I love a short story collection that shows cohesion even though the stories are all distinctly separate, living in their own dark worlds. DeMeester's short tales have that kind of versatility, where they are interested in unpacking similar themes but never follow the same fanged rabbit down the same twisted hole twice.
Many of these stories, some just a page or two, some closer to twenty pages, center around the idea of transformation, of the liminal quality of the body and the different ways it might be consumed, broken, corrupted, or altered. Sometimes this is a triumphant change, sometimes it is unwanted.
That liminality, that disorienting threshold to transformation that DeMeester has mastered in these stories, often seemed a metaphor for how women's bodies and selves are not quite theirs to inhabit but rather the world's to use or enact violence upon. Here, women take control, becoming the ones who inhabit, who consume, who enact violence.
I loved the intense darkness of the stories and the startling (though strangely beautiful) descriptions of body horror were quite effective. The book is not overtly terrifying, but is unsettling and carries a certain dread that weighs you down as you read—very intense and wonderful.
I definitely recommend this unique collection. I can't wait to read her novel, Beneath!
Man, there just isn't anyone writing novellas anymore, is there?
Longer than a short story, but shorter than a novel, these interesting specimens seem to get short shrift (no pun intended), at least in the publishing world. Maybe people are writing them by the boatload, but they just aren't a salable format.
Well, I am here to say, the novella is not dead—at least not the way Ahlborn is writing them.
These pieces, both around 150 to 200 pages, pack a killer punch, immersing the reader fully in the world of the main characters without all the messy and entangling structural work that a novel entails. Get right down in the dirt and make some mud, I say. Story, character, chaos—let the fun begin.
And boy, does she.
THE PRETTY ONES
This is a period piece set in New York City, 1977, during the reign of the Son of Sam, a real-life notorious serial killer who went around shooting people, mostly brown-haired women—when they caught him, he said his neighbor's dog told him to do it, no joke, look it up. Anyway, in this story, before he was caught, Nell is a stuffy sort of girl, not very stylish, held back by her brother's strict beliefs about the way girls should look and act, but Nell desperately wants to fit in and make a friend. When she decides to make a change, that's when it all goes wrong.
Of the two, this was my favorite. Don't get me wrong—they are both great—but I am such a sucker for a good period piece. I loved all the little details that made this feel like it was true to NYC of the late 70s, especially for a murderino like me, who happens to know a lot about Son of Sam. A serial killer backdrop for a story is beyond perfect; you know I'm on board from the beginning.
Nell is great character, all her motivations are laid bare on the table for the reader. She holds nothing back; it's like reading her constant mind diary. I enjoyed reading her after the introduction where the author discussed her aspirations of becoming a psychologist that eventually turned into writing instead. I was reading all the characters through this profiling lens and it was interesting to get inside Nell's (and possibly the author's?) head a little bit.
I CALL UPON THEE
Maggie got out of her family's crazy house where so much seemed to go wrong, but now when tragedy strikes, she's forced to return home and confront the shadows of her past and possibly the ones in her closet.
I wasn't surprised to read in the author's note that this story had some autobiographical bits in it—or perhaps I was just self-projecting since there were pieces that so mirrored my own experience in my middle school years. Ah well, perhaps it's a story for another day.
In any case, on the surface, this story has a lot of familiar elements (I am being vague here, but I honestly don't want to ruin it for you; the author goes to a lot of trouble to set up this story and I'm not going to be the one to just kick out that careful scaffolding) but what is unsettling is how she takes the familiar and dumps it on its head, putting the reader in unfamiliar territory—the unheimlich, if you like to get Freudian.
All in all, it is a story that is more intricate than it first appears. It has multiple time periods at work, and a lot of the revelations come late in the game, all stacked up on one another. It is a cathartic kind of read, one that would do well if you have a dark and stormy night to cozy up in bed with. Just hope the lights don't go out.
I of course, can't wait to see what's next from Ahlborn. There are not that many women writing horror and doing it well like she is. I love that, it is not only amazing to read, but highly inspiring. I would especially be interested in a short story collection. I have long held the belief that a writer who is a master of short form truly understands how to write—once you have to strip away all the fluff and are only left with the bare bones and stringiest meat of the story, you see what chops a writer really has. If these novellas are any indication, I'd say she has quite a collection of stories to share. And we'd be happy to devour them, raw beating hearts and all.
It's that time of year again. . .
