A MOTHER’S TALE by James Agee

Last night I had a bunch of writers that I trust over to help workshop the stories in my thesis. It went really well. One of the highlights of the evening was the critique of my story, “Running of the Cows.” Aaron Christopher, of Urban Samurai, who grew up on a farm in Kansas reminded me of the simplistic nature and value of cattle – and well, that no matter how powerful and large a heard is, they will most likely not be able, or willing, to charge and break through a ten-foot brick wall.

Our talk about cows got me thinking about one of my favorite cow stories, “A Mother’s Tale” by James Agee. This is one of the best allegorical short stories in print. The story is from the point of view of a mother cow. The reason that I say it is one of the best is that you can truly read this story in two ways and get two meaning from it if you are willing to dig a little.

One way to read this story is to simply enjoy the story of a mother cow that worries about the fate of her children. There are many myths floating around the pasture about what happens to those who get onto the train. Some say that the train takes you on to greener pastures where the honeysuckle is plentiful and always in bloom.

However, there is another version of what happens when the train stops. One of the cows made a gruesome escape to tell his tale. This is the story that the mother is telling her children hoping to raise change their minds about getting on the train when it makes it stop at their field. It is a heroic tale worthy of Homer and The Odyssey.

The other way to read this story is dig deeper for meaning. The first simple meaning could be that this story is really an argument for animal rights and vegetarianism. You can sure make that argument. However, the cow that comes back could be seen as Christ. He has wounds in his hooves. He came back from where no cow has come back from before. However, in stead of a proclaiming the glory of some God and all those wonders that await those who take the train ride, he tells a tale of a killing floor. So this story is elevated out of simple allegory, cows are humans, this special cow that returns is Christ, and that the train is the rapture.

The end is also wonderful. It brings us back to realty. The mother’s kids enjoyed the story, but they ask, “What’s a train.” This signifies to the reader on one level that yes, these are cows. One the other, it should make the reader think more critically about the stories that we read and hear. Who do you believe? What do you believe? Do you believe what the masses tell you, paradise is waiting? Or do you believe the person who has second hand knowledge of a supposed factual event from a survivor?

Agee, James. “A Mother’s Tale.” James Agee: Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, A Death in the Family, Shorter Fiction. New York: Library of America, 2005.

EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT MY FAMILY ON MY MOTHER’S SIDE by Nathan Englander

Again, Esquire is able to acquire and publish some of the best fiction around. In the July issue, on stands now or soon, I just got my copy in the mail a few days ago, you will find a new story by Nathan Englander titled “Everything I Know About My Family on My Mother’s Side.” Wow, that title is a mouth full but it aptly describes the story.

“Everything I Know About My Family on My Mother’s Side,” is a story full of longing as the narrator searches for information about his mother’s side of the family. He interviews his mother and a few other relatives that do not easily give up their secrets. When they do give them up they are shocking and wonderful. They help give the narrator insight and new context for his life.

When I lived in suburbs of Chicago, IL, the first or second question, mostly the first, that you were supposed to ask of a stranger was, “Who are your people,” or some variation there of like that was the most important thing about you. This question always frustrated me. I’m and American, a full-breed mutt, which was the easiest answer that I could give. Then they would always press me for the long answer: Irish, Scottish, German, Cherokee, and the list goes on, but mostly Irish, Scottish, and German. I look mostly Irish, Scottish, and German.

I know quite a bit about my mother’s side of the family, the German, the Scottish, and the Irish. I know very little about my Native American heritage, my father’s side. I know some of his brothers and sisters and half-brothers and half-sisters, but they were all orphaned by their father John Wilson, of the Cherokee Nation. Stories like this one make me think about John. Who was he? I don’t know if I will ever know. There is not much known about him.

Anyway, beyond the obvious, Englander’s story is written in a fun experimental style. It is broken into 63 linear scenes that take the reader through jumps and turns as new information is discovered.

It is a fun read, I suggest that you find a copy!

Englander, Nathan. “Everything I Know About My Family on My Mother’s Side.” Esquire. July 2008, vol 150, no 1. p. 106 – 113

SUCKER by Neil Asher

If you have five minutes, you have time to enjoy Sucker, the short story that Neil Asher posted on his blog The Skinner on April 28, 2008, as gift to his loyal fans.

