Matador Review

A Quarterly Missive of Alternative Concern


Dear Reader:

I don't know that any editor—one who cares deeply for their work—escapes the fraud police. Each issue, I face this problem: Can I do my job as honestly, proudly as I can? With The Matador Review, we have sought to showcase work that deeply moves us. And it keeps happening, time and time again. Literature and art from dozens of the world's corners, speaking a language—literally and figuratively—that we might have never heard otherwise. I don't know how an editor does not feel small beneath all of this profound energy—it really does seem dramatic, I know. But it also seems evolutionary.


As a curator of sorts, I am still young. Much to learn and much to experience. I usually prefer to keep myself at an emotional distance, hidden behind a digital wall of emails and brief editor's notes; that seems safest, both professionally and personally. But this year—these past few issues, amidst all of the global goings-on—has burrowed a buzz within. A surge of excitement, and with that, waves of doubt. Constructive doubt. I wonder, wonder, wonder: What comes next? What can we do, with our hands and our fires?

In some small way, even if our contributors never meet, there is a community here. Stories blend over the digital bonfire, and we lean in and learn. And now, I feel ten feet taller. Yes, even with all of my doubt—about tomorrow, my American home, and the rest of the world.

If you are familiar with TMR, then you know that we don't "publish and run." We stick around. We brag about our writers and artists, every day. Months later, we catch up with them and post updates on the blog. It's the Matador family, where stories are not transactional, but religious. What are we, without our interpretations? Where do we go, without the stories that guide us? These things must be shared, our smallest memories and greatest epics. Good stories survive.

As long as I can continue reading and sharing, the fraud police will never catch me. Sincerely, I am proud of what I do, and I am humbled by the work in The Matador Review. If you are a reader, thank you. You are forever welcome to this bonfire.

"Somewhere in the world live bacteria,
colored aubergine like royalty.
Single-celled, neither plant nor animal,
they have no roots, no leaves.
But they harvest sunlight.
They survive." (Jonaki Ray)


John Lachausse
Editor-in-chief, TMR