Violette Leduc

The bisexual novelist, memoirist, and poet Violette Leduc remains largely ignored by both academia and the reading public. Unluckily, she lived through tumultuous times, two world wars at the very least, and with a consistently neurotic personality. Her writing is mostly focused on the women to whom she had been attracted. But her writing, at its best, is arguably the sharpest of her milieu, praised by the likes of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Genet. It was only La Bâtarde that received any notable public praise -- the book won the prestigious Prix Goncourt. Thérèse and Isabelle was originally part of that first successful novel but was removed for its strong lesbian suggestiveness by the publisher.

Fiction by Violette Leduc, Translation by Derek Coltman:
excerpt from Thérèse and Isabelle

Essay by Jane Rule:
Violette Leduc, an excerpt from Lesbian Images

Fiction

Martin Hyatt excerpt from A Scarecrow's Bible

The sign above your head reads disconnected.

Jan Clausen
The Possiblist

The same ground beneath your feet as a thousand generations.

Jess Wells
The See-Saw Family

Your life spread across the table like tarot cards.

Rob Shelsky
Flowers in February

Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years.

DRAMA

Michael Griffo
syzygy

Unity itself and the idea of unity are already two.

SUBMIT

Unfortunately, Lodestar Quarterly is no longer accepting submissions. Thank you for your interest and good luck in placing your manuscripts elsewhere.

POETRY

Ron Drummond Prologue and Ghazal

The bewitching bewilderment of a tongue twisting through winsome words.

Kamilah Aisha Moon
Forgotten Ballet, No Room For Gray, and To a Dear Friend Mothering Misery

Hold us closer, tiny dancer.

Kevin McLellan
From Reticent's Gazebo and Breathing Room

Ring inwardly with a determined and powerful intensity.

Freda Karpf
Even Now

Tell me how we've passed so many years.

Justin Vicari
Freshman Lit

Cut me to the bone with your razor blade smile.

Hansa Bergwall
Camp Song and My First Kiss

Take the world in your hands like wet clay and shape me.

Christopher Barnes
Setback For The Unwitting Agents

And what had been such a delicious, optimistic morning...