A literary magazine is like a lucky dip — you never know what will come your way.
Almost certainly, literary magazines are where offbeat work turns up long before it reaches the regular bookshelves. As a small, independent magazine with limited budgets, you need to figure out all the administrative tasks yourself. The biggest problem is that we live in a time where there is so much being produced, published and posted every single day that capturing attention is very difficult. I’ve done a combination of self-funding and raising some money, but I am still working on other avenues to generate funds, like grants and fellowships. I definitely think there needs to be more of an arts ecosystem in India which allows small ventures to create freely — I think these kinds of projects can have value beyond just the balance sheet and take time to mature. Many countries in the West have robust government funding for small publishers and artist-led initiatives, and it’s also a way to build soft power and cultural relevance. I remember my mother often reading to my sister and to me at night — anything from picture books to Enid Blyton to Harry Potter. Our family would visit bookshops like Strand in Mumbai or the Kemps Corner Crossword, where we were always allowed to get whatever we wanted. In school in Singapore in the 11th grade, we were assigned Dostoevsky and The Great Gatsby for English. That was one of the first times I realized all that a novel or story can be. Mumbai: Rohinton Mistry’s novels, Jayant Kaikini’s short stories, Jeet Thayil’s Narcopolis, Jerry Pinto’s Em and the Big Hoom, Katherine Boo’s Behind the Beautiful Forevers London: Ben Judah’s This Is London, Zadie Smith’s White Teeth, Rachel Cusk, Ian McEwan, Virginia Woolf There were aspects of each that I really loved: the honest, unique voice that Shruti Sonal and Prithviraj Solanki bring to their pieces, the propulsiveness and surreal nature of Dinesh Shrinet and Namita Krishnamurthy’s stories, the unique topics like single screen cinema halls or ice factories or rampant tourism that are the focus of the pieces by Sagar Kumar, Rama Raghavan and Rishu Nigam.
I was lucky enough to grow up before the internet era, in a home where both parents are big readers.
Finally, what next?
When the first print anthology came out earlier this year, it felt like we’d actually launched, even after publishing digitally for more than three years. We’re going to expand our print publishing in the next year, and have more anthologies released. So it is with the first print edition of Hammock magazine, an olive-green paperback titled The City and priced at Rs. The anthology includes a horror story set in Chennai, a picaresque tale of a city bus in Bengaluru, slices of life from Mumbai, and a newly translated story by the well-known Bhisham Sahni Founding editor Abhay Puri, a South Asia Speaks Fellow, counts Granta and The Stinging Fly as his literary magazine favorites. We talk about what it means to publish a print literary magazine in the age of AI, when the economics of print publishing have become difficult. Here are edited excerpts from our conversation: I think every writer dreams of starting a magazine, and I was silly enough to actually go ahead with it. I felt that the literary ecosystem in India needed more avenues for new writers to publish work, have a community, or simply read things that were not news or ‘lifestyle’ centric. For a long time, I was skeptical about whether creative writing could really be taught. Many writers I admire worked in post offices or dead-end jobs, or were housewives. There is an ‘MFA voice’ that the publishing industry seems to aspire to. There are certain styles and dogmas. For instance: avoid the passive voice. ‘Show, don’t tell. Erase dialect or stories that make a reader work harder. All of these things are true in some contexts. But they are also rooted in what works for the Western market and can leave many books feeling flat and detached. I do think, though, that my editorial work and everything I’ve done with Hammock benefited a great deal from studying creative writing. My course also gave me time to write and an amazing community of writer friends whose feedback helps me develop my work. There’s already a noticeable increase in the number of submissions that feel like they are AI-generated, but for now it’s quite easy to identify them. I’ve never used AI, and I don’t plan to. I think the societal, environmental and cognitive costs are not worth the trade-off. I really resent how technology companies are essentially forcing AI on people without their consent. I am sure it has its benefits in terms of handling huge amounts of data or medical applications or solving climate problems, so people should use it for that and keep it as far away from the arts as possible. Hopefully India can go in that direction too, though obviously there are many other problems to address first. Our next anthology is themed around immigration and the diaspora, and that should be out in two months. Sonya Dutta Choudhury is a Mumbai-based journalist and the founder of Sonya’s Book Box, a bespoke book service. Each week, she brings you specially curated books to give you an immersive understanding of people and places. If you have any reading recommendations or reading dilemmas, write to her at [email protected]. The views expressed are personal
899 (Kindle e-book: Rs.449). Because their government decided to hugely expand arts funding a couple of decades ago, and now you can see the impact that’s having globally, for instance, one of the big reasons that Korean film, music and literature has blown up so much in recent years is.