How did this happen? It is so crazy to me that another year has blown by, though this one was no walk through the park.
But we made it and I know one of the things that kept me sane were books. Books are like an escape—somewhere we can pretend that the rest of the crappy stuff in the world isn't going on, or see a different version of reality that is even scarier than the one we live in, or just laugh for a while, or go on an adventure, or a thousand different things. Books are truly magic that way. I read 145 books in 2017, which is probably an all-time high for me, but I think I really needed books this year, as a safe place to go when it seemed like the rest of the world might just fall apart.
In other areas of my life, I feel like I went a bit inert. I didn't write as much as I wanted to—I certainly wasn't as active on this blog as I could have been! But I am planning for next year, planning that goes beyond just flimsy resolutions. I want to get things done.
Beyond all that, I read some great books, some that really stuck with me. I hope you might take a look at my top ten and be inspired to give these books a try sometime in 2018. I'd love to hear your favorite books too, so I can add them to my list.
THE RESURRECTION OF JOAN ASHBY by Cherise Wolas
Though I usually have trouble choosing one solid favorite book of the year, that slot goes to this debut novel with no contest. At 544 pages, it will take a bit of commitment, but every page is truly a gift.
Exploring both Joan's sprawling life and her own writing is such a dynamic and emotional experience and makes this book unique, but I stayed for the beautiful story of exploration of self and discovery of identity—something we can all connect with.
My thanks to Flatiron, and especially Nancy, for providing my finished copy of this book.
HER BODY AND OTHER PARTIES by Carmen Maria Machado
This short story collection is a must—for women, for readers, for people who just lived through all the crap of 2017.
The stories here pulse with originality, crossing all the genre lines from sci-fi and fantasy to experimental to crime drama and beyond. She doesn't stop for a breath and barely lets the reader breathe either, pushing them into her characters—their space, their experiences, their bodies—in every story. Where she is most successful, she leaves the reader obscured in the fog; you have to let the stories sit with you and entangle with them emotionally, sometimes more than intellectually. Her writing reminded me of Angela Carter at times.
My thanks to Graywolf Press for providing my finished copy of this book.
LINCOLN IN THE BARDO by George Saunders
This one is probably not much of a surprise to see here, but I think Saunders is one of the finest writers of the modern age and it was great to see his first novel—a genre- and form-bending (if not breaking) masterpiece—get a lot of attention all year. I both read and then listened to the audio (in that order), which if you like the book I definitely recommend. The audio version has a full cast, sort of like a play, where each character has a different voice actor.
Besides just breaking novelistic conventions, the plot and characters of BARDO are brilliantly conceived and developed. It is a heartbreaking, heartwarming, and truly weird story in the way that only Saunders can invent.
My thanks to Random House for providing my finished copy of this book.
TORNADO WEATHER by Deborah E. Kennedy
This is the story of a young girl who goes missing, which doesn't seem like such an innovative storyline, but it really tells the story of all the people who live in her small town, following a group of them after her disappearance as the continue to go about their daily lives. Each of them have some sort of connection to her, whether it be strong or just tangential, but in the end the story is more about the people left behind—an innovative viewpoint for a mystery story. I can't recommend this one enough.
My thanks to Flatiron for providing my finished copy of this book.
THE FACT OF A BODY: A MURDER AND A MEMOIR by Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich
I am a true crime buff (murderinos unite) so this one was definitely on my radar early in the year. What I didn't expect was its beautiful and haunting mix of memoir and reporting elements. The writing is simply stunning, the type of writing that really stops you in your tracks and makes you remember why you love reading so much in the first place. And the story, though not some famous serial killer or the like, goes much deeper and really dug into my heart as I read it.
If you read The Red Parts by Maggie Nelson and loved that, this one is for you too.
My thanks to Flatiron for providing my ARC of this book.
HUNGER: A MEMOIR OF (MY) BODY by Roxane Gay
I don't read a lot of nonfiction, but I'm glad that two books can be represented on my list this year. I just read this one a few days ago, but there was no question that it would join the ranks of my top list. Gay has such a powerful voice and telling her story is obviously not something that she takes lightly. This book carries the weight of the actions enacted against her, how she has tried to deal with it, and also realizes that her story is not the only story out there. That is a lot.
