In the end, the crisis I fretted over, the risk I hoped to mitigate, never quite materialized.
Ben DeVries (’15) graduated with degrees in literature and writing. He and his wife Jes, a fellow Calvin grad, live in Champaign, Illinois, where Ben is looking to add some letters behind his name. On the academic off-seasons, he reads fantasy and works as a glorified “go-fer” at the Champaign Park District. He’s been known to make a mean deep-dish pizza.
Law and order, but only certain laws and certain orders.
What about this particular tweet and this particular act of terror—over all the other tweets and all the other acts of terror, domestic and international, that routinely dominate our feeds—prompted 2.4 million Twitter users to tap a heart-shaped icon?
Can you mourn a future you haven’t lived?
An unexpected call, just before the exam starts. A worried glance down at a phone, a quick “excuse me.”
While the film isn’t without interesting ideas—the notion of an environmental reckoning, for one—these ideas dart, glimmering and mostly unconsidered, through the nets that Aquaman reserves for its preferred but drabber game: the return of the king.
We call this tradition—because why wouldn’t we—our “Filling Out of the Carle Foundation Hospital’s Application for Financial Assistance Christmas Tradition,” or FOCFHAFACT, for short.
For a long time, my reading habits resembled a Michael Pollan polemic, if Michael Pollan had been trying to cure the Western diet with genre fiction instead of carrots: Read fantasy. Not much else. Mostly Tolkien.