You’re wasting your time reading my little review when you could be reading his story. However, you must like what I have to say. So…

Sucker is the story of guy, a fat guy that does not like to be called fat, especially by his wife. We enter into their marriage on the day when he has decided that he has had enough. He puts a mashed potato filled fork into her eye. He then retrieves his favorite knife and begins to prepare her for the meat locker. I guess the saying would go: if you can’t live with her, eat her.

Then the door rings. Nice! Enter the Tyson Vacuum salesman. He had an appointment to meet with the wife and demonstrate the awesome power of its suction. He will not take no for an answer, he must demonstrate. He had an appointment after all.

I’m not going to ruin the rest. You will have to read it for you self. You can read it by clicking here: Sucker.

What I like about Asher’s short fiction is that he has the amazing ability to stay completely immersed in the scene, the moment, and show the action with very little summary or none at all. I have something to learn from that.

Enjoy!

Asher, Neil. Sucker. The Skinner

NIGHTSTAND by Daniel Woodrell

Thank you Esquire for continuing to include the occasional short fiction story in your magazine. Someday, I hope, my work will find its way into your pages.

Woodrell’s story is one that I hope does not come true; however, it seems all too possible for two psychologically damaged veterans to meet in this way. One has tried to put the Vietnam War behind him for good while the other is still struggling with his experiences in Iraq.

I have not been to war. I’ve not been a part of the military. I feel very lucky that others have heard the call. My father told me never to enlist. He wanted something different for his son. He did not want me to be flown over seas and have to experience the American War Machine. He felt that his time in Vietnam was enough for his family so that his children would not have to serve. Thank you Dad.

Pelham is a Vietnam veteran. He and his second wife, who does not remember the war expect as something that was on TV, were sleeping when a naked man woke them up with his growling. Pelham snaps and quickly dispatches the intruder as his wife runs into the next room. This is how the story opens. It immediately catches your attention and propels you through to the end.

Every thing that comes next in the story is painfully rendered in beautiful language: the discovery of who the intruder’s identity, the funeral, the articles in the local papers, the opinions of the neighbors, the reconciliation of two high school friends, and the return of Pelham’s Vietnam mania.

The story does not attempt to provide answers or alternatives to help those who have been to war. It only seeks to help provide insight into the minds of those who have returned less then whole.

The June 2008 issue of Esquire should still be on the stands. I suggest running out to get a copy before it is gone. You don’t want to miss this story.

Woodrell, Daniel. “Nightstand” Esquire. June 2008, vol 149, no 6. p. 145 – 149

DRIVE by Cristina Henríquez

My wife and I have talked about kids. We think that at some point in the near-distant future, when we aren’t as selfish with our time, we will have one child. We think that we can handle one, two not so much. However, right now, we are both to crazy and screwed up. We, or at least I, can’t see myself as a father that could put up with the neediness of an infant.

The main character in this story is in a Juno like situation, but chooses a different path. She loves her boyfriend. She lives at home and works a fulltime job selling appliances at the local store. She supports herself and her mother.

Her boyfriend does not work a traditional job. He is a drug dealer. So, naturally her mother does not like him. However, they love each other and he would do anything in the world for her. Aside from his job, they seem to have a good relationship.

Add to the mix a pregnancy. A pregnancy that the mother, one night leap from her spot in front of the television and asks, “What has happened to you?” The daughter does not know that she is pregnant until her mother’s uncanny ability to ‘know things’ predicts it.

She does not want the baby. She is not ready. She and her boyfriend have talked about it and they agree no kids. The mother is upset. The mother will not talk. It is as if she does not exist to her mother anymore.

The scary segment of this story is not an unwanted pregnancy (however, that is a very powerful life changing experience), but how she terminates. Instead of seeing a doctor, she fasts, a diet of crackers and water. Then, one sad night, her unaware boyfriend has unloaded a big stash and has a hard roll of money to spend takes her out on the town. She drinks hard liquor on an empty stomach all night. Between the lack of food and the hard liquor, she miscarries in the club’s bathroom.

Wow, what a story, what women have to do. I’m not sure that this story is trying to make an argument about anything. I will not speak for the author. I will just say as a reader that it really makes me sad to read about women who have to go to extremes in order to remain in control of their own bodies. The taboo that still surrounds abortion is unfortunate. Women need to have the right to take control of their bodies. Birth control and birth control education is the first line of defense. However, if the unexpected happens, there should still be a choice.