MY ABSOLUTE DARLING by Gabriel Tallent
This is not an easy book to read. It has difficult moments that have been very divisive, but there is a such a beauty, strength, and reality in the main character of Turtle, one that felt very true to me. I loved the way the natural world and her movement through it was described so fully, but her interiority was kept close to the vest; it takes a long time for her to come into her own.
This book is probably not for everyone but I loved the writing and can't wait to see what Tallent comes up with next.
SHADOWBAHN by Steve Erickson
This book is doing something so different and interesting, it is difficult to ignore. With fiction becoming something that feels sadly mass-produced—one book does well and then six months later I see a bunch of books come out that all seem exactly the same as that one—it is a true pleasure to read something original, not only in narrative, but it structure and style as well.
The story here can't get any weirder, which in itself I love, but the writing is stunning and Erickson's innovative thinking puts him in my top list.
LITTLE FIRES EVERYWHERE by Celeste Ng
Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. How have I not read her debut yet? This layered book deals so acutely with the finer points of character, really showing how there is no black and white, no right or wrong, only shades of gray. Maybe this is a lesson that our whole country needs to learn right now. I loved all the characters, likable or not, and the way the stories come together is both heartbreaking and emotionally cleansing. She is a talent.
THE HEART'S INVISIBLE FURIES by John Boyne
Another huge one at 582 pages, I might consider this one required reading for the state of our nation today. It is not quiet about bigotry and hatred for all classes of people who have been othered, and Boyne has a real knack for showing both the absurdity and the terror of such situations and how it has a lasting impact. A beautiful and important novel.
My thanks to Crown/Hogarth for providing my ARC of this book.
There are definitely others I could recommend and there are others that I didn't get to that I have a suspicion would fight for a spot on this list. Well, there's always next year!
I am hoping to get plenty of reading done in 2018 of course, but I'm making a resolution to focus more on my current collection of books and reading some classics and other books rather than just frontlist titles. We will see how it goes—there's a whole world of books of course, and I'd like to get started right away!
There is an art to the short story. It is not as simple as most people would think. People are daunted and awed by the novel—that long, arduous journey of pages, which of course, is no cake walk itself.
But in those pages, there is room to grow and splinter off in any sort of direction the characters take you, feeling free to meander down any trail the plot draws you down.
A short story has to be tight, has a word limit, has to create all of those feelings and momentums and arcs within the character and the reader in a much tighter scope.
That takes skill. A writer that has a handle on how to craft a great short story really has something.
These stories burn brightly, with a fierce determination, by turns dark and by others comedic, and it all keeps turning like those merry-go-rounds we used to play on as kids until it’s one swirl of nausea-inducing color that makes more sense than the painful world outside.
Behr captures that sense of unrestrained wildness, that captive clarity, the moment of crazed hilarity breaking through the horror.
The stories here, sometimes intertwining, with a consistent tone and dark eye turned toward the world, are narrated by characters lost, broken, set to repeat, and caught up in the uncertain fears we all force on ourselves.
I’ve been ruminating on children in fiction a lot, what with the huge release of It in theaters (and I’ve seen it three times, so sue me, it’s great), and the kids on the page here are hard as nails. They have that bright, intuitive sense of the world that kids so easily grasp and are dealing with so much more than they should have to carry. Brilliantly rendered.
The stories do tend to drop off at their conclusions like that step you forgot in the dark, leaving a bewildered sense of incompleteness. Perhaps stylistic and purposeful, but when overused, one tends to not feel as deeply for the characters, sensing no real conclusion for them will be achieved.
I found the standout stories in the collection to be the ones that center on darkness in more permanent ways, but ways that were only glancing for the narrators, like “A Reasonable Person,” where a juror reflects on her own life and the grisly case she has been assigned to assess, and “Afterword,” where a character reminisces about a young boy she knew growing up who was brutally murdered and how it still affects her.
Stories like these have a deeper resonance, a darkness that sinks to the bones and sits there, chilling and spreading, a real feeling that there is true evil in the world. They show the sparks of a true talent developing in these pages and I’d be glad to see where they go in the author’s work in years to come.
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A month into the new year, I’m still looking back. Though I read over 100 books last year, I didn’t quite squeeze in everything I wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still satisfied with my numbers. A great year. When you consider that most of the population didn’t even crack the cover of one book. . . well, I know the people reading this are the exception to that sad statistic!
I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking back, as I’ve spent this January in a fierce re-read of the Harry Potter series with my boyfriend, who never had the joy of reading these magical books. How sweet, how beautiful to delve back into this world, like spending time with an old friend who you know so much about, but still has some surprises up their sleeve.
