Issue 10, Winter 2019

Issue 9, Summer 2018

You begin at the start, sitting down with a cup of tea, ready to delve into Issue 9’s editorial. Or perhaps you find it by chance, drawn to our textured cover, flicking through our pages in a bookstore, so happening to fall on this page, this editorial.

Your eyes scan. You look for meaning, message, some explanation of rationale. What brings these pieces together? What packages them, ties them in a bow? Why is this poem next to that short story and what is it you are supposed to feel?

But there’s no clue, not this time. We’re not going to hand you a discussion of similarities or thematic threads, studies in tone or style – you’re on your own. 

As editors, we work on the assumption that a theme will naturally reveal itself, that a complimentary collection will emerge from the submissions pile, informing each issue and our editorial. But how far should we dig for a thesis? And when does threading become a little too thin?

So, dear reader, beware – there’s nothing but chaos in these pages.

Issue 8, Winter 2018

“There should be some risk,” says Anthony Bourdain, “like unpasteurized cheese. Food is about rot, and decay, and fermentation… as much as it is about freshness.”1 Issue 8 is a literary degustation; a sequence of flavours grappling with the apocalypse, passivity, intoxicating masochism and nose-to-tail eating.

Let’s begin in Melbourne, a home we no longer recognise. Both Daniel Hutley’s ‘The Giving’ and Fiona Hardy’s ‘The Absorption Method’ welcome us to dystopian worlds, where the characters’ precautions and attempts at action are futile. What’s written is written; all we can do is sit back and wait.

Contrastingly, the reader’s passivity is provoked in Ellery Bakker’s post-apocalyptic ‘SSS’. The piece is rancid, in the very best sense of the word. It illuminates the beauty and cunning of language, whilst etching a sadistic and depraved world. Just as the reader sits back – a voyeur to senseless animal cruelty – so too do Bakker’s characters, who never escape their own narrative loop. Then it’s off to the slaughterhouse with Angela Stevenson’s Orwellian short story ‘Eat’, where the reader is force-fed ugly truths. It’s a punishing read, doubly so for us meat-eaters, who are consumed by our own ineptness and relish in a masochistic state of disgust. So, dear reader, can you handle a fork?

1. Anthony Bourdain interviewed by Christopher Tan in The Edge Singapore July (2002) and on foodfella.com

Issue 7, Summer 2017

Issue 7 comes five days into Adriane’s 28 day cycle. Sarah’s cycle has been disrupted, forced into a new rhythm. These sequences are amongst the many biological and social patterns that contextualise our lives. As editors, we’re drawn to the fractal nature of this collection; the way in which themes of body, identity, sexuality, race and language are mirrored and magnified. 

Pattern as prison is explored in Courtney McMahon’s aesthetic essay, ‘Noise Box’, which blurs fiction with social theory. Her characters are castrated – their identities defined through biology, their language deficient in expressing desire. Similarly, Jessica Likar’s ‘Is [wo]manifesto’ is a kaleidoscope of meaning, where womanhood is examined through fable and structuralist play. This play with structure is challenged further in Wing Yau’s poem ‘eunoia’, which explores the alienation inherent in learning a foreign language.

Biological cycles bookend Tamara Lazaroff’s short story, ‘In My Father’s Village’, where the protagonist finds herself caught in a hamster wheel of womanhood, cultural expectation and shame. This quest for individualism is furthered in Matthew Gabriel’s magical-realist piece, ‘Deterrence Vivarium’, which asks the reader: what makes you, you?

So, dear reader, let’s spin those mirrors.

Issue 6, Winter 2017

Emerging as the antithesis of its predecessor, Issue 6 has shed the dark skin of the baroque, embracing a more jocular persona. This jester-esque collection is beguiling and flirtatiously insists on reader participation.