An important story, I think. You should check it out.

Henríquez, Cristina. “Drive.” Come Together, Fall Apart. New York: Riverhead Books, 2006. p 57 - 82

THE BOY IN ZAQUITOS by Bruce McAllister

I’m slowing down, which is due to reading The Ruins by Scott Smith in anticipation of the movie, The Ruins in theaters April 8th.

Anyway, my loving wife bought The Best American Short Stories 2007 for me last month for my birthday. I was hoping that because the collection was edited by the master of horror himself, Stephen King, that he would have the courage and the pull to select from outside the mainstream. The one story that does not come from the big fiction guns is McAllister’s, which was originally published in Fantasy and Science Fiction. So, I guess that I should count my lucky stars and believe that one out of twenty isn’t bad.

McAllister’s story is a timely one. The main character is an American patriot. He is the son of a retired military leader. He wants nothing more in the world than to serve his country in one of the big civilian intelligence agencies. However, his grades are not the best. He is not outstanding in anyway. While in college, he makes an important connection with one of his professors and is soon granted an interview.

The agency eventually finds a place for him. He is one of the rarest individuals on the planet. He is a carrier. He can contract the plague and spread it without himself getting sick, a Typhoid Mary. The United States then begins to use him to spread the plague and destabilize foreign governments. He is, however it is never said, an American terrorist.

What is brilliant about his story is the way in which it is told. It is a first person account of the adventures of a plague carrier told to a classroom of students. Through his account to the students, the reader comes to understand how he got himself into the plague carrier line of work and how he eventually is released from service.

In today’s political climate, I feel that this story is all too real. It rings of a corrupt government that is willing to sacrifice hundreds of thousands of lives to ensure that the political experiment can continue.

This is an excellent story that is well worth your time.

McAllister, Bruce. The Boy in Zaquitos. The Best American Short Stories 2007 (The Best American Series) Ed. Stephen King. Series Ed. Heidi Pitlor. New York: Houghton Mifflin Co, 2007. p. 248 – 267.

SINKING HOUSE by T. C. Boyle

This is a rare story because it is told though two competing close 3rd person narrators, Meg and Muriel. This narrative device is sometimes called Duel Omniscience.

Duel Omniscience is an underused point of view. The requirements are simple enough, but difficult to execute well, two narrators must be given equal time and play off one another in a way that complicates a moment in time.

In the “Sinking House,” Meg and Muriel are at opposite ends of their respective lives. One is young and has a young husband. She has everything to look forward to; however there is trouble brewing. The other is much older and on the last leg of her life. Her husband is gone. She lives in her memories. This is the parallel we are to see between them.

However, the present action is much different. Meg has muddy shoes because Muriel is over watering her yard and the water is under the fence. When Meg meets Muriel, Meg notices that Muriel’s carpet is wet and so are Muriel’s slippers. Meg can also hear water running in the house.

The water in the house is Muriel’s grief over her own life and the life of her husband. The only thing that makes her happy is the running water. It is as if the entire house is grieving with her.

If you are looking for a sad and wacky story that demonstrates an excellent use of the Duel perspective, this is the one for you.

Enjoy. I did.

Boyle, T. C. “Sinking House.” T.C. Boyle Stories. New York: Penguin, 1999. p. 292

THE NIGHT WATCHMAN’S OCCURRENCE BOOK by V. S. Naipaul

This is an odd story that is told through an artifact, the log kept by the night watchman and his managers. At first the text feels like a dead thing, all the action has happened in the past, the momentum stalled through the limitations of this point of view. However, the dialogue and that takes shape after the first few entries is as lively as any present tense action scene.

Besides the underlining racism and classism, there is also an employee vs. employer motif that I really like, all of three which are tangled up a like a bowl of spaghetti. You can remove one noodle without impacting the rest of the dish. The new night watchman has received no training. He is just told to log everything that happens after the bar is closed.

The struggle that unfolds between the night watchman and the manager is becomes a heated one. The night watchman wants to please the manager, but the manager is inept and inconsistent in his requests. The night watchman can do nothing but fail.

The brilliance of this story is that it asks you to take sides as any story does where a conflict is introduced. However, the reader of this story does not know where to stand. At times the reader must stand with the racist employer; the night watchman’s failings are too grand to be over looked. And at times the reader will no doubt stand with the nigh watchman; the manager’s incompetence to show true leadership cannot be forgiven.

