When Anne Carson, who was awarded the 2026 Nobel Prize for Literature, was asked in a Penn Review interview about her 2015 poem “Each Day Unexpected Salvation (John Cage),” in which the word shade is used forty-four times, she responded that the repetitive gesture was not so much an intentional act of decreation as it was “probably more mechanical, a matter of turning the head and seeing different things with the same head.” Compose a short lyric essay that encapsulates a resonant feeling of this past year and takes a cue from Carson with the repetition of a single word throughout the piece to see different things in, or ways into, your main themes. How can you open interpretation to have meanings ranging from the literal, to the metaphorical, to the oblique or nonsensical? How does the repetition accumulate to present a kaleidoscopic portrait of your state of mind?

In the 2024 documentary Mistress Dispeller, director Elizabeth Lo uncovers a family drama involving a woman in China who enlists the help of a professional mistress dispeller to end her husband’s affair. The profession, which has become common in the last decade in urban centers in China, generally entails coaching, infiltration, and persuasion, the emphasis being on winning the trust of all parties. Lo’s film depicts each person in the love triangle—the wronged wife, the cheating husband, the other woman—as multifaceted, vulnerable, and sympathetic, unfurling a specific but also universal story intermixed with scenes relaying the realities of alienation and connection in contemporary society. Write a short story that imagines a scenario in which a mistress dispeller has been hired to disrupt an ongoing affair. What insights and expertise about relationships does the dispeller bring to the interactions with the characters involved?

Día de los Muertos or the Day of the Dead, a traditional holiday in Mexico with roots in Indigenous cultures that celebrates departed friends and family, is typically observed on the first two days of November. People gather around altars with decorative skulls, marigolds, and foods and drinks, sometimes also writing “calavera literaria,” a form of a light-hearted, satirical epitaph addressing someone who is still alive as if they were dead, which can be used as a way of critiquing a cultural or political figure. Write a series of short literary calaveras, just a handful of lines each, incorporating a simple rhyme scheme to imbue a sense of singsongy playfulness. Even if there are elements of mortality or sorrow in the mix, allow yourself to be silly with sound, diction, and imagery to bring in comic relief about the inevitability of death.

“I was born on the banks of the Rukarara, but I have no memory of it. My memories come from my mother and her inconsolable nostalgia.” In the first pages of Scholastique Mukasonga’s Murmurs From the Hills: Rwandan Tales, translated from the French by Mark Polizzotti and published by Archipelago Books in November, the author recounts a genre-defying collection of stories reminiscent of an oral history. Blending mythology and memoir, the stories recount the horrors of the Rwandan civil war and genocide along with other memories lived and passed down by family members. In this hybrid form of storytelling, Mukasonga creates a retelling of history—and therefore a retelling of the present and the future—with contributions from a complex range of voices with layered knowledge. Write a lyric essay that braids some of your early memories with stories passed down from your ancestors. Allow yourself the freedom to invent your own mythologies.