By Jattu Fahnbulleh

Title: Cursebreakers
Publisher: Canis Major Books
Publication Date: September 12th, 2023
Author: Madeleine Nakamura
ISBN (paperback): 9781939096128

I have trouble reading outside of school. And I am not unique in this. A quick Google search on “how to pick up reading again” will bring you tweets, articles, YouTube videos, and more, produced by Millenials and Gen Zers lamenting their previous ability to voraciously burn through 600 page books in a day, desperately trying in vain to reach that elementary or middle school peak again. For my part, I’d given up. Not on reading—of course I still have to read for school, and of course I still enjoy reading. If that “reading” took the form of videogames or fanfiction on my down-time, then so be it. But the idea of pushing myself to read so much of a published work in a day, or even consistently reading a tad bit every day, had become unfeasible to me. That was until I’d gotten approximately 30-50 pages into Madeline Nakamura’s debut novel, Cursebreakers.

Cursebreakers is an adult, queer fantasy novel following our main protagonist, Adrien Desforneaux, an ex-physician turned professor teaching at the Academy Pharmakeia. He battles with the lingering guilt of the event that turned him into an ex-physician, his own bipolar disorder, and, now, the growing forces in and around the Academy, inflicting a magical illness on both students and the increasing military presence on campus alike. Along the way we meet Malise, Adrien’s doctor and best friend; Gennady, a member of the Vigil—this novel’s military force—who seeks out Adrien’s help in figuring out what’s going on; and Casmir, Adrien’s Keeper, or caretaker—and also his unrequited crush. The novel reckons with, if it wasn’t obvious already, mental illness, but also with what it means to go unseen by others. 

Just how did Nakamura manage to get this chronically struggling reader to binge her 269 page book within the span of two days? How did she get me to stay up until 3, 4 in the morning, eyes glued to a book, instead of a phone, for the first time in years? If I talked about everything there was to love about the novel, this review would become egregiously long. But what I think hooked me the most was the manner in which the plot unfolded.

As stated earlier, Adrien suffers from bipolar disorder. For those unfamiliar, one of the disorder’s key characteristics is causing those who suffer from it to experience delusions—either delusions of grandeur during manic episodes, or paranoid delusions during depressive episodes. These paranoid delusions often include concerns about grand conspiracies. This novel puts Adrien and, further, us, the readers, in the helpless and endlessly frustrating position of witnessing the truth of the real conspiracy unfolding within the Academy whilst no one actually believes Adrien, all because of his disorder. At first, it is simply that Adrien has no concrete proof to show anyone. But even when he does gain some type of evidence, even as things escalate, there is always something that makes his claims unsubstantiated or unbelievable. His concerns can always be attributed back to his disorder in some way.

There’s something utterly torturous about the way Malise and Casmir react when Adrien first tells them what he’s discovering; one staring at him as if he’d “broken her heart,” and the other “with quiet pity and horror.” You know that, without proof, there is nothing Adrien can do to convince them. I don’t blame Adrien when he all but gives up on trying to actually convince either of them for periods at a time. And this torture isn’t resolved until a little over halfway through the novel.

I think it would be easy to say that Adrien’s bipolar disorder, and how it plays into the ultimate mystery not being uncovered until it is almost too late, is simply a convenient plot-device used to add to the drama of the whole thing—to make the reader turn the page not only to learn more about the mystery, but also to reach that glorious moment when finally, finally, someone would believe him. But that would be to neglect some of the unfortunate, real-world implications of what Adrien’s fight to be believed represents.

I cannot tell you how many stories I’ve heard and read of people—women in particular—who suffered through undiagnosed or misdiagnosed medical complications for years on end before doctors would finally take them seriously, either because they just finally happened to find someone that would actually listen to them, or because their symptoms became so severe that there was no option left but to believe and treat them. Often times their concerns are dismissed as either being due to weight, or anxiety. As a black person living in America who has seen and even experienced, firsthand, what the mental and physical ramifications of going through this can do to a person, and who always has in mind the real possibility that any medical complication I may have could be dismissed because of my skin color and presentation—reading Adrien’s interactions with Malise and Casmir before they came to believe him felt like a loud echoing of these stories and experiences in a way that genuinely made me teary-eyed. Adrien similarly had to wait until things boiled over and out of his control before even those who had his best interests in mind would take him at face value.