The end of the story is not really an end. The manager is replaced with a new one. This new manger has new expectations. And, for this middle-manger, I can see that the cycle will now start over. I think that if there is a message in this story, the message is that clear communication between employer and employee is paramount for anything to be accomplished. And if there is too be clear communication, people must work with each other, understand each other despite their differences.

This is a must for anyone that has to communicate with either a manager or an employee.

Naipaul, V. S., “The Night Watchman's Occurrence Book.” The Night Watchman's Occurrence Book: And Other Comic Inventions. New York: Vintage, 2002

THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH by Edgar Allan Poe

With all the new stories being written and published everyday, I sometimes for get the power of Poe. Poe, for me, is the foundation of American Macabre. He paved the way for literary hero H.P. Lovecraft and many others.

His story The Masque of the Red Death (which you can read online) is one of his finest works that, in my opinion, inspired Robert W. Chambers to create the stories of the King in Yellow who Mythos fans know as Hastur originally credited by Ambrose Bierce.

The Masque of the Red Death is in my mind a great political story. It is the story of Prince Prospero’s decadence and naïveté that the concerns of the people are not the concerns of the state (a lesson that political leaders seem to have to learn over and over again ignoring history).

Prince Prospero thought that he could pack up a thousand of his closet friends, courtiers, and entertainers, taken them into seclusion, and wait out the “Red Death,” which had killed over half of the population of his kingdom. You know ho the story goes, Prince Prospero is wrong and pays for it with his life.

The lesson in this dark tale is that walling your self off and hiding from the concerns of the world will not work. Action could have been taken. Prince Prospero could have done what was right, fought the good fight, and help his people. Problems just don’t go away by ignoring them; in fact, those ignored problems tend to sprawl out of control when left unchecked.

As a writer, I want so badly to be able to say things like this in my fiction without saying them. It is a skill that I am still working on. Poe does not come out and say, “You will be sorry,” instead he shows it though drama.

Wow, I’m just too heavy handed. I want to know that when some one reads my work that the message is clear. I don’t have a lot of patience to write the magnificent descriptions that Poe has in this story of each of the partitioned rooms. This is my failing as a writer. I love to read these descriptions, but I don’t like to write them. I would rather focus on dialogue, which is absent in this story. What the hell is wrong with me? The mantra is Show Don't Tell, Show Don't Tell.

Anyway, The Masque of the Red Death is a classic that any writer should read. It is a tightly packed death march of doom. Read it on line: http://poestories.com/text.php?file=masque

Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Masque of the Red Death.” Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Tales & Poems. Castle Books: New Jersey, 2001. p 251 - 255

THE SCHOOL by Donald Barthelme (round 2)

THE SCHOOL by Donald Barthelme is my number one post on The Soulless Machine Review. My first review was part of the June 2007 issue. Since then, it has amassed the most traffic on my site. It has also created a lot of mail sent directly to my gmail account, questions about the story’s meaning, pleas for help, and aggravations with my first review’s literary depth.

Clarification: My first review of THE SCHOOL by Donald Barthelme was an attempt to drive traffic to my fledgling site. It worked and failed. It worked in bring people to my site that needed help unwrapping the foil of “The School” to get to the candy (if you will). It failed in that I wanted visitors to leave comments on my blog with their interpretations of the story. Thus my aggravating invitation “Read it! What do you think is going on?” at the end of my post.

Well, okay. You win. Here is a second round review of THE SCHOOL by Donald Barthelme.

When I read a voice like the one narrating this story, I fall in love with it. The language the narrator is using makes me feel like I’m sitting in a bar with friends and one of them is telling me about their day. The voice is personal, conversational, and above all honest. As a writer, I aim for this kind of voice. It is the best of narrations. The voice immediately engages the reader in a dialogue. Just look at how the story opens:

“Well, we had all these children out planting trees, see, because we figured that …that was part of their education, to see how, you know, the root systems …and also the sense of responsibility, taking care of things, being individually responsible.”

In this opening the narrator is addressing the reader by using the pronoun “you.” This grabs the read and wakes him or her up and the reader can only think, ‘who me.’ However, even before the reader is addressed, the first word “Well” brings the reader in by assuming that there was conversation (story) before the reader enters into the picture. This creates a wonderful false sense of immediacy, ‘oh crap, what did I miss?’ and that the reader has some catching up to do.

