PUBLISHER: RADIX MEDIA

Radix Media is Lantz Arroyo, Nicholas Hurd, Sarah Lopez, and Meher Manda. Committed to the values of being worker-owned, union strong, and eco-friendly, the publisher is also a commercial print shop, a possible sustainable model for the future of independent publishing. 

In an interview with Entropy, the history of Radix was discussed, from its origins as print and design shops to the recent expansion into publishing with a mission “to publish new ideas and fresh perspectives, prioritizing the voices of typically marginalized communities to get to the root of the human experience.” Combined with your name, Radix, coming from the Latin word meaning root or to get to the root, how is literature particularly capable of getting “to the root” of things? And how do your printing services inform the publishing program?

Sarah Lopez [SL]: Literature has the ability to connect with people on a visceral level. History and theory get to the root by laying out concrete facts and dissecting the structures that make up systems of oppression. But literature has the power to make a direct, personal impact in a way that places the reader at the center of an experience, making it easier to relate to the subject matter and experiences outside of their own.

Lantz Arroyo [LA]: I would add that literature can have a particular advantage over theory or nonfiction books. People don’t always like being preached to, or being hit over the head with hard data. Literature can be a way to engage with complex ideas in a way that allows the reader to use their imagination.

The relationship between our printing and publishing is also a way for us to get to the root. By owning the means of production, we’re paying tribute to the publishers of old, who were printers themselves. This creates a more streamlined environment for the various stages that every project goes through. Because we operate a commercial print shop, we also have a wealth of knowledge about paper types and printing processes. So we’re able to manage costs more effectively and make choices based on what will work best for the project, making the final books both beautiful and economical.

Since starting literary publishing in 2018, how have your publications, from Aftermath: Explorations of Loss & Grief and Futures: A Science Fiction Series to We Are All Things, refined or focused the editorial vision of Radix?

SL: We’re all learning about each other’s tastes, which luckily are all similar. We’re also learning more about the publishing landscape, and the kinds of stories that need to be uplifted. Similar to any other decisions we make in life, each title that we publish informs the next.

A direct example of this is Futures. We published a couple of sci-fi stories in Aftermath, and that led to us conceptualizing the Futures series. We realized that we all love science fiction, and that the genre really lends itself to our politics.

Another thing that’s worth noting is that we make all of our decisions as a collective. So our editorial vision will also change and expand as we bring on more people. The one thing that will always be consistent is our dedication to uplifting voices from marginalized communities.

Meher Manda [MM]: Because we’re mindful of movements and grassroots politics, our editorial moodboard is also very much influenced by the current zeitgeist. So in addition to developing and soliciting projects, we also keenly follow artists and newsmakers who share our anti-establishment values and have work to back it up. As Sarah mentioned, Futures not only appealed to us with its genre and politics, but it also touches upon a crisis that is prevalent in our lives: climate change. Similarly, the projects we have planned for the next few years embark on exploring themes such as the failure of capitalism, nihilism, and transnational literature, by writers who have been making their voices heard from the margins. When we consider a new project, we want it to, first and foremost, appeal to us as readers, and then also have something essential to say about the state of us.

In an interview, the scholar Dr. Eleanor Janega defined literature as the preoccupations and “the imagination of society and how people are thinking writ large.” This calls to mind an exchange with Danielle Dutton in HAUS RED Volume 2:

In The Western Canon, Harold Bloom writes: “Our legions who have deserted represent a strand in our traditions that has always been in flight from the aesthetic: Platonic moralism and Aristotelian social science. The attack on poetry either exiles it for being destructive of social well-being or allows it sufferance if it will assume the work of social catharsis under the banners of the new multiculturalism.” Have you found Dorothy walking this line between destructiveness, social catharsis, and aesthetic exuberance?

Danielle Dutton: Always we are working to find and champion books that we ourselves find cathartic, books that seem to provoke fiction or language or the world in necessary ways. Exuberance is our jam. Are we destructive? Creative destruction? If so, I suspect it’s only in as much as we represent an alternative model (i.e., slow! sustainable! feminist! innovative!) to the norm.

To this end, I see the Black Lives Matter movement and the protests sparked by the murder of George Floyd as a form of creative destruction or deconstruction. But if you trace how these social movements are interpreted or are adopted by corporations and institutions, they often appear like performative gestures or tokenism, cosmetic changes to obscure the foundational rot or systemic disconnect. All of which to say, what are the values that Radix prioritizes in its publishing? Are any in conflict with each other? How conscious of a conversation is the team having in developing its editorial vision long term or is it developed from project to project?