Harry Potter represents childhood and growing up for so many of us. Maybe those books were the first escape you ever learned, the first fiction you ever clung to outside of your own reality. I know the magic was strong for me.
It has definitely been a way to escape this month, into a place that is familiar, but where evil seems insurmountable and yet the light finds cracks, however small, to break through. That’s something then, when the real world outside seems only worse every day, in a way that I can’t really affect change.
Following Harry, Ron, Hermione, and all the others on their journey to their final battle has put me in mind about so many things. About my younger self and how I saw the story then: my anger and disbelief as some characters passed from its pages, my triumphant realization of figuring out things before the trio, my reveling in their magical moments, and the wistful loss when I’d shut the book and come back to myself, realizing that magic wasn’t real at all.
Books preserve things. Perhaps not so dissimilar to Riddle’s diary, books keep a record of the moments they encounter, the readers that inhabit them. While a piece of my younger self might be embedded in these books, being revealed to the light for the first time in many years, I’m preserving a new piece of myself and the current turmoil around me in the pages for the next time they awaken.
With all that in mind, I decided to do a short round-up of my top ten books of last year, though the time for top lists has been out of vogue for some weeks now. That doesn’t mean that these books are any less good than they were when everyone else was being more timely about top lists, nor that they shouldn’t be picked up and read this year.
It's also sort of a year in review for me and for this blog, as I started it at about the end of January last year.
Weirdly, I didn’t do reviews for some of these books and so plan to cover them more fully as their paperback dates approach. If I did review them, the link is there, so click away if they sound intriguing to you. I’ve also listed the dates they are due to come out in paperback, for your wallet, and perhaps so this list still seems relevant.
Of course, I still have a list of books from last year sitting in a tall stack beside my bed (it’s just sitting there, haunting me every day, threatening to crush me in my sleep) and a lot of them look like potential top books: Hagseed, Thus Bad Begins, Barkskins, The Mandibles. . . Ah, well. Another year, another stack! And next Tuesday, four more books coming out that I want to get. . .
This list is in no particular order, though it may, psychologically, be in some sort of order.
The Girls—Emma Cline
I knew this one was instantly in my top 10 the moment I began it. I read it first in March when the second (or third or fourth?) wave of advance copies were making rounds and then read it again in June when it came out. Gosh, this book really gets it. This coming-of-age story centers on a girl who wishes to become more, but finds she is stunted by society, the time period of the 1960s, her situation, and even the supposed friends she surrounds herself by. Well, how are you supposed to know when you are only 14 and experiencing life for the first time? But what happened then freezes Evie—she is more of an antihero than a portrait of perfect girlhood advancing into womanhood. Rippling sentences, superb characters, this is an excellent debut. (May 9, 2017)
Imagine Me Gone—Adam Haslett
I did not know when I was struck by this incredibly simple but ingenious cover that the book therein would be one of my favorites of the year. Yes, I admit it freely: I do sometimes buy books solely based on design alone. I’m definitely a sucker for a well-designed book—but I think publishers know that. (Three of the books on this list [though not this one] were by Mendelsund, and he’s no newb.) Haslett’s book is an intensely character involved miasma of truly thought-provoking writing. He’s dealing with heavy-hitting topics in a very internal way, depicting a mind under siege, a conflicted family, and people that effortlessly come off the pages. Not to be missed. (February 21, 2017)
An epic, sprawling, incredibly ambitious debut, this is one that will truly envelop you. For African American fiction, it was Whitehead’s Underground Railroad that got all the 2016 attention, and while that was excellent, Gyasi’s work definitely wins out in my book. The book is almost set more as interconnecting short shorts that follow one family as it branches out down the lines of slavery. Beginning with two sisters, who never even knew they were related, every other chapter tells of the next generation of one side or the other. One side tells a story of Africa, while the other side tells a story of American slavery and the two intermingle heartbreakingly, heartwarmingly, and with such exquisite storytelling, I can’t imagine what will come from Gyasi next, I can only tell you that I will read it immediately and love it. (May 2, 2017)
The Crow Girl—Erik Axl Sund