What is this story about? What does it all mean? (Before I get into my interpretation, I would like to make this one comment. Art, and literature is art, is meant to make you think and reflect. The hope of most artists and writers is that you will be moved to ponder what you have seen or read, ask questions, and have discussions. I’m also very torn over the issue of intent--what did the artist or writer want me to think? On one side, I like to think that there is an underling message that was intended. On the other, art is art and should be valued because it makes us think; and isn’t that more important that what the artist or author intended?)

Okay. I think that “The School” is fundamentally about hope. Yes, HOPE. The kind of hope that is dear to everyone and not just the kind of passive hope that someday things will get better, but hope that comes with sacrifice and through hard work. The kind of hope that can only be felt by getting up everyday and believing that you can make a fundamental difference in the world around you.

Now, this story does not seem be about hope on the surface. It seems to be about a classroom full of kids that have had more than their fair share of adversity and death. Here is a list of what dies in this story: 30 orange trees, all the snakes, the herb garden, the gerbils, the puppy named Edgar, a salamander, tropical fish, a Korean orphan, parents, lots of grandparents, Matthew Wein, Tony Mavrogordo, and Billy Brandt’s father.

Wow. How can all that happen to one classroom of 30 kids? This class in my opinion is a metaphor for America. We, as decent human beings, know the difference between what is wrong and what is right. We know how to help each other. We know that bad things are happening all the time. However, we are lazy and we really like excitement.

Every time something bad happens in the classroom, every time something dies, it is quickly replaced with the next big thing. I think that this is like our media and entertainment mentality. We don’t want to hear about all the bad stuff, hearing about it might mean that we would have to do something about it. Instead, when something bad happens, show it to us quickly and then bring on “…the new gerbil…”

But what about that section where the students ask their teacher to demonstrate lovemaking with the assistant teacher?

This is also part of the “entertain-me” mentality that plagues our country. We love spectacle. The children of this class have seen so much death that they long to switch the channel. They want something real. They want something to be able to look foreword to as they grow up. However, instead of trying to live in the moment, find meaning in the here and now, or reflect on how they can help others, they asked to be entertained, “We’ve heard so much about it, they said, but we’ve never seen it.” They long, just as America longs, for pure spectacle.

The hope comes into this story, for me at least, when the children say “…we require an assertion of value, we are frightened.” These children have had enough. They know that there has to be more to life than the next new gerbil, but they are having a hard time finding the way, but at least they started to ask, to become afraid.

However, the “…new gerbil waked in. The children cheered wildly.” This is what has happened in this country for the last 7 years. The economy has dived into a recession. Jobs are flooding out of this country at an alarming rate. Homelessness is rising. But, Bush’s administration knew what to do: give the people spectacle, give them a war to distract them, and we can get rich in the meanwhile.

What will you do? The war is old news now, a dead snake. The new gerbil’s name is Economic Stimulus Package. Will you watch or will you fight?

Got Hope? http://www.barackobama.com/

Barthelme, Donald. “The School.” Sixty Stories. New York: Penguin, 2005. p. 304 -307

P.S. There is a little more information on post Donald Barthelme over at one of my favorite blogs, Ashcan Rantings.

FERRY TRAFFIC by Aidan Moher

I love finding free unpublished fiction online, just waiting for me to discover it. I’m no publisher so my finding it can be somewhat meaningless, but I sure like to read it.

Ferry Traffic is the story of guy, a gen’x-er that has to take a ferry from one side to the other. All he wants is to be left in peace to read some unnamed book by his unnamed favorite author.

The tension in the story is caused by our modern-day devil, the cell phone. Another guy sits down near our Offspring worshiping hero. This guy’s cell rings. Some disturbing things are said. A Rear Window moment happens, but that is main fun of the story and I won’t ruin it for you.

Ferry Traffic is available as a free Downloadable copy. So read it. What’s the harm, take a few minutes and discover that not all good fiction cost money.

For more fun, check out A Dribble of Ink, Moher’s blog where he reviews novels and other stuff.

Moher, Aidan. “Ferry Traffic." http://www.aidanmoher.com/writing.php

GIVE IT UP! by Franz Kafka

When most people think of Kafka, The Metamorphosis is the story that comes to mind, or The Trial. However, Kafka wrote much more. My personal favorites consist of his flash fiction, most no more than 250 words.

