The Nine

At least 10 contributors have, um, contributed to this third issue of The Nine — does that make it false advertising? I’m still awaiting my response from the Better Business Bureau about this heated issue.

In the meantime, The Nine is decidedly not a fanzine about that failed NBC show about a bank robbery gone horribly wrong. This is actually more like, you know, short stories and poetry; paeans to the acting skills and boyish good looks of Scott Wolf are nowhere to be found. A varied slate of poetry, short stories and photography, however, is somewhere to be found: here.

One thing that caught my eye about this collection was the photographs of the nude female form. I distinctly made out a human breast. Being a big fan of the nude female form, I was pleased to find it in this zine. It’s a nice touch, whether you’re a devotee of artistically tasteful photography, or just a masturbation-addicted pervert like me. (Who are you to judge?)

Perhaps the most readable story here is called “But I’m a Creep,” a tale in which writer Sam Barr recounts a story, making much of the fact that it takes place in an “oppressive suburb” she calls Dysphoria. Unfortunately, this story could have stood a bit of editing (admittedly not a long-standing tradition in zinehood), as it has multiple instances where someone clearly repeated a bit of cut-‘n’-pasted text in the wrong spot. Cut-‘n’pasted could stand more editing wrong spot. More editing and more boobies.

In any case, this is a charming and earnest little collection of work from writers in and around the London, Ontario areola. I mean “area.” Dammit, one-track mind. (Mike Drach)

litzine, volume 1, issue 3, $1, theninezine@hotmail.com

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