein’s Luna Luna Pavilion, a zigzagging mirror maze, and Salvador Dalí’s Dalídom, a geodesic funhouse dome with a triangular mirror on each interior panel.^[22][23] Finally, these masterworks had a common goal: to “merge art and life,” bringing avant-garde art to the masses and bridging the gap between the insulated art world and the general population.^[24][25]

But by far the most interesting connection between the Infinity Mirrored rooms and Luna Luna is the path they took to their current notoriety, namely that they both originally failed and were rediscovered decades down the line. Luna Luna was originally intended to tour Europe, America and eventually the world.^[26] This unfortunately fell through due to political concerns, as did an offer from the city of Vienna to purchase the park, and Heller was forced to sell to pay off loans he had taken out to store the attractions. In 1990 he found a buyer, the Stephen and Mary Birch Foundation, but they attempted to withdraw right before the deal was finalized sparking decades of litigation and leaving the art itself in legal limbo. The historic pieces were packed into shipping containers and left to rot in rural Texas until 2019 when creative director Michael Goldberg discovered the lost park and reached out to Heller, offering to revitalize it.^[27] Heller, having recently spoken to Deiter Buchart about Basquiat’s involvement with Luna Luna, agreed.^[28] The project was taken up by DreamCrew, rapper Drake’s personal project management team, who worked with industry professionals to restore Luna Luna’s attractions, plans and original merchandise.^[29] The newly refurbished Luna Luna: Forgotten Fantasy, which I had the pleasure of seeing in Los Angeles before its run wrapped up in May of this year, is an inspiring experience complete with roaming vaudevillian performers, ethereal lighting, and music by Philip Glass and Miles Davis that was used as part of Luna Luna’s original run in Hamburg. Most of the attractions are now too fragile to be ridden, but I was able to walk through Lichtenstein’s Luna Luna Pavilion and Hockney’s Enchanted Tree, and get married (to my own higher self) at Heller’s Wedding Chapel. The exhibition has received critical acclaim and glowing reviews from the Independent, the New York Times, TimeOut and more, and is set to reopen in Ney York in November.

For Kusama, it wasn’t just her Infinity Mirrored rooms that were forgotten, it was her whole presence as an artist. In 1973, Kusama was forced to return to Japan due to Basedow’s disease and a myoma of the uterus. She proceeded to check herself into a psychiatric hospital where she has been since, spending her free time creating art at a nearby personal studio.^[30] Despite her growing popularity in New York and presence at exhibitions alongside Oldenburg, Warhol and Robert Morris, Kusama was essentially erased from the art world until a group of women rediscovered her work in the late 80s. Laura Hoptman, Lynn Zelevansky, Akira Tatehata and Alexandra Munroe curated Kusama’s works into an exhibition titled ‘Yayoi Kusama: A Retrospective,’ the success of which allowed her to represent Japan at the 1993 Venice Biennale. Hoptman, Zelevansky, Tatehata and Munroe then took the exhibition to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and expanded it into ‘Love Forever: Yayoi Kusama, 1959-1968’.^[31] Kusama is now the world’s most successful living artist and top-selling female artist, with new Infinity rooms being created and exhibited as recently as 2019.

Both Heller’s Luna Luna and Kusama’s Infinity Mirrored rooms were far ahead of their time, inspiring and bringing together some of the most influential modern artists in history. Though their thematic purposes and methods of production may have differed, they bear a striking resemblance in their use of multimedia, outlandish and fantastical topics and successful modern revival. I feel truly lucky that I have been able to experience parts of both works in person, and encourage anyone that gets the opportunity to do the same.

^[32]

^[33]

^[34]

^[35]

^[1] Joe Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna,” New York Times, November 17, 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/11/17/arts/design/drake-luna-luna-art-amusement-park.html.

^[2] Annie Dell’Aria, review of Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors, by Mika Yoshitake, Woman’s Art Journal, no. 2 (2017): 54-55.

^[3] Pamela Wye, “Is She Famous Yet?” review of Love Forever: Yayoi Kusama, 1959-1968, by Lynn Zelevansky et al., Art Journal, (1998): 96.

^[4] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[5] Grady Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” BOMB, 1999, 68.

^[6] Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” 65-6.

^[7] Wye, “Is She Famous Yet?” 96.