Something else that drew me in were the novel’s characters and their relationships—Adrien and Gennady in particular. The novel is told from a first person point of view, which I’ve admittedly grown a bit of a bias against. I’ve come to associate it with a borderline intolerable immaturity—either in the character, or the writing overall. Adrien’s narration is wonderfully real, mature, and compelling. I believe that he is the professor he purports himself to be, one who is intimately familiar with the world and its magic systems in ways that I, as a reader, am not. There was no point in the novel in which I asked myself why he didn’t know something that someone in his position ought to know—and, in fact, there were points where the subjects he discussed overwhelmed me because of my unfamiliarity with the world. I note this because of the tendency, especially in school settings, for some fantasy novels to have characters suddenly become tools for exposition rather than, well, characters.

But besides that, Adrien’s voice is riddled with the kind of self-deprecation that comes with someone suffering not only from a continued guilty conscience, but someone battling with his disorder or any disorder, really—someone who is painfully self-aware and yet still unable to completely control the thoughts and actions their minds lead them into. “You see how I split myself, how I pretend that my lesser nature is another being. Allow me that, so I may live with myself,” he remarks. I am compelled to allow him that.

Then there’s also Gennady, who doesn’t quite know how to be a person. “‘I couldn’t help it,’’’ he remarks after speaking with Prefect Velleia—effectively one of the heads of the military. For the record, he is but a lieutenant. “‘I wanted to do it, so I did. I can’t stop myself sometimes. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.’” This piece of dialogue almost single-handedly summarizes Gennady’s character. Brash and impulsive, but earnestly trying his best. We never quite learn exactly what it is that’s off with Gennady and the rest of his family. But to me, he does at least accurately represent someone who is the product of a military upbringing like he is— conditioned to be cold and ruthless, off-putting if not outright intimidating. As much as his rash decisions sometimes stressed me out, however, I couldn’t help but to be endeared by him and the way that his and Adrien’s relationship develops throughout the novel. Adrien remarks on how he’s become a student of his, in a sense—their mutual touch-point not only being their shared investment in the conspiracy, but also, more crucially, in the philosophy of a figure Adrien teaches his students about one class session—“goodness is a discipline, a skill that can be honed. Our natures aren’t static; we can improve ourselves through careful, consistent work.” Adrien’s interactions with Gennady, and the way Gennady changes over the novel, always come back to this figure—Alexarchus of Elora. Because if there’s anything that the both of them need to hear, it is that they can get better. And that they can even lean on each other to do so.

Overall, Cursebreakers was a captivating and deeply humanizing novel. I could speak at length about how masterfully the worldbuilding was done, or about Adrien and Casmir’s relationship, or even some of the side characters we meet along the way. But I’ll leave it at this—Madeleine Nakamura made me remember the joy of getting sucked into a novel. She’s made a strong debut, and I’ll be looking forward to what she does next.

Widener University faculty and students went to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs conference in Kansas City last month. As usual, the experience was amazing, highlighted by Jericho Brown’s unforgettable keynote address and the Forum for Undergraduate Student Editors (FUSE) caucus. Below are some reflections from Blue Route staffer Jattu Fahnbulleh:

AWP was such an amazing experience. Now that I’ve gone once I will always and forever be keeping it on my radar of events to attend.

One panel I’d been looking forward to long before the conference was the panel on Narrative Gaming . . . . My interest in video games . . . rather than something that more people may consider to be “real” art . . . leaves me feeling insecure sometimes. Hearing from people who are actively within the field speaking on their love of video games, as well as on their experience with teaching them in the classroom and helping their students develop their own skills helped bolster my confidence in the validity of my passion, and painted a clearer picture of where I might want to go in the future.

The bookfair was overwhelming in the best way possible. I would’ve had no idea where to start if not for some of the panels I’d already attended (like the Narrative Gaming one) and some future assignments guiding me to certain places. And there were some books I probably never would’ve known had existed or picked up if not for my trip to the bookfair. For example, I ended up at Bloomsbury Academic at first because I was looking for one of the books mentioned at the Narrative Gaming panel. Unfortunately, the book had already sold out, but there were other books there that were awesome to come across. There was a newly published fantasy fiction anthology at the table, for example—super relevant to me, as someone who is primarily interested in fantasy—and I got to have my copy of the book signed by the author of the book herself, Jennifer Pullen!

There was something really special about seeing the actual people behind these presses. Again, it’s one thing to know that there are, obviously, real living breathing human beings working to write, edit, and publish the works I’ve come to know and love, but it’s another thing to actually see them and interact with them (and their fans, for that matter)! When we go to a bookstore, or even those little bookfairs we used to have as children in elementary school, all we ever get are the books—the polished, finished products, divorced from the hands that made them, neatly sorted into whatever little genre they’ve been determined to fit into. The bookfair was sincerely both a deeply humbling and deeply personalizing experience.

by Sean Creelman

Dear Readers and Writers!