“Give it up!” is a great example of his short-short style. It is brief, but it is a fully developed scene, there is something at stake, and there is a resolution. In his case, the resolution is that the main character is still lost. The reader is also left with the sense that the cop is also lost, not that the cop needs directions to get around town, but lost in a more ethereal sense of the word.

I’ve always admired Kafka’s work. He is dark without being sinister.

Read it on line here, Give it up!, it will take less than a minute.

Kafka, Franz. “Give it up!” The Complete Stories. Ed. Nahum N. Glatzer. Tran. Tania & James Stern. New York: Schocken Books, 1983. p. 456

MUDCOLORED BEAUTIES OF THE PLAINS by Alicia Conroy

This is an odd story of humanity at it best and at its worst. It is the story of a mermaid. Not the Disney deep sea kind, not the trident wielding Greek or Roman kind, but the kind that live in the muddy rivers of the Midwestern United States kind; the kind that are not colorful, but designed to fit in with its environment: shallow slow-moving creeks and rivers. If you fish, think catfish; and now you got the picture.

We, us, the very curious humans that live for spectacle, find this miracle in a muddy creek that is mostly dried up. We speculate that she is a she and that she was in hibernation waiting for a flood to wake her. We take her to an aquarium. We study her. We try to teacher her English.

The world wants to see her. We open an exhibit where hundreds of people walk by her tank every day. Soon, groups form, as they always do. There is the group of us that want to continue to study her further, which mean cutting. There is the group of us that want to protect her and love her. There is the group of us that want to set her free.

Time and time again, it seems that when we, humanity, does not understand something, we screw it up. We are like cats. We have to know what is around the corner, even if it kills us, even if we have to kill what is waiting.

You have to read this story!

Conroy, Alicia L. “Mud-colored Beauties of the Plains.” Lives of Mapmakers. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2006. p 11 - 36

JOURNEY INTO CHRISTMAS by Bess Streeter Aldrich

Journey into Christmas and Other Stories is a bizarre collection of stories that all take place on Christmas Eve. Here I thought that the title was just one story in the collection, but no, all 12 stories are about Christmas. I was an interesting week of reading. The stories are all lighthearted, some of them start out sad or bah humbug, but then they all turn for the better by the end. Some of the endings are still sad but contain the hope that Christmas has typically holds for believers.

The best of these Christmas tales is the title story “Journey into Christmas.” The main character is Margaret Staley, grandmother whose family has always convened to celebrate the holidays. However, this Christmas everyone has an excuse and no one is coming. Margaret is on the verge of breaking down. She goes over all their excuses, phoned and letters. The only one that has not even called is Lee and Margaret has thoughts of never forgiving him. Then, when Margaret is at her worst, having set up the living room as if the family were there, Lee calls. Lee has had a baby girl. He has named it Margaret after his mother.

This is a really good story. It has a lot of dramatic tension that builds into a heavy depression. What I like the most is that Margaret’s depression is just not an internal monologue or a 3rd person narration. Margaret’s depression is apparent in her actions. She reads the letters that her children sent explaining their holiday absence over again. She is repulsed by the neighborhood carolers and closes her curtains. And then scene where she organizes the living room chairs around the Christmas tree, pairing them by family, is the height of her decline.

I will remember this story for a long time. Not only did it make me feel guilty and called call my mother, but it is a very good model for showing how a character can act out their neurosis. The show plus tell of this story is very powerful.

Streeter Aldrich, Bess. “Journey into Christmas.” Journey into Christmas and Other Stories. Lincoln: Bison Books, 1985 p. 1 - 17

NaBloPoMo

HIS DOG by Ron Hansen

“His Dog” was the most entertaining story in his collection, Nebraska. I think that this has a lot to do with the point of view, a closer third that was limited to the main character, a crook that robs gas stations at gun point and is never given a name. Even though the third person narrator is distant, almost objective, never dipping into his unspoken thoughts or feelings, the camera never leaves him.

The drama of the story is between a dog and the robber. It is a little more complicated than this, but this is the crux: The robber falls in love (sort of) with a dog that he has seen around town while robbing convince and liquor stores. The dog just keeps showing up, pet here, guard dog there, until the robber steals the dog bring her back to his home. The dog has a taste for blood, a hunter. The robber catches the dog killing some small animal in the forest. The robber is appalled and punishes her. It happens again. Then on the next robbery he has to kill the clerk. There is some parallel between the dog’s violence and his. It is as if they are made for each other. Then the dog bits and rips his hand. This feels like punishment for his killing the attendant. He, however, now hates the dog. He thinks about running her over with his jeep, but doesn’t.