^[8] Harriet Zinnes, “Love Forever: Yayoi Kusama, 1958-68,” Chicago Review 44, no. 3/4 (1998): 187, https://doi.org/10.2307/25304329.

^[9] Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” 66.

^[10] Dieter Buchart, trans. Brian Currid, Jean-Michel Basquiat (Holzhausen, Austria: W&K - Wienerroither & Kohlbacher, 2016), 9.

^[11] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[12] Andrew L. Yarrow, “A Bird? A Plane? Flying Art!,” New York Times, August 8, 1987.

^[13] Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” 65-6.

^[14] Buchart, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 7.

^[15] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[16] Buchart, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 7.

^[17] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[18] Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” 65.

^[19] Dell’Aria, review of Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors, 54.

^[20] Dell’Aria, review of Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors, 54.

^[21] Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” 67.

^[22] “Infinity Mirror Rooms – Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors: Hirshhorn Museum: Smithsonian,” Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden | Smithsonian, accessed November 9, 2024, https://hirshhorn.si.edu/kusama/infinity-rooms/.

^[23] “Featured Artists,” Luna Luna, accessed November 9, 2024, https://lunaluna.com/blogs/featured-artists.

^[24] Wye, “Is She Famous Yet?” 96.

^[25] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[26] Yarrow, “A Bird? A Plane? Flying Art!”

^[27] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[28] Buchart, Jean-Michel Basquiat.

^[29] Coscarelli, “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.”

^[30] Grady Turner, “Yayoi Kusama,” BOMB, 1999, 68.

^[31] Wye, “Is She Famous Yet?” 96-97.

^[32] Sabina Sarnitz, An Aerial View of Luna Luna in Moorweide Park in Hamburg, Germany in 1987, 2024, photograph, NPR, 2024, https://www.npr.org/2024/03/14/1238378828/luna-luna-carnival-amusement-park-los-angeles.

^[33] Jeff McClane, Keith Haring’s Carousel at Luna Luna in Los Angeles., 2024, photograph, NPR, 2024, https://www.npr.org/2024/03/14/1238378828/luna-luna-carnival-amusement-park-los-angeles.

^[34] Kusama, Yayoi, Fireflies on the Water, 2002, mirror, plexiglass, 150 lights, and water, 144 x 144 x 115 inches. https://jstor.org/stable/community.14259558.

^[35] Kusama, Yayoi, Infinity Dots Mirrored Room, 1996, Glass, Formica, black light, decals. https://jstor.org/stable/community.17131521.

Bibliography

Buchart, Dieter. Translated by Brian Currid. Jean-Michel Basquiat. Holzhausen, Austria: W&K - Wienerroither & Kohlbacher, 2016.

Coscarelli, Joe. “How Drake’s $100 Million Bet Saved the Long-Lost Art Carnival Luna Luna.” New York Times, November 17, 2022. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/11/17/arts/design/drake-luna-luna-art-amusement-park.html.

Dell’Aria, Annie. Review of Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors, by Mika Yoshitake. Woman’s Art Journal 38, no. 2, (2017): 54–55.

Kusama, Yayoi. Fireflies on the Water. 2002. Mirror, plexiglass, 150 lights, and water, 144 x 144 x 115 inches. https://jstor.org/stable/community.14259558.

Kusama, Yayoi. Infinity Dots Mirrored Room. 1996. Glass, Formica, black light, decals. https://jstor.org/stable/community.17131521.

McClane, Jeff. Keith Haring’s carousel at Luna Luna in Los Angeles. 2024. Photograph. NPR. https://www.npr.org/2024/03/14/1238378828/luna-luna-carnival-amusement-park-los-angeles.

Sarnitz, Sabina. An aerial view of Luna Luna in Moorweide park in Hamburg, Germany in 1987. 2024. Photograph. NPR. https://www.npr.org/2024/03/14/1238378828/luna-luna-carnival-amusement-park-los-angeles.

Turner, Grady. “Yayoi Kusama.” BOMB 1, no. 66, 1999.

Wye, Pamela. “Is She Famous Yet?” Review of Love Forever: Yayoi Kusama, 1959-1968, by Lynn Zelevansky, Laura Hoptman, Akira Tatehata, Alexandra Munroe. Art Journal 57, no. 4, (1998): 96–97.

Yarrow, Andrew L. “A Bird? A Plane? Flying Art!” New York Times, August 8, 1987.

