I love academic satire. Classics of the genre such as Richard Russo’s Straight Man (1997), Jane Smiley’s Moo (1995), and Don DeLillo’s White Noise (1985) have long been among my favorite novels. Two of the best recent additions to the genre are Julie Schumacher’s Dear Committee Members (2014), an epistolary novel told almost entirely through letters of recommendation, and her 2018 follow-up, The Shakespeare Requirement. Both novels center on the misadventures of Jason Fitger, a hapless English professor at the aptly named Payne University who finds his love for writing submerged in a sea of bureaucratic toil and personal disappointment. So, as I was recently walking through a local bookstore, I was delighted to discover that there is a third installment in Schumacher’s series—the 2024 novel The English Experience. The novel follows Fitger, now chair of the English department, as he is compelled to teach a January-term class in London for the university’s “Experience: Abroad” program. (Fitger takes as much issue with the gratuitous colon in the program’s title as he does with the idea of spending his break chaperoning unruly students in an unfamiliar city.) The story alternates between traditional third-person narration centering Professor Fitger and the daily essays that the students submit while on the trip. The students bond over the bad food, bad weather, and what they see as the unreasonable workload inflicted on them by the professor. It is perhaps embarrassingly obvious why Schumacher’s novel holds such appeal for me: as a middle-aged English professor, I see my life reflected in Fitger. The simplest and greatest delight of literature is identification—to find our sorrows and joys, our anxieties and passions, represented in the pages of a good book. A professor herself, Schumacher also has a talent for capturing the absurdity and sweetness of academic life.
From the Community: Jennifer Anderson
Hello! My name is Jennifer Anderson. I’ve been fortunate to teach English & creative writing at LC State for the past seventeen years. Since 2019, I’ve also served as the faculty advisor for the Publishing Arts program and Talking River Review. I’m so proud of the TRR team and the excellent work they do every semester in developing each issue from scratch.
I was born and raised in Idaho. In fact, I’m an LCSC alumnus, graduating in 2000 with a bachelor’s degree in English. In 2005, I received my MFA in creative writing (with an emphasis in creative nonfiction) from the University of Idaho.
In my spare time, I enjoy bass fishing up the Snake River, gardening, bicycling with my husband, and playing with my one-year-old pitty-husky rescue, Delilah. This spring, Delilah and I are enrolled in AKC Canine Good Citizen classes. Though I’ve been an avid dog-lover and owner my entire life (over the past twenty-six years, my husband and I have adopted five shelter dogs), I’m learning so much about how to be a better dog communicator and companion.
Of course, I’m also passionate about reading and writing; right now, I’m particularly interested in trying my hand at flash essays comprised of 500-words or fewer. Below, I’ve included a piece I wrote for the LC Valley Field Guide, a cross-disciplinary project inspired by Cascadia Field Guide, which several LC State classes collaborated on last fall, and which featured work by over 100 students and several faculty members. In July of 2025, after receiving my first-ever colonoscopy at age forty-nine, I was diagnosed with colon cancer, and I wrote this in August right before I had a sigmoidectomy. Fortunately, my surgery was a success, and everything is now looking great. If you are forty-five or older (as is now recommended), get a colonoscopy!
Black Feathers
Every evening, from April to July, dozens of crows gathered in the honey locust and red chokecherry trees surrounding my house. I listened to their chatter, their cooing, clicking, and cawing. Some snacked on chokecherries; others preened. The topmost branches rustled and swayed with each new arrival, and I found myself whispering, “Here they come,” as I watched the choir assemble.
Never before this—not once in twenty years—had they stopped at our house, though they’ve been roosting in our neighbors’ giant maples for a long time now. But in early April, around my husband’s fiftieth birthday, they began congregating in the dying honey locusts we know must come down, in the cherry trees we planted in 2005 for shade. They never stayed for more than a half hour, and they never missed a day. Our trees suddenly became the place for this pre-roosting aggregation, a rest stop before the sixty or so of them flew across the street for the night.