SL: That’s the power of capitalism and neoliberalism! They have this slimy way of co-opting the language and hard work of social movements to maintain the status quo. Beyond the titles that we publish and authors and artists that we work with, we’re also living our values through our structure as a worker-cooperative. What that means is that we’re all equal owners or on the path to becoming owners, and every member is informed on the finances and decisions being made in the company. I’d say that the biggest conflict we have is that we’re anti-capitalists, but have to sell books and constantly market our printing services in order to feed and house ourselves. 

MM: To add to that, as a small, diverse collective ourselves, we make sure to realize projects that actually support emerging writers from the margins through collaboration. That commitment led us to conceptualize the Own Voices Chapbook Prize, the name of which was taken from Corinne Duyvis’ movement to observe, celebrate, and insist on greater diverse representation in publishing. For the first iteration of the prize, we opened submissions to poets of color working on chapbook-length poetry books that inform, challenge, and experiment with poetic forms. Unlike other book contests, we kept the submission fee to a minimum and made a fee-free option available to any writer who requested it, so as to achieve better inclusivity. As a collective, we also ensured that the prize is a respectable compensation for the chosen winners. Though the prize was announced before the Black Lives Matter movement was re-energized this year, the steady stream of political poetry we received from writers was a clear sign of the role literature can play in political reckoning. We hope to bring back this prize every year, with subsequent iterations opening up for submissions in nonfiction, graphic narrative, and other forms from writers of color.

On the Harriet blog for the Poetry Foundation, Matvei Yankelevich (co-founder of Ugly Duckling Presse) has a four-part essay on the history of small and independent presses. In “’Power to the people’s mimeo machines!’ or the Politicization of Small Press Aesthetics”, he highlights the establishment of:

Tin House, founded in 1999 as the “singular lovechild of an eclectic literary journal and a beautiful glossy magazine” committed to “stake out new territory” by showcasing “not only established, prize-winning authors” but also “work by undiscovered writers,” indicated a valuation of idiosyncrasy and irreverence, yet gave no indication of a particular community or aesthetic to the content it would publish.

Elsewhere I have discussed the dangers and misdirection of seeing “freedom” as being without ties or connections to others, when in reality so much freedom (or power) is derived from how well-connected or well-established individuals and organizations are; now, to go back to your name and the core of Radix operations (worker-owned, union strong, and eco-friendly), what communities does Radix consider itself a part or who do you all feel accountable to?

LA: Radix Media began as a movement print shop and we remain such to this day. In our earliest days—prior to any printing—we were designing flyers for activist groups, benefit posters to raise money for jail support, etc. Although our business and mission has changed over the years, we remain committed to those values. With the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement, we joined forces with the World Print Coalition to offer free printing to activists doing that work, to help them amplify their message at no cost. Beyond that, we still try to look at projects on a case-by-case basis and see if we’re able to offer discounted or pro bono printing. It’s the least we can do to stay involved in activism.

In terms of accountability, first and foremost we are accountable to each other. That’s critical in a worker-owned cooperative. There’s no one at the top barking down orders, without regard for how other people feel about the decisions being made. We own this business together, we make decisions together, and if we have a bad month, we face the music together. That requires clear communication, trust, and accountability. Of course, we are also accountable to our neighbors, and our activist communities. If we ever betrayed our values, we’d be betraying them, too.

In a New York Times op-ed, Sarah McNally, owner of McNally Jackson bookstores and Goods for the Study, described the biggest threat to the life of her bookstores and to small businesses more generally: not COVID-19 or Amazon but artificially high rents in New York City. As a print-shop-meets-publisher, what do you see as the biggest challenges to the work of Radix? Built around the production side of publishing, what systemic failures and shortcomings is Radix in conversation with? And which ones do you all feel uniquely capable of addressing, given your intimate knowledge of and expertise in the production process?

LA: I’d say the biggest challenge for us is the overhead needed to sustain our operation. Many small publishers can work in home offices or co-working spaces, but we are constantly assessing our space and electrical needs. Having a big-ish space means that we keep all of our inventory onsite, which is great for us and cuts down on costs. But as we publish more titles, we will eventually need more space, and that’s difficult to come by in New York City.

We’ve also seen during the pandemic how few resources small businesses have access to. Many of them across various industries have either already closed or are in danger of closing, which really shows how fragile the economic landscape is. I think because we are a relatively lean organization, our worker-owned structure gives us the freedom and flexibility to make better decisions about our future. But that doesn’t mean we’re immune to outside forces, either. It will be important for us to always maintain a big enough space for our equipment and inventory.