First of all, thanks to all who have submitted creative work for our next issue, which will come out in late April/early May. Right now, we are in the process of making final decisions.

Our submission window is closed until August. If you are looking for other undergraduate literary journals to send your work, please check out our links tab above.

We are also looking forward to sharing details about last semester’s visiting writer at Widener. Dr. Michelle Reale, a Philadelphia-area poet, visited campus in November to meet with students and give a reading of her work. Dr. Reale not only writes about her Italian American experience but also edits an online literary journal called Ovunque Siamo: New Italian American Writing. In a future blog post, I will be sharing excerpts from an interview I conducted with her. In the meantime, check out the following links to get a better sense of Dr. Reale’s editorial and literary work:

https://ovunquesiamoweb.com/

https://newworldwriting.net/michelle-reale-four-poems/

By Sean Creelman

Hello writers, I’m very excited to announce The Blue Route is in full swing for this publication year. My name is Sean Creelman and I am the new editor-in-chief. Our team and I have already begun the process of looking through submissions, and we are very excited by the quality of the work. In the following weeks, you’ll be hearing from more of our staff through these blog posts, where we will be sharing our joint passion for literature with you all. Hope to read your submissions soon. Remember, our deadline for the next issue is November 1st!

Issue #28 of The Blue Route is live. The new issue features excellent poetry and prose by undergraduate writers from Ahmadu Bello University, Ursinus College, University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill, Kenyon College, University of Benin, Pittsburg State University, University of Ilorin, Berea College, and SUNY Brockport. Check it out here: https://widenerblueroute.org/issue-28/

By Skylar Hart

Poetry is so beautiful to read because it is art. There is so much to it yet it is so simple. In the book of poems, The Surrender Theory, by Cailtin Conlon, she discusses heartbreak, love, grief, and healing in the rawest way. Conlon does not shy away from the hard parts of life, and it makes her poems feel like you are talking to a friend or maybe you are talking to yourself, trying to figure out who you are and what you are healing from. My favorite poem in the book is entitled “You Cooked For Me.” This poem is clearly told from the point of view of a person who once loved someone and is looking back on this love wondering why they loved so hard or why they held on. A passage from the poem that really stuck with me is,

“It felt like the kindest thing anyone had ever done

for me — mixing handmade pesto in a white bowl.”

These lines are so important and memorable because they are relatable. Everyone who has loved someone has had that moment where they watch the person they love doing something kind for them and they think that that kindness is the nicest thing anyone has done for them. They believe that these actions are the most loving thing they will ever receive, much like the author felt here. When the author looks back on the relationship she realizes that that moment was really the most her lover ever did for her. She says,

“In retrospect I can see that you gave me very little

and I tried to build an entire future with it.

You must understand, I had never been remembered

like that, before.”

This poem is beautiful because it is human. It evokes feelings that feel so familiar. So many women in my life often talk about how they look back on their relationships and their breakups and they cannot believe how blinded they were by love alone. They cannot believe that they set their standards so low because they were in love and that is all they wanted. They wanted to be remembered, much like the poet in this work. My favorite part of the poem, however, is the last line: “I took what I was offered and ran.” This feeling is so real. When someone does one nice thing for you when you are in a vulnerable state, you believe everything about them is good. You take what they give you and you run with it, because it is human.

Every friend that I have had that has broken up with their significant other since owning this book, I have read this poem to them. More often than not they cry because they feel so touched by the piece or maybe because it feels so familiar to them too. The beauty of Caitlin Conlon’s book is that it touches you. It is so human, so raw, and so absolutely heartbreaking that it makes for one of the most beautiful collections of poetry that I have ever read. If you get the chance, pick this book up and prepare to cry.

Conlon, Caitlin. The Surrender Theory: Poems. Central Avenue Publishing, 2022.

by Ryley Harris

One of the things that makes Ernest Hemingway such an amazing fiction writer is his use of ambiguity. “Indian Camp,” one of his famous earlier stories, is especially difficult to figure out at first. This is due to the fact that Hemingway writes according to what he calls the iceberg theory. As he explains in Death in the Afternoon,

If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.

This approach can lead to some difficulties since Hemingway omits some useful information that would help advance the reading to fill in the gaps. On the other hand, omitting the information makes the readers infer what is happening and create new theories or ideas of what’s happening. One notable instance of the iceberg theory in “Indian Camp” has to do with Nick’s Uncle George, whose connection to the native woman in labor is suggested in several ways.

