I don’t often review short stories, and that’s mostly because I don’t often read short stories. Especially during this time of year where I live, the days are short and dreary and windy, making for great atmosphere to read a long novel by Elizabeth Gaskell or one of the Bronte sisters. But just as sometimes one hankers for a feast, and other times is just a pit peckish for a small snack, sometimes it’s just the right time for short stories. I’ve had my fill of Araby, Mrs. Dalloway, and The Awakening from my college years—though oddly enough I didn’t get any Kafka or Dostoyevsky assignments, which is a conundrum and a shame in my opinion. But when it comes to picking out contemporary fiction—short stories and novellas in particular—I look for less depressing fare, mostly quirky, magic-realism or almost science-fictional genres.
Kevin Wilson’s collection Tunneling
to the Center of the Earth includes many such almost-parallel realities
that reflect different aspects of our own.
The short story which lends its
name to the collection, for instance, is about three college graduates who dig
a hole in the narrator’s backyard, then start to tunnel and eventually even
live underground rather than face the uncertainty of their future adult
lives.
The recommended reading age for this collection is varied, but I would probably recommend only adult readers--which seem to be the intended audience anyway. While I skimmed through some
stories like Birds in the House for language, and The Dead Sister
Handbook: A Guide for Sensitive Boys because the subject matter was little
too dark and the writing style a little too convoluted for my taste, I was definitely hooked reading the rest of the collection by the first story, The Great Stand-In.
The Great Stand-In is about an older woman who makes her living
“standing in” as someone’s grandmother—whether because the real grandmother was dead or
merely deemed “not grandmotherly enough” for the role. The “Stand In” is emotionally distant,
priding herself on her ability to disconnect, to juggle several family-clients
at a time, on her independence and emotional control. When her so-called grandchildren come to
visit her, she prepares by swapping out the photos on the walls and other
mementos. It’s an unsettling story,
maybe because it stands as a commentary on our society where anything, or at
least almost anything, can be bought. It
also caused me to think about how I (and the society in which I live) regard the elderly.
Another story I found
interesting, if only because it was offbeat, was Blowing Up on the Spot. A young man works at a Scrabble factory,
sorting through rooms full of letters for the Q’s, while supporting his
mentally unstable brother after their parents spontaneously combusted. He lives over a candy shop, and falls in love
with the daughter of the shop owner. He
is convinced somehow that he too will spontaneously combust, blow up, as if his
parents passed down some genetic anomaly. The story is filled with his varied theories on how it happened, as well
as his growing sensation of his life heating up.
A thirty-something woman is the
curator of The Museum of Whatnot, mostly collections of mundane objects
like spools of thread that were only interesting to those who originally collected
them. Her mother nags her to get a life,
to leave this job and find a man. Her
only friend is an older doctor who comes in every day to look at the spoon
collection. This is an interesting story
that makes one think about the meaning of everyday objects in our lives, and
why sometimes sentimental value is enough to make something priceless. For me, it was also a bit of a precautionary
tale about the dangers of hoarding and what other people might do with your
stuff when you die. They may will it to
a depressing museum where no one understands why you collected pincushions to
begin with. This is why I collect
books. Everyone understands why you
collected books. At least, everyone should understand it.
No comments:
Post a Comment