EDITOR’S NOTE
8 Questions for The Lumiere Review
—Interviewer: The random questions generator
—Interviewee: Jessica Kim, Editor-in-Chief; The Lumiere Review, Literary Magazine
What’s the strangest way you’ve become friends with someone?
I shapeshift between Jessica and The Lumiere Review all the time. Right now, I don’t know who’s talking. Jessica is the shy kid who likes sitting alone at the library. Lumiere is the popular kid at school who’s desperate for attention. Polar opposites, but we met at a concert—Jessica’s first and last one, and Lumiere’s twenty-seventh one. We’re good friends now, maybe even first-loves. Jessica is loud with her words. Lumiere is quiet with her affection. We make the perfect and worst duo.
What’s the best way to get to know who someone really is?
Put a mirror in front of them and see their reaction. I’m all fascinated by mirrors (there’s an entire section dedicated to that, i.e. REFLECTION) but I can’t compare myself to Emma Chan who wrote “self portrait as mirror” or Sam Haviland who wrote “House of Mirrors.” Emma made me cry and Sam made me want my childhood back. I think they’ve added me to their reflections, or at least their list of publications.
If you knew you were going to die in a year, what would you change about how you live?
A year later, please pester me if I’m dead. I currently live a luminous life and there’s nothing to change about that.
What food is delicious but a pain to eat?
Rabbit candy. I’m not a fan of the edible sticky rice wrappers, but the chewy vanilla taffy inside is the capsule of my childhood. Rabbit candy is what my classmates would smuggle under their desks, what my brother begs me to buy whenever I’m at the grocery store, what I would binge on under high stress. All good things come with a side of pain, except Catherine Xie’s “Rabbit Candy God”. You’ll savor every moment of this sweet treat.
What small seemingly insignificant decision had a massive impact on your life?
This is a series of small decisions. First, touring Rita Mookerjee’s “On the Violence of Tanzanite” instead of staying home. Studded with gems, rage, and the inevitability of beauty and blood, this poem transports you to another world and transforms you into a different person. Also, traveling without a map, as advised by Fiona Mckay in “Journey Without a Map.” Wandering, searching for a destination—a memory. But in the end, returning to routine in Anna Leahy’s “Purgatory : Pandemic,” where each day in isolation becomes hazy, hopeful, then back to disappointing. Small decisions make the most impact, especially over the last two years of quarantine.
Before you make a call, do you rehearse what you are going to say?
Never. Probably because I never make phone calls. Hiding behind emails is my profession. But if I’m making a call for submissions, then yes, I do rehearse them. I already have our June call for submissions memorized and performance-ready. If you’re not going to answer the call…
What’s your favorite number?
I’m forced to think in numbers every time a new issue comes out, and I love it. Obviously, my current favorite number is 8. Eight is infinity, eight is the blood-orange poppy fields here in California, eight is a firework of sun-soaked camellias and quiet wisteria in bloom. Spring into issue 08 with open arms (arms: 팔: a homonym which can also mean 8 in Korean).
If someone narrated your life, who would you want to be the narrator?
You. You the contributor, you the submitter, you the editor, you the reader. I admire you a lot.