A decade or so ago, when 
we read a good book review, it left us both hungry and restless. “Surely,” we’d say too loudly with finger raised, “there must be a different take on this, some other astute but equally illuminating opinion on the qualities of this work.” That’s why at The Cincinnati Review, we don’t offer just one but rather three reviews of a given book. No plot summaries, we tell our reviewers, just argument, appraisal, meditation, or some combination thereof. We want you, our readers, to leave our pages with your interest not merely piqued but sated.
Our “threefer feature,” if you will, has been part of CR since its inception. Way back in 2004 we began by running three reviews of J. M. Coetzee’s Elizabeth Costello, and over the last ten years, we’ve published similarly savvy troikas on the work of literary patriarchs (John Updike’s The Widows of Eastwick) as well as that of first-time authors (Tea Obreht’s The Tiger’s Wife). We’ve featured memoirs (Edwidge Danticat’s Brother, I’m Dying), autobiographical fiction (Alice Munro’s The View from Castle Rock), and fabulism (Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake). We’ve even riffed on anthologies (My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me, edited by Kate Bernheimer) and the graphic novel (Chris Ware’s Building Stories). It’s been a good run, but to be honest, ten years is a long time to do anything.
So in CR 10.2, we’re mixing it up with three reviews of debut story collections by women. You’ll read Liv Stratman on Jamie Quatro’s I Want to Show You More, Steve Kistulentz on Kate Milliken’s If I’d Known You Were Coming, and Holly Goddard Jones on Marie-Helene Bertino’s Safe as Houses. If we find ourselves once again speechifying with raised finger, we’ll bring back the former, er, format. But in the meantime, we hope you’ll check out our new issue—due in the next couple of weeks—and then read the wonderful collections themselves.
