Dear Readers, my dispatches will always be free and open to everyone. I am unable to use my hands and I’m writing, via dictation, with the help of my family. If you could become a paid subscriber and support me, it’d mean so much. Dear Readers and Writers,
I'm fascinated by the current that runs through these stories; I can't quite pin down what it is in words, but there's a feeling here. Well done to all!
One of my favourite ubiquitous things on the Internet is a detailed black and white drawing of an archangel grappling in an imperious manner with a man who is dressed in a toga. The image is clearly meant to depict some scene from the Bible. It has been captioned with faux Biblical verse: “And the angel said unto him, Stop hitting yourself! But he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.”
That's what this story reminded me of, although Craze is a lot darker than the pictorial representation of an angel being a dick in biblical times.
At its heart, there is a mother who finds it necessary to step out of her maternal role and assume the mantle of playground bully, in an attempt to toughen-up her daughter, by initiating her into a world of gratuitous brutality.
It is a stark acknowledgement that, in order to fit in and be accepted by the crowd, you might have to hurt other people frivolous reasons.
It is also an admission of helplessness and hopelessness: Anna went through the same initiation with her mother, accepts that it didn't have the desired effect upon her, but does it to her daughter anyway because she can't think of anything better.
Most distressing of all, when Annette belatedly joins in with the Chinese burn craze, she internalises the violence, inflicting the pain on herself in the privacy of her bedroom.
The more that I think about this story, the more I like it. It is the darkest thing I have read in some time, and to put that in context, I recently read Blood Meridian.
On the first reading of this story, I took the inner monologue at face value: A one-sided view of a couple who, by mutual agreement, have abandoned treading water in the doldrums of the wet patch, and have instead opted for a more orderly kind of scrabble. In this context the plural of latex is deployed as a kind of pre-emptive condom, that might permanently delay that hallmark of a relationship caught in a purgatorial holding pattern – timetabled sex, along any request for an encore.
On a second reading I wondered whether I wasn't witnessing one of those convoluted, and sometimes subconscious, kinks that individuals with storied sexual histories resort to, having exhausted all other possibilities: A withholding of the possibility of sex in order to create the tension necessary to make sex possible in an unpromising landscape of back-scabs and piles; an acknowledgement that words lead to actions, and that certain words are more suggestive than others, and can be interpreted as invitations.
The elderly nun in this story is a really good character - a woman who, through a combination of age and intelligence, has transcended the formal limitations of her religion and the circumstances that have bound her to one spot for most of her adult life.
You can infer a lot about her but that's all it is - inference. She remains a mystery, unbroken by the church, perhaps carrying a girlhood infatuation for Elvis; one strong enough to survive the grinding austerity of convent life, and to result in an informal induction for the King of Rock 'n' Roll into the pantheon of Catholic saints.
That she is uncowed by the anger of Sister James Patrice, and even finds it a little amusing, suggests a personality unbound by dogma, who is either unafraid of authority or who sees the Sister's anger for what it is – a largely empty display.
It occurs to me as I write this, that the anonymous nun and the aforementioned Sister James Patrice have both found different ways to express their emotional sides and gain a measure of catharsis in what is a very emotionally quarantined environment – one by weeping before a velvet portrait of Elvis Presley and the other by directing a current of unbridled fury upon any hapless victim who happens to cross her path.
It's like a screenplay written in blank verse, or the pegged outline of a story, but it is a story. The words are as dissociated from a complete narrative as the four children are estranged from normality, and from the extent of their own suffering at the roving hands of the sociopathic sexual predator, Mr O' Patrick.
There is something revolting about his narcissism, idly boasting about his youthful athleticism; giving with one hand, taking more with the other; having planted his flag in Maureen already redirecting his attention on Josie – the next in line. The children roped into a conspiracy that actively harms them – a Faustian bargain that leaves them worse off. Poor Callum is too young to grasp the extent of what is unfolding. Josie's attempts to preserve some semblance of childhood innocence by selecting age-appropriate movies is heartbreaking. All the viewings in the world of The Lion King and Simba's victory over his wicked uncle scar won't change a thing.
You could argue that this is a story about the resilience of children – their ability to adapt – but it comes at the expense of something, leaving behind a blankness – a distancing from themselves.
I am not generally a fan of stylised prose – I am not adverse to my buttons being pushed but I don't want to be aware of the fingers on the control panel. However, this works and carries weight.
What a treat it was to read those! It’s striking how many involve kids. If someone asked me to write a short story, it would also involve kids. Dandelion Wine, written by Ray Bradbury, is still one of my top five and it is told mostly from the perspective of kids, as are so many other classics. Is it because of our own nostalgia? Innocence and loss of innocence? Something else?
I appreciated the wit and elegance of Latexes, as well as its authenticity of feeling in articulating a certain stage of life/stage of relation, which seemed to provide the story’s motor xx
I'm fascinated by the current that runs through these stories; I can't quite pin down what it is in words, but there's a feeling here. Well done to all!