Zinnes, Harriet. “Love Forever: Yayoi Kusama, 1958-68.” Chicago Review 44, no. 3/4 (1998): 187–92. https://doi.org/10.2307/25304329.

“Infinity Mirror Rooms – Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors: Hirshhorn Museum: Smithsonian.” Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden | Smithsonian. Accessed November 9, 2024. https://hirshhorn.si.edu/kusama/infinity-rooms/.

“Featured Artists.” Luna Luna. Accessed November 9, 2024. https://lunaluna.com/blogs/featured-artists.

The futurist movement first began in 1909 with the publication of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism, detailing a new philosophy focused on the destruction of conventional values in favor of speed, revolution and progress.^[1] This essay will conduct a visual analysis of The City Rises (1910), an early masterwork of prominent futurist artist Umberto Boccioni, focusing on its exemplification of a societal shift from a culture of individualism to a culture of collectivism in interwar Italy via industrial iconography and the divisionist painting technique.

The City Rises primarily depicts the dominating figure of a red horse surging forward, knocking the smaller human figures attempting to tame the beast into the ground.^[2] The creature takes up the bulk of the 6' 6" x 9' 10" canvas, charging in from the bottom right. The painting is rendered in bright, mainly primary colors with white rays of light cast across it. The forms are created with directional, filamented brushstrokes that cause the figures to stream upwards and outwards and imbue the painting with a movement, or ‘dynamism’, typical of futurist artwork.^[3][4][5] At the focal point of the piece, the face of the horse, the brushstrokes are tight and defined. However, the technique becomes looser closer to the edges of the painting, with the forms almost dissolving into the light of the background. At the top of the piece, far behind the subject, rising buildings, smokestacks and a tram designate the setting as solidly urban.

One of the primary goals of the futurists was a complete departure from all past and current conventions of art and philosophy. When the Industrial Revolution made its way to Italy in the late 1800s, the futurists latched onto it as a perfect juxtaposition of idyllically rendered rural and pastoral scenes typical of the fauves and impressionists. While many futurists focused on the physical and visual properties of machinery, Boccioni instead focused on the “psychological and perceptual effects of the new city.” The inclusion of construction, electric transport and laborers in The City Rises connects the revolutionary themes of the piece inextricably with the rise of industrialization and the dynamism of modern machines, leading some to consider it “one of the first visual manifestoes corresponding to Marinetti’s Futurist proclamations.”^[6] However, the Industrial Revolution’s effects were not confined to the physical and philosophical- it also marked the beginning of a notable change in the cultural perception of the relationship between the individual and the health of the overall social body.^[7] Prior to the Industrial Revolution, poverty and unemployment were seen as the fault of the individual and social welfare primarily consisted of independent charity work orchestrated by the Catholic church. However, a shifting job market and rising rate of workplace accidents due to industrialization caused poverty and unemployment to be seen as “social problems requiring public intervention,” leading directly to the development of ‘assistenza sociale’ or social assistance programs.^[8] Having been impoverished in Italy himself before his rise to prominence as a futurist artist, Boccioni would have been well aware of this shift and likely benefited from it.^[9] So, it stands to reason that his depiction of ordinary laborers working together to harness the majestic yet dangerous spirit of progress and modernity under an urban landscape would mirror this cultural phenomenon.

This shift, and its further development into ‘previdenza sociale’ or social insurance, is also mirrored in The City Rises. Social insurance represented a complete break from individual responsibility for workplace injury and poverty and the idea of “occupational risk” that required significant preventative and restorative action from social welfare professionals. The specifics of the program do not matter- it is the sociological shift that this painting echoes. Social insurance had a new, modern goal: “the protection of the social body as a whole, rather than the individuals who composed it.” Individuals and families became instruments for social ends, viewed primarily within the contexts of their communities, and it became a social duty to maintain individual welfare for the good of the collective. Collectivism thrived, and while this did end up preceding the rise of Fascism, the welfare programs associated with it were thoroughly modern by the standards of the time.^[10] This idea of unity, individual subjects interacting and merging together in the service of a cosmic whole, was a tenet of futurist theory declared in this iconic passage from The Technical Manifesto of Futurist Painting (1910), a definitive pamphlet written and signed by the most iconic futurist artists of the time:^[11]