Crime fiction hitting my top list! Truly a surprise. Though I do like to muck around with crime fiction/suspense/thrillers/mystery books, generally I find them disappointing, over-plotted, too generic, and I solve them much too easily. This book, actually 3 books when it was originally published, is none of those things. Sprawling and epic, this book has an extremely realistic characters and a complex and uber-dark plot that I found way more interesting than even The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series that so captivated the world. Scandi-noir is on the rise again, but be warned, it does not hold back. This book may scar you. (June 27, 2017)
The Red Parts: Autobiography of a Trial—Maggie Nelson
I don’t read a whole lot of nonfiction (so sue me) but I try to branch out a bit here and there. This book is astonishing, incredible, and completely worth reading in every way. Nelson writes about the resolution of the murder of her aunt, Jane, and how she coped with finally finding out what really happened after growing up with a horrible mystery in her family. As a devotee of crime fiction, I was like GIVE IT HERE, but this book also has so much more to offer—an insistence on relating to why our society is so obsessed with crime and continues to be, in increasing numbers. A personal story filled with indelibly gorgeous writing, only the way Nelson could do it. Find it immediately. (April 5, 2016, paperback original)
Mongrels—Stephen Graham Jones
This guy. He somehow pumps out these literary lowbrow horror genius masterpieces and this one is no exception. A werewolf coming-of-age tale? Bet you didn’t see that coming. Werewolves have never been explained quite like this, but honestly, if they’ve made it this far in modern society, it seems like Jones has their number. One of the most original writers I have ever read, he never ceases to surprise in the most honest (and sometimes gory) ways. (January 24, 2017)
Before the Fall—Noah Hawley
A small private plane loads up, takes off, and less than 20 minutes later, crashes into the ocean, leaving only two survivors, a four-year-old boy, and a struggling artist who wasn’t really supposed to be there anyway. What this book encapsulates is the unraveling of what happened on that plane: was it an accident? A planned hit on a high-powered business man? Murder over love? What went on in the cabin of that plane and how it captivates a nation, pushing in on the private lives of the two survivors is the main thrust of the story, casting the artist in the light of hero and villain as the people around him try to create a sensational story. Does what happened even matter to the media? Or the world? Brilliantly written as well. I’d love to see a movie version of this. (June 6, 2017)
I didn’t read as much poetry this past year as I usually do, but this collection is standout for sure. Her use of the page and white space gives the reader time to really think about her use of the language, while the denser parts force the reader onward, reading through the difficulty even without grasping the meaning of every line and every word. It seems almost omniscient at times and at others, hopeful in a heartbreaking way. (No paperback date available)
The Fat Artist and Other Stories—Benjamin Hale
I love reading short story collections. I think they lay bare writers in a way that novels do not; there is no place to hide in the condensed space of a short story. While a lot of good collections came out this year, I’ve chosen this one for my top list. The stories within are consistently great and even challenging, showing a wide range of creativity, character work, and writing styles. Hale mixes humor and darkness and absurd situations. I particularly adored the title story, where a failing experimental artist makes himself the main exhibit. (May 30, 2017)
All Things Cease to Appear—Elizabeth Brundage
This book was a quiet wonder. Simply brilliant and sneakingly dark, set against a stark wintry, country landscape, it tells the story of a murder backwards. We already know who gets murdered from the first chapter but not the murderer’s identity, and then the story rewinds to the beginning. A beautiful, haunting story of more than one broken family with so many more repercussions than just whodunit, this one left me breathless. (February 7, 2017)
There is something about reading a short story that really gives you a feel for someone's ability as a writer.
I think it has to do with the space, or the lack thereof. In a novel, there's room to hide inadequacies, to write in a roundabout fashion if necessary. But in short fiction, space is paramount. Like living in New York City, I imagine, or one of those 240 square-foot Ikea apartments.
In the seven stories in this collection, Hale crafts seven very different little worlds, full of characters with their own backgrounds, longings, worries, and lives. He is able to put all of this together with the greatest ease, precise characterization, and compact usage of language. All in such a way that draws the reader into the story, wanting to learn more about these people.
And, in the way of truly great writers, Hale is able to tell you more about the character than you are aware you are learning—that whole show-don't-tell thing your teacher is always harping on about. Flawless. You won't even notice it's happening.
I was lucky enough to get to go to a reading of Hale's (he grew up in Boulder, CO, where I'm from—funnily enough, his mom taught my high school IB World History class!) and I'm so glad I went. He is as eloquent as his stories and I will have to pick up his novel, The Evolution of Bruno Littlemore.