As a writer, I want to take away from this story a craft tool that I hope to utilize in future revisions, focus—all of the details and scenes revolve around and complicate the relationship between the robber and the dog. I have a tendency in my fiction to wander off into left field like child with ADD that likes bright objects. The economy of the story is what makes the narrative refreshing.

Hansen, Ron. “His Dog.” Nebraska. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989. p. 61 - 76

NaBloPoMo

SNAKES AND ERRINGS by Hitomi Kanehara

There are very few books that I have read more than once. I can remember almost everything that I read, not sentence for sentence or anything, but the plot and characters remain real to me throughout the passage of time.

However, Snakes and Earrings is one of the few books that I feel the need to reread. I loved every word of it.

From the moment I picked it up, all 120 small pages of it, I knew that I would not be able to put it down. It begins:

“Know what a forked tongue is?”
“One that’s split in two?”
“Yeah, like the tongue of a snake or lizard. Expect that sometimes … they don’t belong to a snake, and they don’t belong to a lizard.”

Once I read those begging lines I was hooked. This short novel is a walk through Japan’s under culture of Barbie Girls, Punk Rockers, and body alterations.

The narrative is a first person account of a Barbie Girl geisha’s haphazard love affairs that are filled with rough sex and murderers.

If you have a couple hours on a dreary day and like under culture (that is almost mainstream in Minneapolis, can’t go anywhere and not see a tattoo or pierced flesh), this book is for you.

Kanehara, Hitomi. Snakes and Earrings. New York: Plume, 2005.

NaBloPoMo

PLAINSONG Response 2

I just finished “Plainsong,” and it was amazing. Okay, yeah, I’m impressed, and that is hard to do. I had to say that. Most novels that fall under the elite genre of literature that I pickup seem to have a very sad, life is crap angle to them. Depressing stuff really, no hope, humanity is worthless, and I come out the other side of several hundred pages thinking, why I get up in the morning. However, “Plainsong” is very full of hope, if in a very dust-bowl State kind of way.

Looking at the cover, “Painsong” was a National Book Award Finalist in 1999, loosing to “Waiting” by Ha Jin. Strange thing, I was looking though the December issue of Esquire and “Plainsong” is listed in The Esquire Canon (Abridged), on page 28 of the magazine. I can’t really say what that means about the quality of the book or what I’m reading, other than it is a damn good read and a lot of others think so too.

In Response 1, I talked about one of the parallelisms that were running though the chapters that bounce back and forth between the main characters. By the end of the book I noticed another significant one, between the Ike and Bobby chapters and the McPherons chapters. Ike and Bobby are nice and ten years old and brothers. They are very close. They do everything together. They even share deep silences together. The McPherons are in their late fifties. They are brothers. They farm together. They have lived only with themselves since their parents died and left the family farm to them (that is until Victoria came into their lives).

The way that these two sets of brothers act, talk, and interact with other is almost identical. It seems that the story is suggesting that the way Ike and Bobby are now was the way that the McPherons were and that the McPherons are Ike and Bobby’s future. I’m probably stretching that, but it seems like a possibility and that possibility is a craft tool that I really must acquire.

The last parallelisms that I want to make note of is death and birth. And now that I think of it, perhaps juxtaposition would have been a better term than parallelism. In the last chapters, Ike and Bobby experience a lot of death. One of their two horses dies a painful death from a twisted gut. They watched on as the local veterinarian performed an autopsy, cutting the horse’s ribs with hedge clippers. It deeply affected them. Then, they find one of their older paper route customers dead in her chair in her living room.

The birth that takes place is of Victoria’s baby girl. This birth brings the McPherons a great joy. However, before the baby is born it is in Victoria’s womb. Right after finding the old lady dead, Ike and Bobby find their way out to the McPherons to see the pregnant girl. It is as if Ike and Bobby are seeking out a miracle, something good to offset the bad.