The sixteen people sitting around you in a moving train are one, ten, four, three; they come and go, they rattle along the street, they are devoured by a path of sunlight, they sit down again… Our bodies penetrate the couches on which we sit, the couches penetrate us, just as the tram going by enters the houses which, in their turn, fall upon the tram and become amalgamated with it…^[12]

This concept is particularly prevalent in The City Rises, described by Marianne W. Martin as representative of “the implied death of the individual and resurgence of a greater, all-encompassing vitality.” This is primarily achieved through Boccioni’s use of divisionism, a painting technique he learned while studying under Giacomo Balla from 1892 to 1902.^[13][14] Divisionism separates color into component parts using a rationally ordered, pseudo-scientific process of Neo-Impressionist mark marking to achieve a unique type of luminosity. The individual brushstrokes work together organically to benefit the whole, leading some to consider the technique as a pictorial equivalent of Socialism and certainly a representation of collectivism.^[15] This technique is clearly at work in The City Rises, with individual figures disintegrating into transformative light and movement that spills across the surface of the piece, fragmenting and colliding with the city itself before reintegrating to create a total and complete image.^[16][17][18] Boccioni’s painting becomes a single organism powered by the energy, movement and cooperation of individual parts, just as the social body of interwar Italy that he was a part of was doing the same.^[19]

The City Rises is a masterful representation of not only Boccioni’s personal experiences nor the enumerated theories of the futurists, but of the modernizing cultural miasma of early 20^th century Italy. Through the depiction of common laborers in a new metropolis and use of the divisionist technique, he captures the shift from individually focused welfare to a society built around collectivism and social duty. Further research could be conducted into the painting’s use of light and its relation to the invention of electricity, and its potential allusion to The Conversion of St. Paul – proposed in two different sources – to further illustrate the death of the individual for the sake of the collective.^[20][21][22]

^[1] H. H. Arnason and Elizabeth C. Mansfield, “‘Running on Shrapnel’: Futurism in Italy,” in History of Modern Art: Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, Photography, 7th ed (Boston, MA: Pearson, 2013), 189-90.

^[2] Arnason and Mansfield, “‘Running on Shrapnel’: Futurism in Italy,” 194.

^[3]Jenna Ng, “Light Projections: On the Matter of Light and the Lightness of Matter,” in The Post-Screen Through Virtual Reality, Holograms and Light Projections: Where Screen Boundaries Lie, (Amsterdam, Netherlands: Amsterdam University Press, 2021), 208. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv23985t6.10.

^[4] Gerald D. Silk, “Fu Balla e Balla Futurista,” Art Journal 41, no. 4 (1981): 330, https://doi.org/10.2307/776442.

^[5] Marianne W. Martin, “Futurism, Unanimism and Apollinaire,” Art Journal 28, no. 3 (1969): 262. https://doi.org/10.2307/775248.

^[6] Silk, “Fu Balla e Balla Futurista,” 330-32.

^[7] David G. Horn, “Welfare, the Social, and the Individual in Interwar Italy,” Cultural Anthropology 3, no. 4 (1988): 395, http://www.jstor.org/stable/656485.

^[8] Horn, “Welfare, the Social, and the Individual in Interwar Italy,” 397-98.

^[9] Hugh Edwards, “Umberto Boccioni,” The Art Institute of Chicago Quarterly 52, no. 2 (1958): 26, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4119854.

^[10] Horn, “Welfare, the Social, and the Individual in Interwar Italy,” 396, 98-99, 401-02.

^[11] Edwards, “Umberto Boccioni,” 26.

^[12] Giacomo Balla et al., Technical Manifesto of Futurist Painting (Milan, Italy: Governing Group of the Futurist Movement, 1910), quoted in Hugh Edwards, “Umberto Boccioni,” The Art Institute of Chicago Quarterly 52, no. 2 (1958): 26, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4119854.

^[13] Martin, “Futurism, Unanimism and Apollinaire,” 262.

^[14] Edwards, “Umberto Boccioni,” 26.

^[15] Silk, “Fu Balla e Balla Futurista,” 330.

^[16] Arnason and Mansfield, “‘Running on Shrapnel’: Futurism in Italy,” 194.

^[17] Ng, “Light Projections: On the Matter of Light and the Lightness of Matter,” 208.