With a touch of whimsy we begin at the end with Toby Sime’s prose poem ‘Starting with Your Wave Goodbye’. Its arrangement on the page conjures a playful reading experience that shifts from passive to active, creating another layer to Sime’s evasive 2nd person. Physicality is also evoked in Kevin Gillam’s performance piece ‘listless’, which blends artistic mediums and has the reader swaying to the melody of a silent symphony. Similar participation is demanded in Condell Rustichelli’s ‘Interactive Poetry Series’, where reader becomes writer in a choose-your-own-adventure parody.

Wayne Marshall’s short story ‘The Telexican Brides’ is intelligent Sci-Fi literature that invigorates its subject and style. The crafting of an extraterrestrial romance-gone-wrong speaks to current events and the alienation owing to willingly – or forcibly, coercively – leaving one’s home. At the same time, the piece is imbued with operatic irony from the self-absorbed narrator. In a similar fashion, Natalie Harman’s short story ‘The Art of Reproduction’ employs character driven storytelling with a contemporary twist. Harman pushes the boundaries of neighbourly conduct, focusing on two suburban families – they seek more than a cup of sugar!

So, dear reader, are you ready to play?

Issue 5, Summer 2016

Nestled to the breast of the Baroque, Issue 5 conjures the Romantics with lush language, dense stories, muddied and emotive meanings. At times it’s a tempestuous read, lulling the reader with nostalgia and the sublime, whilst revelling in individualism and hedonistic excess.

Sarah Endacott’s short story ‘Sea Volcanoes’ is perhaps the most controversial piece we have published. It’s an apprehensive reading experience, where bare, frank language juxtaposes two ethically ambiguous stories. Whilst reading the piece we begged for a judgement call; a clear place to draw our moral line. But it never came. We were denied our binary reading and instead forced to question, discuss and argue over what exactly made us squirm, and why.

Unlike Endacott, the prose in Toby Sime’s ‘Dying Fall’ and in Olga Kotnowska’s ‘The Only Sure Thing’ is playful, visceral and sensory – yet the reader must still work for their meaning. Both are driven by place, nostalgia, inevitability and the threat of fate.

As a jocular antidote, metaphor is at play in Fiona Skepper’s short story ‘After Dinner Shots’, Peter Bakowski’s poem ‘Earning the Airfare’ and Bruce Shearer’s play ‘Esla and Fitz Go Partying’. These pieces frolic in self-parody and the delicious indulgence of allegory.

So, dear reader, Bon Appétit!

Issue 4, Winter 2016

Issue 4 questions ‘truth’ and experience through the aesthetics of ambiguity. As an ensemble, these pieces suggest that perception can never disengage from The Self; that we, ourselves, are the first muddied lens through which we see the world. As Friedrich Nietzsche wrote in Human, all too Human, “Convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies”.

Charlotte O’Neil toys with this concept in ‘Brother’, where the reader, through the eyes of a young boy, is forced to straddle bias and the character’s suggestions. Similarly, Lucas Smith’s ‘Your Eisenhower Dollar’ is a symbolic pilgrimage that explores privileged naivety, middle-class guilt and the blanket of contextually. This search for ‘truth’ is filtered through digital and cognitive spaces in Michelle Vlatkovic’s limerent analysis, ‘My Honeypot Dropox’, where the character’s frank sexual life is both squeamish witticism and philosophical discussion.

Gargouille seeks to publish alternative genres and this issue treats readers to Vivienne Glance’s surrealist play Freedom of Birds, where a rat, a crow and a young girl battle for the metaphoric blue egg. Additionally, Sofia Chapman’s diarist parody, ‘The Cave of Dr Cayla’, is a meta-scrapbook dedicated to the good things in life: love, wine, cheese and the South of France.

So, dear reader, if truth is finite and this is as good as it gets – salut!

Issue 3, Summer 2015

Much of Issue 3 examines voice and gender. What is literary femininity? How do men rewrite women? And can our self- perception ever truly break from how others perceive us? As Simone de Beauvoir wrote in the The Second Sex, “When an individual is kept in a situation of inferiority, the fact is that [s]he does become inferior.”

