There’s the main text, and then there’s the margin. The space where a reader argues, questions, and critiques. It’s where big ideas begin.
The Margin is similarly a place for marginalia—started to gather fragments, notes, and half-formed reflections as I begin studying humanities at Harvard. It’s part commentary, archive, and extended footnote: a space to think through history, culture, higher education, Christianity, politics, and the contradictions of a generation that feels both very discussed and barely written.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images
—T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
P.S. I couldn’t afford the “a” in the domain name, but the thought process was m-R-gin = margin. To clarify, the Substack is not called Mr. Gin. I am not a Mr. and I’ve never drunk gin. Mr. Gin doesn’t exist. Yet.