^[18] Martin, “Futurism, Unanimism and Apollinaire,” 261-62.

^[19] Horn, “Welfare, the Social, and the Individual in Interwar Italy,” 398.

^[20] Silk, “Fu Balla e Balla Futurista,” 331.

^[21] Martin, “Futurism, Unanimism and Apollinaire,” 262.

^[22] Umberto Boccioni, The City Rises, 1910, Oil on canvas, 6’ 6 1/2" x 9’ 10 1/2" (199.3 x 301 cm), The Museum of Modern Art, New York, https://jstor.org/stable/community.15666315.

Bibliography

Arnason, H. H., and Elizabeth C. Mansfield. “‘Running on Shrapnel’: Futurism in Italy,” In History of Modern Art: Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, Photography, 7th ed., 189–96. Boston, MA: Pearson, 2013.

Balla, Giacomo, Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà, Luigi Russolo, and Gino Severini. Technical Manifesto of Futurist Painting. Milan, Italy: Governing Group of the Futurist Movement, 1910. Quoted in Edwards, Hugh. “Umberto Boccioni.” The Art Institute of Chicago Quarterly 52, no. 2 (1958): 25–28. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4119854.

Boccioni, Umberto. The City Rises. 1910. Oil on canvas, 6’ 6 1/2" x 9’ 10 1/2" (199.3 x 301 cm). The Museum of Modern Art, New York. https://jstor.org/stable/community.15666315.

Edwards, Hugh. “Umberto Boccioni.” The Art Institute of Chicago Quarterly 52, no. 2 (1958): 25–28. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4119854.

Horn, David G. “Welfare, the Social, and the Individual in Interwar Italy.” Cultural Anthropology 3, no. 4 (1988): 395–407. http://www.jstor.org/stable/656485.

Martin, Marianne W. “Futurism, Unanimism and Apollinaire.” Art Journal 28, no. 3 (1969): 258–68. https://doi.org/10.2307/775248.

Ng, Jenna. “Light Projections: On the Matter of Light and the Lightness of Matter.” In The Post-Screen Through Virtual Reality, Holograms and Light Projections: Where Screen Boundaries Lie, 207–52. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Amsterdam University Press, 2021. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv23985t6.10.

Silk, Gerald D. “Fu Balla e Balla Futurista.” Art Journal 41, no. 4 (1981): 328–36. https://doi.org/10.2307/776442.

Similarly to almost every writing major across the country, I spend much of my free time between coffee shops and bookstores. Coffee shops provide everything I need to get my work done - a comfortable level of background noise, free WIFI and copious amounts of caffeine – and bookstores… well, bookstores allow me to grow the veritable dragon hoard of novels, biographies and RPG source books currently weighing down multiple pieces of furniture in my bedroom. So, it stands to reason that I would secure a job at Barnes & Noble fairly easily. It's a bookstore and coffee shop all in one, and the employee discount is nothing to scoff at. It's terribly enabling. But I digress.

I realized that the clean, familiar atmosphere of the Barnes & Noble café would be the perfect place to people watch before starting my weekend closing shift. There’re usually a few interesting characters that come up to my register near the front of the store, but my barista associates always seem to have at least one customer horror-story by the end of every shift, so I thought I’d try my luck in their neck of the woods for this assignment. Plus, they draw smiley faces on my coffee cups.

The first little vignette I noticed was pair of women at a table in the corner, leaning toward each other and giggling over their drinks. Between them, a little boy in a bright red shirt bearing a striking resemblance to one of the women sat in a stroller, kicking his sneakered feet about as toddlers often do. The young women chatted for a while, laughs and gasps punctuating their conversation. Every so often, they’d lean towards each other and switch to hushed tones in a language I didn’t recognize. Those moments elicited the heaviest gasps and loudest laughs. At some point the boy began to get fussy, leaning forward as if to get up from his stroller, but the woman to his left, who by this point I was sure was his mother, simply gave his tummy a little scratch and he settled right back down. The ladies left eventually, though I had to point them in the direction of the stroller ramp. I couldn’t fault them for not seeing it – it’s behind a half wall – but I do wonder how they got the stroller up onto the raised café platform in the first place.

