Lit/Pub #IV - The Wake Up Issue - Spring2024
The magazine of Professor Andrea di Robilant literary class at The American University of Rome. "Last year’s issue of Lit/Pub was about the slow return to a post-Covid world. This year, the initial theme was dreams – time to get on with it and think about the future. But the more we discussed what to put in the issue, the more it became apparent that a lingering wariness was still in the air, even a certain complacency. Hence the exhortatory title – The Wake Up Issue – which Isabella Klepikoff has deftly captured in the design of this year’s cover: a wolf resting by a Roman fountain. He looks to be resting, but his lively green eyes tell us he is stirring back to action."
The magazine of Professor Andrea di Robilant literary class at The American University of Rome.
"Last year’s issue of Lit/Pub was about the slow return to a post-Covid world. This year, the initial theme was dreams – time to get on with it and think about the future. But the more we discussed what to put in the issue, the more it became apparent that a lingering wariness was still in the air, even a certain complacency. Hence the exhortatory title – The Wake Up Issue – which Isabella Klepikoff has deftly captured in the design of this year’s cover: a wolf resting by a Roman fountain. He looks to be resting, but his lively green eyes tell us he is stirring back to action."
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Fiction<br />
Failure to Notice<br />
By Natalie Cooper<br />
<strong>The</strong> art of noticing is the ability to see little things without getting nosy. A good practitioner<br />
of this art does not assume or judge. Life is a lot easier when you only allow yourself to just notice<br />
things. I call it “protecting your peace.” My sister, on the other hand, calls it “running from the truth.”<br />
Yesterday, Richard lent me his coat on the walk home from his office’s Christmas party.<br />
<strong>The</strong> December air burned my hand, so I let go of his to put it in the side pocket of his coat,<br />
which I was now wearing.<br />
I felt something. It was small and rectangular and unfamiliar.<br />
I looked over at him, eyes turning to glass. Was this it? Was this really happening?<br />
I should have just noticed something in his pocket and left it at that. Instead, I pulled out the<br />
object and there I was with a singular lipstick in the palm of my hand. I took the cap off, and I saw red.<br />
I hate red lipstick – I always have. It always reminded me of my old, cranky neighbor Etta and<br />
her stupid dog who always used to shit in our yard. She put on fire engine red lipstick every day that<br />
not only stained her teeth but also the fur on top of her yappy white Chihuahua’s head. Since then, I<br />
vowed never to be the awful, red-lipped neighbor.<br />
I hate red lipstick.<br />
Through the tears in my eyes, I saw Richard quickly look away, his face turning from pale<br />
white to red like that fucking ratdog. <strong>The</strong> rest of our walk was silent.<br />
As we reached the door to my house, I slapped on a smile, handed back his coat, and took out<br />
the lipstick.<br />
“I’ve been looking for this!”<br />
<strong>The</strong> look of relief on his face was nauseating. Not knowing what else to do or say, he kissed me<br />
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