We begin with Felicity Anne’s ‘I’m a Feint, Distinct and Lethal Thing’, which reads like a whisper in the night, the Id’s hushed voice playing with words and reminding the reader of untamed feminine mystique. In contrast, Libbie Chellew’s piece ‘The Curettage’ is rawly written to match its content and explodes from the page with the burden of womanhood. Shannon Burns’ self-reflexive extract, ‘Kneading and Burrowing’, examines creativity and the edited woman.

Anxiety, loss and grief are intrinsically tied to identity and also feature heavily in Issue 3. Through metaphor, Fiona Robertson’s ‘The Ground Beneath’ mourns the loss of a marriage and the self. Robert Poposki’s ‘Rock Bottom’ is hilarious, anxiety laden and curses self-destruction. Comparatively, Anne M Carson’s ‘Sitting for the Archibald’ is a cathartic essay that addresses the relationship between artist/writer and viewer/reader. It also questions one’s identity as an artist when forced to forgo creativity for the care of an ailing loved one. Issue 3 thunders with writers screaming to be heard.

So, dear reader, reclaim your voice as we continue to wrangle with ours.

Issue 2, Winter 2015

Issue 2 of Gargouille came at us faster than a Japanese speed train. We barely had time to breathe in Issue 1’s new-book smell before we were once again rolling in hopeful submissions.

As with our last issue, we were determined to exhibit literature that transcends typically published genre and style. Two such stylistic pieces that we chose are Natalie Harman’s ‘The Transfiguration’ and Alison Coppe’s ‘On How to Begin’. Harman’s piece is a subversive prose poem that plays with symbols and typography to allegorise the tortured mind of a sexually frustrated ballet teacher. Coppe was a contributor in Issue 1 with her stream of consciousness piece ‘Letter Street’. Her current piece, whilst largely autonomous, derives from the same body of work, allowing return readers a deeper and more complex interpretation of her writing.

As we had hoped, we were also able to expand our Lost and Found Words genre with a Southern recipe that is an extension of Harold G I Foulds’ story ‘Brigham and the Barotrauma’. In regards to alternative genre, Issue 2 features three plays: Sarah Vincent’s ‘The Existential Crisis Hotline’, Deborah Sheldon’s ‘We Have What You Want’ and Michael Lill’s ‘Terra Nullius’. These works exemplify the undercurrent themes and tones of Issue 2 as an ensemble; that is, as a collection squirming with violence, perversion and social dissatisfaction. Enjoy your time in the dark.

This issue is dedicated to freedom of expression.

Issue 1, Spring 2014

Gargouille was conceived in a Melbourne laneway and spent two years expanding and contracting into shape. The French word ‘gargouille’ translates as ‘gargoyle’, and was originally used to describe the devilish rainwater spouts carved into medieval buildings. The term also stems from the Old French word for ‘throat’ and is related to ‘gargle’ and ‘gurgle’. We were drawn to ‘gargouille’ for its grotesque and visceral nature; we liked to play with it on our tongues and feel it pulsate at the back of our throats. For the journal, we have imposed an Anglo pronunciation, ‘gar-goo-ee’, which is a feature of our masthead and is intended to emphasise the word’s physicality.

Gargouille’s content embraces the aesthetic. Our motto is always artistry over ideology, and our prose and poetry are chosen for their affect, whether sensual, melancholy, absurd or playful. Gargouille also creates a space for non-traditionally-published genres – such as script, storyboard and aesthetic essay – to illustrate the literary merit of these works and to provide an alternate reading experience. Our genre, Lost & Found Words, further develops this idea by publishing words that have no artistic intent, yet have an undeniable poetic presence. We hope to expand this section as the journal grows. Gargouille, both in name and content, is an exercise into the subversive and corporeal nature of words and literature.

Welcome to the first issue. Enjoy.