One the other side of the café sat an older gentleman in a blue sweater, poring over a book so large that one side hung off the edge of the small round café tables. One hand turned the pages while the other came up to rub the spot just above his eyebrow, elbow resting on a stack of equally dense-looking books. His only real movement was a consistent turning of the page every few minutes, so I turned my attention to an older woman in a white polo shirt standing by the pickup counter. I had already noticed her about 10 minutes earlier, leaning against the wall. Now, she was almost stood up against the pickup counter. Just as I was about to turn away, my coworker Rhea placed two drinks on the counter and the lady snatched them up, carrying them over to none other than the man in the sweater. As she sat down, she placed the hot drink in front of him. He barely reacted, taking a small sip and returning to his book. However, he did bring his hand down from his forehead. I didn’t see him rub at his eyes again for the rest of the afternoon.

About half-an-hour in, a lady so impeccably dressed that I refer to her only as “Smart Woman” in my notes strutted up to the counter. She wore a clean black pencil skirt with an expensive-looking jacket and classy pair of heeled ankle boots, a bag from a high-end department store hanging off her arm. As she walked up to the register, she noticed a group of older women who had been hanging about up there for a few minutes perusing the menu. Smart Woman waited a moment for them to notice her, then held her palms out as she assured them that she didn’t intend to cut them in line. She only went up to place her order after they waved her ahead.

At some point during her wait, Smart Lady received a phone call, which she took in lower tones. She leaned back on one of her heels as she waited, switching from one foot to the other every few minutes. She picked up her drink from the bar after a relatively short wait, and as she walked over to the small self-serve bar I realized why: it was just a black iced coffee. At the bar, one hand still holding her phone up to her ear, she poured a little cup of creamer into the coffee through the hole in the lid and used her teeth to gracefully peel the paper wrapping off a straw. Satisfied, she grabbed her coffee with her free hand and strutted out of the café without missing a beat.

The rest of the incidents I observed were more isolated, but interesting nonetheless. A preteen boy in camo crocs and khakis slumped over in a café chair, forehead pressed to the table, leg bouncing up and down unwaveringly. At his feet was a shopping bag from a women’s athletic clothing store. A middle-aged man in a Porsche polo shirt brought a stack of books from the business section over to a free table, then proceeded to ignore them in favor of looking at his phone. I checked back on him around twenty minutes after he first sat down to find the books still unopened, but they had been shifted to allow him to lean his phone on their spines. A young girl in a frilled purple shirt and matching purple hair ribbon went over to the counter to pick up a drink swirled with chocolate and topped with whipped cream, bringing it back to the older woman she’d been sitting with who levelled it with a pointed look. The girl just shrugged.

Finally, as I left, I decided to take a quick walk through the stacks before starting my shift. This was to be my first day back after a three-month break for summer- many of the displays had changed, and I wanted to make sure I knew where everything was. It happens more than you might think, a bookseller not being able to find something because it’s been relegated to a display far from the shelf it usually lives on. As I perused the game section, a girl in an olive-green argyle sweater that I’d noticed wandering around earlier went to pass me, squeezing her shoulders tight together and mumbling an apology. She might have been wearing glasses, but her gaze stayed trained on the ground so I can’t be sure. I hoped that I might see her during my shift, turn on the customer service charm and help her find whatever she was looking for, but she was gone by the time I clocked in.

Overall, it was a somewhat mundane afternoon, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. All the folks around me kept mostly to themselves, except the gentleman who stopped to chat to me about my tattoo, which meant I got to enjoy an hour of relative calm and my barista friends didn’t have to put out any fires, metaphorical or otherwise. I think it speaks to the soothing nature of a café, a place where people have the option to connect but can also do their own thing if they so choose. So often there’s some sort of pressure, especially in Western countries, to socialize with the people around you while out in public. Sometimes, what you really need is just a bit of peace and quiet.

I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop down the street from my new apartment, which is so packed with shit that I can’t bear to hang around in it for longer than necessary. I should’ve started unpacking by now, but there’s a section of wall beneath my new bedroom window that’s suspiciously squishy, so I’m holding fire until the landlord sends someone to make sure the whole place isn’t about to come crashing down. Only the essential pieces of me have been unearthed- the rest is to remain in boxes for the time being.

