Many of us are secret, or not-so-secret, cataloguers. We comb through our tangled lives, lifting out an image here, a talisman there. We burnish our collections, hoping they will fit into just the right compartments, well-turned shelves, and funny text messages.
In this year’s spring volume of The Penn Review, you will find an arrangement of the images your fellow cataloguers have bravely shared—the grin of Death, spilling stars, and lovers’ marks carved into trees. I thank the artists and writers for giving us these glimpses. I thank, as well, the editorial board, for turning up sleeves each week and culling this volume.
I hope you will enjoy these works. Perhaps they will resonate with your own catalogues.