I left them gifts—peanuts, dog food, sunflower seeds—because I’d read they might leave tokens in return. They never took what I offered and left behind only the rare black feather, sticking up out of the ground as if an exclamation mark or an arrow pointing here! Then, on July 9th, the same day I was diagnosed with cancer, dusk came and went without a sound.
Now several months have passed, and the crows have not returned. Sometimes a handful still roosts in my neighbors’ maples, but no more than that. True, the chokecherries dried up when the days turned hot. It’s likely the flock found another food source, and they convene somewhere else for the night. Once, on our evening walk, my husband and I found them in the cemetery two blocks away, clustered on the twisted limbs of a snag, their calls swallowing up all other neighborhood noise. Crows can recognize human faces. Did they know me as I stood beneath them, and what did they say?
Some cultures believe visits from crows indicate a transformation, a change on the horizon, and they will keep coming, day after day, until their message is received. Some consider them omens of death. Others believe finding their feathers brings protection and good luck. I’ve never been a spiritual person. Even as a young girl in church, I questioned the existence of God.
And yet.
When faced with so many unknowns, I find myself listening for the tidings of crows at dusk. I keep searching my garden for feathers.
The Last Book I Read: A Recommendation From Landry Cash
Wild and Distant Seas by Tara Karr Roberts
Tara Karr Roberts’s 2024 novel Wild and Distant Seas offers a fresh perspective on feminine resilience and the power of memory. This narrative is about four women who are all connected to the character Ishmael from Herman Melville’s 1851 novel Moby-Dick.
Wild and Distant Seas begins with Evangeline Hussey, the matriarch of four generations, who possesses a magical gift (that will eventually be passed down to her descendants). Evangeline hosts Ishmael at her inn on Nantucket before he sails away to hunt the infamous white whale. After their brief, but strong, connection, Evangeline is left with a secret child, prompting these remarkable women to navigate their own lives, their journeys spanning across Nantucket to Boston, Brazil, Florence—even Idaho—as they also search for the truth of their family legacy.
There were times I’d forget I was reading until I needed to turn the page of this beautiful novel. The language is so vivid, it’s hard not to imagine walking alongside these women in the bustling streets of cities or gently rocking on the waves in a steam ship or looking out a train window, watching the grasses of the prairie go by. Unputdownable. That’s what this book is!
With lyrical prose and beautifully written characters, Wild and Distant Seas focuses on the perspective of the women who were left out of stories of male ambition, making this a great read if you’re seeking female-centric and atmospheric historical fiction.
From the Archives: Robert Wrigley
Spring 1997
ON HEARING A WOLF’S HOWL
This is no coyote’s warble and bark.
It soars into the canyon’s very stones
and sets the pine needles quivering.
Even the moonlight trembles.
Maybe the wolverine, most fearless
and furtive of all these woods’ creatures,
does not take note. Maybe the bull moose,
placid and massive, merely nods.
But the cliffs stand still and listen,
and the creek picks up its nervous pace.
Deer bedded down in their thickets
test the wind, consider again the avenues of flight.
At my feet in the tent, the dog whimpers.
How much, she must wonder, can any man
be trusted, and what of these walls
that god-cry passes through like a sermon?
Or coming back, its ever fainter echo,
like a whisper, saying what, saying why,
saying who? It is 1:01 a.m.
By moon glow 1 see her silhouette shiver.
By matchlight, her pupils, blue-green
and bottomless, shine back at me.
1 am in them, looking her way,
and something else—movement,
canter, stealth in the blood—
when in the tent’s windless basilica,
among our two held breaths,
the match flutters once, and goes out.
AFTER THE FLOOD
These are the halcyon days
of heavy equipment, the back-up beeps
from bulldozers and dump trucks
more common than bird song, the air,
my wife maintains, so redolent
of testosterone a deep breath
can bring on a beard. Yesterday
we watched two men in a motorboat
salvage lumber from a back-eddy pool.
The river boiled beneath them,
treacherous with deadheads and flotsam.
Neither man wore a life jacket
of course. We’d spread a blanket
under a tree, the kids collected ladybugs
for the garden. I wanted to kiss her neck,
her shoulders bare in the sun for the first time
in months. Your age, she said, or younger.