Hale is one of those people who can offhandedly quote writers in a completely non-pedantic way. It's inspiring. I'd love to have taken class with him when I was in school! He is a great reader as well—which not all writers are. He read from the last story, "The Minus World," and completely captured the voice of the narrator, Peter.
The stories follow characters on the fringes. Peter, a recovering drug addict, is getting one last chance when his brother hooks him up with a strange new job hauling squid for MIT scientists at the crack of dawn. He's probably destined for failure. But you're rooting for him anyway.
Weirdly, all of these stories live in our world; even at their oddest moments Hale has us on the hook. One of those stranger-than-fiction things, I guess. He doesn't overuse or over-tell. There is just enough information to let the reader fill in the blanks of the world with their own experience.
The opening story, "Don't Worry Baby," is quiet but memorable: three fugitives are on a plane, one a mother with a small infant. She accidentally ingests LSD that the other two are enjoying and the baby gets high through her breast milk. Suffice to say he doesn't have an enjoyable trip, but that isn't even the crux of the story.
Where Hale really succeeds, for me at least, is in the finish. He has a knack for the surprise ending—for setting up every detail so perfectly and then pulling out that one Jenga stick that topples the whole tower. And he leaves you to pick up the pieces, to imagine what comes next. I really had to take some time after each story to think about what the endings meant, and they really stuck with me! His carefully wrought worlds mattered to me when they all came tumbling down for the characters.
The crowning jewel of the collection is definitely the title story. Tristan is a performance and experimental artist who delights in the grotesque and absurd. He pushes the envelope, too far, but the critics seem to love it. His newest piece of art is himself: eating whatever viewers bring him, eating constantly in a glass box, trying to become the fattest person in the world while he slowly kills himself. It brings to mind what people are willing to do for art and what art really means. How art consumes and us, how we consume it, how it sweeps around like fads: huge one moment and completely obscure the next.
A great collection with writing that rivals Adam Johnson's National Book Award winning collection from last year, Fortune Smiles. Definitely worth picking up if you love short stories. If you tend to turn up your nose, think again. They are the mark of a truly great writer and you don't want to pass this one up.
Get your copy of The Fat Artist: and Other Stories
Find out more about the author, Benjamin Hale
Find out more about the publisher, Simon & Schuster
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Mark Haddon (of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time fame) comes at us with this brilliantly diverse and surprisingly dark collection of stories ranging from mythological to contemporary and realistic to sci-fi to adventure and more.
I was honestly surprised by every story and found myself drawn into each one in a different way. The title story is the first one and reads like something plucked from Stephen King's head: a pier with hundreds of people on it collapses and descends into the water, dragging many to their deaths. It's hard to look away from the page, but at the same time, it's written with this over-arching perspective, like a doctor performing an autopsy with no emotional affect. Chilling and beautifully done.
An underlying thread throughout the stories were themes of loneliness and unhappiness and how people deal with that—people who live on the fringes of society like a morbidly obese man, a man who has nothing left in his life but his two dogs, and a dysfunctional family at Christmastime to name a few.
There were also elements of mythology woven throughout, sometimes more overtly, such as in "The Island," which was an Angela Carter-esque retelling of the Greek myth of the Minotaur. In other stories, it was more hidden, and in some it was just a smattering of the supernatural in an otherwise familiar world, like "Wodwo," the aforementioned Christmas family tale
There is so much to talk about here! So much to explore and so, so much to appreciate. There's a lot to be learned from a well-crafted short story and I think these tales easily flirt with the greats. The style of this collection reminded me a lot of Adam Johnson's National Book Award winning collection from last year, Fortune Smiles. Haddon is not one to over-tell a story. If anything, he underplays his hand until the last second, and then throws down that ace-high straight flush with a devastating flourish.
A few of the stories have such unexpected twists at the end that they really got me thinking—more like searching—the characters' minds, looking for what made them tick, where their decisions came from. They were such human characters and those shocking moments that left me puzzling and rethinking the entire story made me realize that the characters were more than was written on the page: they had internal lives and intentions and breath beyond their short dialogue.
Just because we get the chance to peek in through the window that the story provides doesn't mean that's the whole story, and that is what's so magical in the worlds that Haddon has created here.
