Liquid Ink

The official website of Gint Aras, Finalist 2016 CWA Book Award


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My new book, available Autumn 2019

Some people have been wondering why Liquid Ink has been so silent. Instead of writing here, I’ve spent the last year working on a variety of projects, including a manuscript currently under contract with Homebound Publications.

It’s titled Relief by Execution: A Visit to Mauthausen.  As you might imagine, the book is about a trip I took to Mauthausen and what sort of consciousness I discovered there. It’s also an intimate look at fixed ideas I inherited while growing up in a xenophobic and bigoted environment. Those ideas influenced my perceptions, but they finally shattered completely during my visit to a concentration camp.

Expect more news as the publication date approaches, and follow me here on Liquid Ink for updates.  You can also follow my author page on Facebook and hear my banter on Twitter.

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The Chicago Cubs and World Wars (or why the Cubs must win)

Like many Chicagoans—I might be able to say most—I feel both excitement and trepidation at the prospect of a Cubs World Series appearance. The reasons for excitement are obvious. My trepidation, however, is complex and affects more than just sports.

I need to note that, while I’m a passive baseball fan, I was raised by White Sox fans and miss old Comiskey Park more than I love Wrigley. This does not mean I loathe Wrigley  or anything similarly asinine. I celebrated the White Sox 2005 victory having long before shed the usual sense of unfortunate tribalism that accompanies Chicago baseball. Still, that tribalism is a special-enough force, so I should disclose my roots. If the two Chicago teams met in the World Series, I’d probably wear a Fisk jersey while watching the games. That won’t happen this year, so Go Cubs!

The consequences of a Cubs World Series title would be monumental. For many, it would be akin to a religious experience, the revelation of truths, or transubstantiation to a Billy Goat. Some Chicago legends might rise from the dead. Of course, being only one out or, Lord forbid, one strike away from Nirvana also sets one up for monumental heartbreak, and if any team has the karma to cub-it-up, it’s the Chicago Cubs. Perhaps instead of a Bartman we’ll see Game Six affected by a douchebag streaker running out to interfere with a routine fly ball, ruining everything.

But that sort of trepidation is minor compared to this unscientific but curious historical observation I’d like to offer: The Cubs do seem to have a knack for correlating their World Series appearances with World Wars, the rise of demagogues and one Great Depression. The 1918 World Series, mind you, saw its last game played on September 11th. The next day, the Americans attacked, acting alone during WWI for the first time, fighting on the brutal Western Front.

In 1929, the Cubs’ World Series loss occurred only 15 days before Black Tuesday. Of course, the Cubs appearances in the 30’s correlate with a variety of noteworthy dates leading up to the rise of Germany and culminating with the 1938 occupation of the Sudetenland.  The 1945 appearance occurred with the war already having ended, but who’s splitting hairs?

Now the world finds itself in a precarious position that does not need an intro. And the Cubs have a double digit lead in their Division as the magic number continues to decline. I shudder.

It must be said that the aforementioned calamities all correlate with Cubs’ World Series losses. So, this October, dear world, please note that we should *all* be Chicagoans. If the Cubs win the National League, by all that is good and just in the universe, may they play to four more victories. We root against them at our own peril.


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Five months from book launch

I’m unable to take it for granted. Each time I tell people, “I have a novel coming out in December,” I get a little buzzed up.

I reread the book one more time over the last two weeks of July, cutting a phrase here and adding a word there. When I completed it, I went out to water the garden. Dazed, I was transported back to my small room in New York City, right on the corner of Broadway and 113th, where I originally penned the first sentences of a short story—Yuri’s Window—that would eventually become The Fugue. The novel, all 120,000 words, set (mostly) in Cicero, Illinois and handling a cast of over a dozen characters, started out as a short story about a sculptor living in Amsterdam who made his own window frames and stained glass out of shattered beer bottles and pieces of fences. The first words were put to paper in late 2000.

The short story became a novel on the advice of several classmates at Columbia. Really, it was at the insistence of my teacher, David Plante, whose feedback saw me change the setting, that I started realizing I really did have a novel. Fifteen years later, that novel is going to be published.

I’ll be telling the story of how I wrote the book and what sort of ideas I played with, how long it took me to develop them. The story of how The Fugue was written is almost as interesting as the story the book tells: a sculptor is sentenced to prison for murdering his parents, and upon release returns to his hometown to convalesce and sift through memories, shattered narratives and the ongoing psychological effects of a World War. Over the span of the novel, the plot moves from a nondescript field in Western Ukraine, through the landscape of Chicagoland, eventually to extinguish itself at the back window of a bungalow, only seconds before the home’s conflagration.

There will be time to explore all that stuff.

In this post, I want to cut a question off at the pass. I know someone will ask: Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

Yes. Don’t ever give up.

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Trauma, victims, perpetrators and the ultimate truth

I took the liberty of translating this from the jacket of a book I’m really excited to start reading. There’s no English translation, sorry, but there really should be one.

The perpetrator and the victim learn the real truth, but the witness, the observer gains only an impression. The quality of that impression—is it stronger or weaker—to tell the truth, there’s no difference. One way or another, the impression will die out, become a distant, faint memory, but the victim and the perpetrator will never forget the truth. –Sigitas Parulskis, Tamsa ir Partneriai (Darkness and Partners)

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