I’m supposed to be getting work done for class, comparing and contrasting famous artists from antiquity in a formally formatted essay complete with inline citations and an annotated bibliography, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the small bird that’s taken up an unlicensed residence in the rafters of this coffee shop. The staff have been trying to get him out for a while now, but he just won’t budge, flapping about between the light fixtures and the AC unit. He’s a willful little thing; I’ve nicknamed him Peter. Every few minutes Peter lets out a shrill chirp that has all the other patrons rolling their eyes, and I can’t help but smile. He’s not hurting anyone, after all. He was just looking for a fun place to hang about and make himself known, if only for a few fleeting seconds, before returning to his daily duties collecting sticks or worms or whatever such things interest small, stubborn birds. Perhaps something shiny, like the watch I’ve worn every day since I was thirteen, or something soft, like the worn pages of the novel I perpetually have shoved into my bag. I wouldn’t know- I don’t have feathers.

I’ll likely return home after I finish writing this; going out hasn’t done me its usual favors and my wallet is twenty dollars lighter for it. The place I’m at serves buckwheat crepes with organic strawberries and beetroot-and-cocoa-bean lattes, and they make their drinks exclusively with oat milk. The cynic in me wants to call it bird food. The polemicist wants to bite back that that would make me the world’s most ungrateful bird. They’re both probably right.

Later, I’ll go to work and be bright and cheery despite it being my third closing shift in a row and the middle of finals week. I’ll get home after and do my coursework, call my mother, pay my bills and kick myself for overspending. I’ll go to bed in a room with no furniture and a squishy wall, then wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I might even see Peter on my walk to class, though I’ll probably be too wrapped up in my rote responsibilities to notice.

But for now, I can see him hopping about in one of the cafe’s hanging plants without a care for the conniption he’s given this poor manager. For now, the afternoon light streams through the window and bounces off his feathers, leaving him warm and content. For now, I notice.

In his poem ‘Darkness’, Lord Byron’s embellished, flowing prose, use of lengthy sentences and rushing punctuation create a unique kinetic tone. The poem itself seems to move, constantly gaining size, speed, and momentum, and it feels as though it will continue to move with a certain inevitability- like a snowball rolling down a hill.

One of the clearest ways in which this movement is created is in Byron’s liberal use of the word ‘and’, especially at the beginnings of lines. In fact, there are three consecutive lines in the poem that all begin with ‘and’: “And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d / And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, / And flap their useless wings;” (Byron, 32-34). The use of this conjunction renders the poem cumulative, with every line adding on to the last until it spirals out of control. This spiraling is most clearly seen in Byron’s use of dashes and semicolons later in the piece; these forms of punctuation add a jolt to the flow while maintaining the forward movement, building a sense of disjointedness as the world of the dream deteriorates further and further.

All this movement and disarray created by the tone provides the perfect foundation of the apocalyptic atmosphere, and the resulting panic. The most prominent overarching element of the atmosphere is, very simply, how dark it is. Byron uses words with desolate connotations like “famine”, “meagre”, “piteous”, and “rotting” (44, 46, 52, 75) to leech the light from the poem. But the more interesting aspect of the atmosphere is the true sense of hysteria created by the advancement of the story itself. Byron artfully describes the stages of global collapse- fear, destruction, resignation, desperation, and finally death. The humans burn everything to the ground in an attempt to bring back the light, then resort to keeping themselves alive so they might one day see its return.

The elements come together to create a mood that is unsettling as it is interesting. Something not often examined about the popularity of the post-apocalyptic genre is that, while many use it as a way to process their emotions about the state of the current world, it can also inspire a kind of fascination in its audience. What caused this apocalypse? How did the world react? What social and cultural rules changed as a result? Byron’s ‘Darkness’ is a masterclass in human response to terror and piques the interest of any reader curious about the nature of humanity. Of course, that doesn’t dull the feeling of dread permeating the entire poem. The setting itself, a world without light, is enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but coupling that with the complete collapse of mankind written in a way that feels completely unavoidable turns the stomach.

But while this work is bleak and distressing and dark in many ways, there is a certain feeling of beauty that comes with its conclusion. The final few lines of the poem describe the death of great forces of nature – the waves, the moon, the winds – but follow that with “Darkness had no need / Of aid from them — She was the Universe.” (81-82) Darkness, the perceived villain of the story, is humanized and exalted. She is strong and serene without anyone else to taint her. The world has fallen back under her jurisdiction, and after the fear and frenzy of her crusade, everyone is allowed to rest.