Such lovely news! Thank you for choosing my story :-) Really looking forward to reading all of these stories
Beautiful! I love reading these stories, seemingly from around the world and of all time. What a gift.
Craze
One of my favourite ubiquitous things on the Internet is a detailed black and white drawing of an archangel grappling in an imperious manner with a man who is dressed in a toga. The image is clearly meant to depict some scene from the Bible. It has been captioned with faux Biblical verse: “And the angel said unto him, Stop hitting yourself! But he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.”
That's what this story reminded me of, although Craze is a lot darker than the pictorial representation of an angel being a dick in biblical times.
At its heart, there is a mother who finds it necessary to step out of her maternal role and assume the mantle of playground bully, in an attempt to toughen-up her daughter, by initiating her into a world of gratuitous brutality.
It is a stark acknowledgement that, in order to fit in and be accepted by the crowd, you might have to hurt other people frivolous reasons.
It is also an admission of helplessness and hopelessness: Anna went through the same initiation with her mother, accepts that it didn't have the desired effect upon her, but does it to her daughter anyway because she can't think of anything better.
Most distressing of all, when Annette belatedly joins in with the Chinese burn craze, she internalises the violence, inflicting the pain on herself in the privacy of her bedroom.
The more that I think about this story, the more I like it. It is the darkest thing I have read in some time, and to put that in context, I recently read Blood Meridian.
Latexes
On the first reading of this story, I took the inner monologue at face value: A one-sided view of a couple who, by mutual agreement, have abandoned treading water in the doldrums of the wet patch, and have instead opted for a more orderly kind of scrabble. In this context the plural of latex is deployed as a kind of pre-emptive condom, that might permanently delay that hallmark of a relationship caught in a purgatorial holding pattern – timetabled sex, along any request for an encore.
On a second reading I wondered whether I wasn't witnessing one of those convoluted, and sometimes subconscious, kinks that individuals with storied sexual histories resort to, having exhausted all other possibilities: A withholding of the possibility of sex in order to create the tension necessary to make sex possible in an unpromising landscape of back-scabs and piles; an acknowledgement that words lead to actions, and that certain words are more suggestive than others, and can be interpreted as invitations.
Neologism
The elderly nun in this story is a really good character - a woman who, through a combination of age and intelligence, has transcended the formal limitations of her religion and the circumstances that have bound her to one spot for most of her adult life.
You can infer a lot about her but that's all it is - inference. She remains a mystery, unbroken by the church, perhaps carrying a girlhood infatuation for Elvis; one strong enough to survive the grinding austerity of convent life, and to result in an informal induction for the King of Rock 'n' Roll into the pantheon of Catholic saints.
That she is uncowed by the anger of Sister James Patrice, and even finds it a little amusing, suggests a personality unbound by dogma, who is either unafraid of authority or who sees the Sister's anger for what it is – a largely empty display.
It occurs to me as I write this, that the anonymous nun and the aforementioned Sister James Patrice have both found different ways to express their emotional sides and gain a measure of catharsis in what is a very emotionally quarantined environment – one by weeping before a velvet portrait of Elvis Presley and the other by directing a current of unbridled fury upon any hapless victim who happens to cross her path.
I haven't read all of them yet, but the first four are great! How wondeful!
Wonderful. Great way to start my day.
My Misspent Youth
It's like a screenplay written in blank verse, or the pegged outline of a story, but it is a story. The words are as dissociated from a complete narrative as the four children are estranged from normality, and from the extent of their own suffering at the roving hands of the sociopathic sexual predator, Mr O' Patrick.
There is something revolting about his narcissism, idly boasting about his youthful athleticism; giving with one hand, taking more with the other; having planted his flag in Maureen already redirecting his attention on Josie – the next in line. The children roped into a conspiracy that actively harms them – a Faustian bargain that leaves them worse off. Poor Callum is too young to grasp the extent of what is unfolding. Josie's attempts to preserve some semblance of childhood innocence by selecting age-appropriate movies is heartbreaking. All the viewings in the world of The Lion King and Simba's victory over his wicked uncle scar won't change a thing.
You could argue that this is a story about the resilience of children – their ability to adapt – but it comes at the expense of something, leaving behind a blankness – a distancing from themselves.
I am not generally a fan of stylised prose – I am not adverse to my buttons being pushed but I don't want to be aware of the fingers on the control panel. However, this works and carries weight.
What a treat it was to read those! It’s striking how many involve kids. If someone asked me to write a short story, it would also involve kids. Dandelion Wine, written by Ray Bradbury, is still one of my top five and it is told mostly from the perspective of kids, as are so many other classics. Is it because of our own nostalgia? Innocence and loss of innocence? Something else?
Congratulations everyone !
These were so wonderful to read and go
into these other worlds. ‘CRAZE’ was my favorite.
Marvelous, spare and evocative stories.
Congratulations, everyone!
👌👌👌 ✍️
I appreciated the wit and elegance of Latexes, as well as its authenticity of feeling in articulating a certain stage of life/stage of relation, which seemed to provide the story’s motor xx