There are several different moments in “Indian Camp” that suggest that Uncle George is actually the baby’s father. The first moment occurs when Nick and his father come to the camp to help the pregnant woman give birth. When they arrive, we read that “Uncle George gave both the Indians cigars.” Traditionally, this is something a father would do. The second moment occurs when everyone is holding down the pregnant woman, and “[s]he bit Uncle George on the arm…” This action could be read as revenge against the man who impregnated her. This reading can be supported by the fact that the “father” of the baby killed himself when the baby was born, as if he knew that the baby was not his own. The last bit of evidence that supports Uncle George

being the father of the baby is that he stays behind at the Indian camp, which can be seen as a sign of fatherly love or obligation .

A story written according to the iceberg theory creates a lot of ambiguity. If the writer knows what they are doing—it can lead to fascinating fiction that makes the reader more involved.

If you want to read “Indian Camp,” click on this link:

Click to access Hemingway%2C+Indian+Camp.pdf

If you want to read Death in the Afternoon, click on this link:

By Skylar Hart

Over the summer, I indulged in reading many books; however, Holly Jackson’s A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder was one I could not put down. The young adult novel follows a 17-year-old girl, Pippa, who decides to dedicate her school project to diving deep into a local murder-suicide that took place and was considered a closed case by her town. While the story is primarily a thriller or perhaps, a murder mystery, it also remains heartwarming, sweet, and somehow still leaves you guessing the killer with Pippa until the very end.

I believe the true power of Jackson’s writing lies in her ability to keep the reader in a position of just enough “not knowing.” While we get the thoughts and dialogue of the protagonist, Pippa, and those around her, we are left in the dark about the world around her and the truth of the mystery she is trying to solve, who killed Andie Bell and why? Pippa believes the boy accused of her friend’s sister’s death is not to blame and she becomes more sure of this when bad things begin to happen in her own life as she slowly uncovers more. At one point in the story, Pippa grows closer to uncovering the murderer and soon, her dog is found killed in the woods behind her home. Bad things begin to follow Pippa, and she cannot help but believe she is getting warmer to the truth. There are so many moments you think you figured Jackson out and suddenly, you are thrown for another loop. You have your narrative in mind and you are sure of it and suddenly, you are wrong.

“Not knowing” has a power of its own. “Not knowing” leaves the reader guessing and coming up with a narrative of their own that makes it interesting to figure out the truth. In the how-to book The Making of a Story, Alice LaPlante writes, “All this, of course, is simply another way to say that we should write about what we don’t know about what we know. Without using this sense of not-knowingness, or mystery, as a starting point, anything we write will be lifeless and predictable.” Jackson’s emphasis on not-knowingness makes the reader want to keep flipping pages and reading lines. I quite literally wanted to jump into the book and start filing through cold case files myself. The “not knowing” almost puts you right there with the protagonist and leaves you just as unsure as them.

If there is one book I wish I could unread so that I could read it again and get the same experience, it would be A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder in a heartbeat. It is funny, charming, thrilling, and truly a book to be read by true-crime lovers (like me) everywhere!

Jackson, Holly. A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder. 2019.

LaPlante, Alice. The Making of a Story: A Norton Guide to Creative Writing. Langara College, 2019.

• Fahrenheit 451 was originally supposed to be titled The Fireman. 
• Charles Dickens was a firm believer of the supernatural and was even a part of a Ghost Club. He was also known to sleep facing North as he believed it would improve his writing.  
• The world’s most avid readers come from India, which has an average reading time of 10.7 hours a week. 
• In the Victor Hugo novel Les Miserables, there is a sentence that is 823 words long. This is the longest sentence written in a published novel to date.  

• Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland has been banned in China since 1931 because the governor of the Hunan Province believed that allowing both animals and humans the ability to speak was “disastrous.”  
• The first public library opened in America was located in Charleston, South Carolina in 1698.  
• Some of the strangest objects found inside library or secondhand books include a butterfly, lizard, polaroid picture of fried eggs, matches (hidden in the book by removing several pages), and spectacles from approximately 1930.  

Though the deadline has passed for poetry and prose submissions, the Blue Route is still seeking art submissions for our 28th issue! We welcome works of any medium from all undergraduate students so long as they can be converted into a digital format for publication. In the past, we have incorporated gorgeous photographs, paintings, sketches, and digital art among many others into our issues. There is no theme for this issue, so the sky’s the limit! If you or someone you know creates art and is interested in publication, please feel free to submit any and all pieces to us at wutheblueroute@gmail.com! Thank you and we cannot wait to see what you come up with!