The effect that all this has on me as a writer is one of awe. The life and death thing is very cliché, really, but in the way that Haruf presents it, you’d never know. Instead of being cliché, it is touching and makes perfect sense. Now it is my job, as student of writing and as an author, to try to drill down to nuts and bolts of the craft driving all of this and replicate it in my own work.

Wish me luck.

Haruf, Kent. Plainsong. New York: Vintage, 1999

NaBloPoMo

DANIEL by Loren Taylor

“Daniel” revitalizes the notion of Literary for me. It is the story of son who calls his father’s credit card company in order to try and convince the person on the other end of the phone to forget that his father ever existed. The underling reason being that his father has a huge credit card debt.

The story is almost completely in conversation. The bit that is not dialogue between the son and the customer service representative is the son’s internal monologue or narration of the phone call. The dialogue is wonderfully written. As a customer service supervisor in a call center, I have a lot of love for this story.

The customer service representative does an excellent job in handling the situation, in the beginning. She listens, asks clarifying questions, and goes beyond helpful. However, she is slowly worn down by the strange circular-logic that the son is using. She comes to identify with his problem and then helps him by ultimately fulfilling his request that the credit card company deign the existence of his father (and thus his father’s debt). She should have either elevated this call to a supervisor after a couple of minutes.

What the son does not know, or does not really care about is the customer service representative. He is focused on only his problem, like most customers with problems. What customers with problems don’t understand is that sometimes, if the customer service representative helps them, it puts the customer service representative’s job at risk. By the end of the story, I had lost all my sympathy for the son and his plight and was now identifying (probably because of my line of work) with the customer service representative.

“Daniel” is an excellent piece of writing. If you can find a copy of rock, paper, scissors, this story makes it completely worth it.

For copies of rock, paper, scissors, try emailing West Egg Literati here.

Taylor, Loren. “Daniel.” rock, paper, scissors. Hamline University: West Egg Literati, 2007

NaBloPoMo

NO FACE by Junot Diaz

Drown is most likely one of my favorite book of short stories that is not Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, or the like. The stories are scary enough without demons, vampires, or the down right strange. The stories are about what it is like to want to be free and not just free to be a United States citizen, but FREE, in all the ways the word can mean.

Perhaps that is too simple a summary for the collection, but it is part of the feeling I got while reading them. My favorite story in the collection is “No Face.” No Face is a young boy who the narrator never gives a name, he is just he. He is a fast runner for being slightly chubby. He races around town trying to stay hidden. He hides his face behind a mask, he doesn’t have one. Well, he does, but it was mutilated. He is grotesque.

However, there is an ugliness that surpasses No Face’s face. Within these pages the neighborhood boys catch him off guard and pelt him with rocks. They hold him down and beat him. They call him names.

No Face dreams of comic book hero that can make themselves invisible.

There is no happy ending to his story. There is no feel good moment. The reader is just left with a feeling of despair and a hope that No Face will keep running, that he will be able to someday escape.

Diaz, Junot. “No Face.” Drown. New York: Riverhead Books, 1996 p. 153 -160.

NaBloPoMo

HOW THE LITTLE RABBI GREW by Eliot Fintushel

It is getting harder to keep up with work, school, life, and The Soulless Machine Review, as you can see by the number of reviews this month. However, I life is good and I’m off to see the Minnesota Twins play the Chicago White Sox this morning, but before I go:

How the Little Rabbi Grew is a great work of short fiction. I’m really not religious. I was raised Christian in a CMA congregation, but the militant style of outreach pushed me away. What keeps me interested in religion are the mythical Old Testament stories of God and prophecies of saviors and epic battles between good and evil—you know, all the elements of high fantasy.

Fintushel brings out the best of the religious fantasy elements in his story about a boy whom God speaks directly. Shlomo quickly surpasses the elders in knowledge and the elders are forced to acknowledge him as a Rabbi. However, the elders are greedy for Shlomo’s knowledge and jealous of his connection with God. The elders set his Aunt Dora, his confidante, to spy on him.

By the end of the story, it is clear that Fintushel is after a parable. He succeeds. I was moved by the end of the story, Shlomo’s sacrifice to help bring the elders clarity and closer to heart of God, and Dora new found Hebrew song that is the breath of God.

Wow, I better stop, I’m starting to sound like a believer.

Read How the Little Rabbi Grew online: Here, you won’t be disappointed.

Fintushel, Eliot. “How the Little Rabbi Grew.” Strange Horizons, 9.17.2007