Several years ago my sister bought a magazine subscription for my dad on his birthday. It was a little literary magazine from Arkansas, the state of my parents’ childhoods, backed by none other than bookslinger John Grisham. I ignored it for several issues, then picked one up when I had read everything else with words in the house.
As it turns out, my parents didn’t like the magazine. They dislike it for the reasons I love it. Where my parents entertained notions of a polite 1950s South, the magazine highlighted a gothic underbelly of class and race issues that are usually glossed over with images of genteel ladies and gentlemen; O’Connor, Faulkner, and Atticus Finch rolled into a well-designed and -written glossy publication. The Oxford American ran for about twelve years, struggling the whole way, while still featuring quality Southern authors, short stories, music, and photographers, including a fantastic summer music issue that came every year with a quirky, wonderful CD.
I had renewed my subscription about two years ago when I found out they no longer had the money or backing to keep the magazine going. It was so disappointing. Finally I had found something of my parents’ background that appealed to my literary interests and it was gone.
Last week, my mom told me I had a surprise coming in the mail. Today, I opened the mailbox and found a new Oxford American! The design is more slick and compelling than before, though in keeping with the original feel to the magazine, and the photography at first glance is a series of striking black-and-whites. I’m curling up on the couch with it for the rest of the afternoon.
If you see a copy of the Oxford American, I suggest you pick one up. In the meantime, visit their website and read some of their articles, including the issue lost when they went under in 2002.