It's short story month, so whether you are a writer, reader, or whatever, jump on this collection. I don't get people who say they don't like to read short stories—besides being so much fun, they are an amazing way to learn about writing! I think short stories are such a telling format; they highlight weaknesses like wine stains on a white carpet. It's easier to hide in a novel since there's so many pages, but in a short format, every word counts.
All the greats write short fiction, so there's got to be something to it. Interesting, diverse story collections like this one are worth picking up—trust me. Have I ever led you astray before?
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Find out more about the publisher: Doubleday Books (Knopf)
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It has been a crazy month, so I apologize about the lack of posting. Good excuses all around: a new job, an unexpected freelancing review opportunity that will be ongoing, planning a trip to NYC, and in more mysterious news, I've been working on some new and different things for the blog, so look for that upcoming right here!
Of course, I've been reading all along, and I've got some good books to review in the pipeline, so I hope you'll stay tuned.
Not to be outdone by The New York Times, who printed their review of Oyeyemi's collection in the Sunday paper today (I've yet to read it, but they said nothing but good things about her previous books), here's my thoughts on this lovely and strange first short story collection.
"Before assuming ownership of a key, you should look at it closely. Not only because you may need to identify it later but because to look at a key is to get an impression of the lock it was made for, and by extension, the entire establishment surrounding the lock" (298).
While this statement—from the last story in the collection, "Freddy Barrandov Checks... In?"—refers to an actual key for a hotel room, it really struck me as a line that summed up one of the major themes of the entire book. Keys string their way through all the stories, whether they are actual keys, like key cards to hotel rooms, or something more metaphorical. Sometimes the keys are almost incidental to the stories, just an everyday object that happens to be around, but they are always there, consistently reminding the reader of the the secrecy and history that they contain. Entire worlds can be revealed by a key, as shown in the first story, "Books and Roses," where two women uncover secrets about their past with the help of two keys—but as this story shows, a key is useless unless you know which door it unlocks.
Many of the stories blend fairytale elements—a puppet come to life with shades of Pinocchio, a Red Riding Hood cape and wolf, and one of the stories even begins with that age-old phrase: "Once upon a time..." Oyeyemi's previous novel, Boy, Snow, Bird was a fairytale fusion as well, and that's not the first time she's ventured into this territory. In this book, I was especially reminded of Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, which rewrites certain fairytales in a darker, more tactile, and definitely more sensual and bloody way, but I think that Oyeyemi has gone even further, stripping the fairytales down to only the barest of their recognizable parts. The stories in the collection as a whole seem separated by worlds—one discussing a vengeful tyrant drowning anyone who defies him in murky pits, while another has a sub-plot with an almost socio-political look at how social media might handle a famous singer beating up a hooker. Somehow, there's really no disconnect in that; the prose stays so even throughout.
What I thought was really interesting was how Oyeyemi really messed with the structure of these stories (buh-bye Freytag's pyramid,) pulling the climax to the last paragraph of the story, dumping a big reveal on the reader and then pushing you out of the story. Or, the climax would come early, so most of the story would end up being falling action. This was really a disruption of the perfect fairytale structure even though many of the stories held onto their fairytale-esque nature. And, I think the structuring is very deliberate. Oyeyemi holds all the keys, like a prison warden, and we are all under her control while we read. We get the information parceled out to us as needed, doors being unlocked only when she wants us to go through them.
It's obvious reading (and re-reading) these stories that this isn't the first time that Oyeyemi has thought about keys and their multitudes. I think that keys are hidden in all of her works, though this is the first time she has written about them so overtly. In White is for Witching, the moments narrated by the house especially are the key (pun intended) to uncovering the truth about the main characters. And then in Boy, Snow, Bird, she makes you use what you know about the fairytales of Snow White, the Pied Piper, and so on to fill in the gaps in your knowledge of the story. Keys are not always tangible, but that doesn't mean we are left grasping at straws.
Characters also flit between stories; one character might be on the peripheries of one story but then will be the main voice of the next. It is interesting to see their stories develop, especially since not all of the stories have an entirely rounded ending. I left the collection feeling a bit overwhelmed, but also very fulfilled and even intoxicated—Oyeyemi can do that to you.
Reading Oyeyemi at times can be a bit like swimming in rough water: if you struggle too much you're bound to panic and keep getting seawater in your lungs and risk drowning. Sometimes it's better to just relax and float along on the prose, just taking it all in. You won't regret the experience.
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Associate editor, amateur photdographer, bibliophile, and occasional sleuth.