I reconsidered my cigar. By now
they must have had enough
lumber to frame a small house
or a barn—two-by-sixes, two-by-eights,
straight-grained fir and pine, no common
yard stuff, only select. Imagine
starting over, she said. A gable floated by,
a tatter of black tarpaper trailing.
For a moment, I was a hole in the air,
like the shape of a house
where a house had been, or a room—
a bedroom after love, the kitchen
by meal light and laughter.
Everything gone, she said.
And it was, the scrape and beep of roadwork,
the furtive, early bird songs,
even the calls of the children
at another vivid hatch of bugs.
I was falling into the light, I think, I was
swallowed by silence, when the line came,
the outboard whine driving men
and wood upstream, and one man—
bless his fool heart and mine—
waved his cap at us and whooped.
They had all they could carry
this load. They’d be back
to begin again. I rose
from where I lay and nuzzled her neck.
She laughed and shrank from the itch
of my whiskers, then turned
and kissed me back.
Robert Wrigley is Distinguished Professor Emeritus at the University of Idaho. He has published thirteen books of poems, most recently The True Account of Myself As a Bird (Penguin Random House, 2022). He lives with his wife, the writer Kim Barnes, on Moscow Mountain.
TRR Is Going on Spring Break!
The TRR team is happy to report that we’ve finalized all contributions to Issue 60. We’re going on spring break next week and are looking forward to working on the layout of the issue when we return.
We’re also excited to share that on Friday, April 10, award-winning, Moscow-based writer, Tara Karr Roberts, will be giving a reading at the Lewiston Public Library, at 7:00 p.m., as part of the Humanities Division’s Visiting Writer series. For more information about the event, please click here. We hope to see you at the reading!
From the Community – Nathalie Barroso
Hi! My name is Nathalie Barroso, and this is my third semester as an editor of Talking River Review. I am a sophomore here at LC State, majoring in nursing and minoring in publishing arts. I originally came to college with my mind set solely on nursing; however, TRR’s advisor, Jennifer Anderson, roped me into the idea of minoring in publishing arts and I am so grateful she did!
I have enjoyed this last year of working with a team to create wonderful journals to be adored by so many. Through TRR, I have been able to do a vast number of tasks such as selling books, leading a writing workshop, and even as far as directly working with a contributor.
Outside of TRR, you can also catch me twirling around in a bright yellow dress as I am a dancer/coach for LC’s Latin American Culture Club’s traditional Mexican dance group, Dos Rios Folklorico. Additionally, if you have any questions about studying abroad, come ask me! I studied in Costa Rica summer ’25 and now stand as a Global Ambassador for WorldStrides, the company I studied abroad through.
I am happy to announce last Friday I received the wonderful news that I’ve been accepted into LC’s fall 2026 nursing cohort. As exciting as this is, my time with TRR will have to come to a pause as my new schedule will clash with the journal’s Friday morning meetings. I’ll still be around for another two years, so I hope to continue to contribute to the journal and group when I can.
Talking River Review has allowed me to blossom my inclination towards writing and reading, and I can’t wait to see how I can incorporate this with my life that revolves around the sciences.
I hope you guys are as excited for Issue 60 as we are!
From the Community: Jessica Evans
Howdy! My name is Jessica Evans. I’m a bona-fide country girl, lover of all things horse, and avid reader. I’ve been with TRR for a whopping five semesters, and I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. While I’ve never served as a member of the board, I’ve always tried to be ready to serve anywhere, as TRR offers a valuable opportunity to college students. My tasks include reading and reviewing poetry and prose as they are submitted to the journal, and I love being able to read creative works from people all over the world, in every situation of life.
Besides TRR, I am finishing out my Liberal Arts degree with a class on Forensic Science, and after my graduation this spring (May 2026), I’ll likely be enlisting into the Military as intelligence, and I hope to use my experience in communication and the written word to keep our country safe.
In my spare time, I like to spend time with my horse, and together we ride our local trails, attend local events, and compete in Dressage. I also like to spend time writing my book, reading when I get the chance, and spending time outside with my many, many animals.
Over the years, there have been many things that have shaped my love for reading and writing, but TRR has been instrumental in developing my respect for poetry, and I love the debate and conversation that come along with each submission in our Friday morning sessions. I carry my experience into everything I do, whether that’s school, my work, teaching my orange cat tricks, or riding my little red mare into the sunset. I am so excited to see what life has in store for me, and I can’t wait to return to TRR in the future years, not just as an editor, but also as a published author.
What TRR Is Up To
Our team is excited to be on spring break soon, but we will still be continuing our work on the current issue! This next week we are working through our last few poetry submissions to get us on track to lock down Issue 60 and move on to layout.
You may have heard that we are participating in LC’s Student Spring Market on May 2nd. We will be selling blank customized Talking River Review journals for you to keep track of all of your creative ideas as well as handmade literary themed pins. Don’t forget to stop by our booth!
Mid-Term Check In
Hello! We would love to take a minute and check in with our readers! During class today, we officially locked down all of the prose pieces for Issue 60. We have a great collection of fiction and non-fiction works. Next week, we hope to also lock down the poetry. We are so excited to be publishing work from many students, as well as the art from LC’s art Professor, Kelsey Grafton.
Even though we are close to locking in Issue 60, you can still submit your work for future issues. We will begin discussing submissions for Issue 61 near the end of this semester.
We are always looking for LC State student submissions. To bypass our submission fee, contact us from your LC email at trr@lcsc.edu
On May 2nd, TRR is participating in the Student Spring Market, where LC students can sell their products. You will find booths selling jewelry, baked goods, crafts, etc. There will also be many students performing, including the dance team, The Latin American Culture Club, and other local bands.
From the Community: The Center for Arts & History
Downtown—nestled between quaint coffee shops and local restaurants—is a two-storey, classic brick building with an ever-changing rotation of vivid, intricate art. The Center for Arts & History, operated in conjunction with LCSC, is a staple of the Lewiston community. Each fall and spring, the Center hosts a new exhibition, showcasing local artists and their diverse range of specialties. Open on Tuesday through Friday from 10–5 PM as well as Saturday from 11–3 PM, the Center always invites you to stop by for a peek. This season, their exhibit is Primal Forces: Fire.
The downstairs exhibit boasts a myriad of quilt work, each differing from the last. Some are composed of bold reds and bright oranges, while others take a gentler approach with soft browns and muted blues. The thrilling collection of colors, the shimmering fabrics, and the combinations of varying textiles demand your attention. They range from comforting to provoking to inspiring, and each interprets the idea and the purpose of fire in a different way. For the most part, the pieces are united in form, color, and, of course, theme. It gives the exhibition coherence, drawing visitors further and further in until you’re entirely swept up in the story. Each piece simultaneously stands out yet blends together, making it impossible to tell start from finish. You’re simply left to experience, floating from piece to piece, seeing, but more importantly, feeling.
The upstairs is similar to the downstairs, sprawling and bathed in sunlight from tall windows, but it’s noticeably quieter—not just in terms of noise, but also in terms of sight. The displays up here are simple and understated, but no less beautiful. For this particular exhibit, the upstairs shows off the work of Connor Kelly, particularly his woodturning. Each piece is a 3D item made of charred brown wood. They take various shapes and forms; one is a tall cup similar to that of a pint of beer, and another resembles a large vase. They are delicate and imperfect, hosting cracks, holes, and uneven charring that is representative of the raging power of fire. The collection pairs incredibly well with the downstairs exhibit, contrasting the variety of vibrant, eye-catching colors with an array of soft browns charred in black. Simpler, yes. But no less impactful.
Fire, like all natural elements, can be both a force of destruction and creation, and the Center’s exhibition shows that off with beautiful clarity. Given the chance to visit, you’ll leave with a greater understanding of this mysterious element than when you entered. The exhibition runs till March 28, but rest assured, it will be replaced with a new, equally thrilling display come April 14th.