Woah, what? A book written in the past five years? Yeah, check it: 2011. There was something about the cover of this book that really attracted me. And I'm glad it did--this is a really good book. It's a collection of short stories by the authoress (sorry, I wanted to call her that, and technically it's a real world) Caitlin Horrocks, who I've never heard of before. She's good, though, and pretty young--she was born in 1980. One of her stories seemed familiar, but I'm pretty sure I had never read any of them prior to this (though it is possible; she published them all in separate magazines and such before this book's publication).
The stories are all very intriguing, including the ones that I would say are "misses". I would definitely buy this book in a heartbeat, if I weren't a poor college student, that is. My favourite story is about a woman--man--soul--who has been reborn, reincarnated, whatever, 127 times. She can recognize the reincarnated souls in other people she has known over her past lives... including that of a mother who drowned her as an infant. The catch? Ooh, I'm going to spoil it. But it's so good, I've got to spoil it--in this life she is pregnant, and her baby has the reincarnated soul of that mother. I really, really, really want to spoil the end--but I guess I won't. Not yet, at least. There's a story about a teacher who takes out her aggression on her students-not necessarily violent aggression, just... Just weird. Twisted. Some kind of abuse, but I'm not certain what the title of that sort of abuse would be. There's a story about a girl whose mother has extreme arthritis--she has to wash her, clean her, and so on... And she's going to college (or maybe she's a senior in high school; she's an awful writer) and all of that, but it's an essay in an effort to save her grades and pass the year, or at least the semester. The implication is that she's failing because her mother is eating so much of her time. Soooo. Interested yet? Let's go!
The first story I had anything in was actually the second story, "It Looks Like This", the last one I just described. ("Zolaria" is good too, but I spent it adapting to Horrocks's style!) The narrator writes like she's in middle school, though she's in her senior year of high school, I believe. It's awful, the description of her mother. Having to wash her, take care of her completely--her sister left--plus she's only in middle school... That's awful. That's no way to grow up. It's striking particularly for that, trying to imagine yourself in that awful situation...
One of her best friends--or the person she feels closest to, rather, is an Amish woman (she lives in rural Ohio). I mention this because in the second page of the story there is this: "In the paper the other day, some guy said, 'Based primarily on the strength of local tourism, Ohio's rural communities are sinking or swimming.' My mom's the one who read it out to me, and she said, 'Sinking or swimming? This f--king town was built under water'" (Horrocks 16). The situation that our narrator is in would seem to indicate sinking, and at the end of the 'paper', assures the narrator that she was "'built for swimming'" (Horrocks 28). It was very sweet.
The next story that I've got anything for is "Zero Conditional". This is the one about the oddly abusive teacher. It's not... like I said, it's not quite sexual, physical, or mental... It's like when you have a nasty teacher, and they're very small and they take it out on you or your classmates. It's the closest I can get to that. For example: they have this gross classroom rat (a pet!) that is slowly dying of a tumour. She makes her least favourite student, who she just straight-up hates (let's be honest) touch it as punishment. Rub his hand on it. I think we can all agree that that's messed up, but it's hard to explain how much so, right?
On the teacher: "But Eril was a woman without great talents, forced to pride herself on small, unexpected skills, like the way she could untangle knots, hold her breath for two and a half minutes, or the way she'd taught herself in sixth grade to balance things on her head the way women did in third world countries or finishing schools. She still practiced sometimes, unloading groceries and balancing a twelve-pack of die soda on the top of her head, plastic bags in each hand" (Horrocks 50-51). This is the way I feel sometimes. I mean--not exactly the same way, but I can relate to it, you know?
Anyways, that's the only thing I have to point out about that story...
She also has a sister. They grew up in poor conditions, but the sister went on to go to college and is studying bio. She has a boyfriend with a business major who presumably isn't falling apart at the seams, as well. My first note has to do with her--she (Mouse) always signs her letters to her sister with "Love and Squalor, Mouse" (Horrocks 75). This is, of course, a reference to JD Salinger's short story, "For Esme--With Love and Squalor". Our narrator is certainly drowning in squalor (and love, I suppose), but I don't know how far the similarities reach. I still haven't read it yet. Anyways. The narrator gets that her sister is joking, but she doesn't get the joke itself.
Anyways, the main meat of this story is that they go to pick up a dalmatian named Perdita (of course) that has been found, posing as the owners. Usually Leo doesn't give a damn for the dogs he has, but he lets her ride in the front of the truck, and pets her, really plays with her... Even the narrator likes her, and that's rare for her. The narrator even almost lets her free, because she spends her whole night howling. The narrator feels guilty, especially since she knows that eventually Perdita will eventually be turned into a puppy science experiment. She is about to let her out, but then she realizes that she doesn't want to disappoint Leo (or make him mad), how she'd probably just get lost and die, and make them lose money. So she doesn't do a thing--and then the narrative jumps; we discover that this was a retrospective from a month later. Perdita is gone, and the narrator is hoping that she's dead. And--here it is--the grossing thing ever: "[Leo's] skin thing is getting worse. He's got patches so bad they're swampy with fluid, where his shirts stick and scabs won't form... It's like he's molting into something new and horrible, and all I want to do is hold his skin together, press the seams of him together, so he won't fall apart and nothing in our lives will change" (Horrocks 89). She ends the story itself with a reference to her sister's joke, the reference to JD Salinger's existence: "If this is what I get in this world I'll take it. Love and squalor, but mostly love. I'll take it and I'll take it and I will not be sorry" (Horrocks 89). Tell me that's not messed up--or maybe it doesn't seem so because you haven't read the whole story, but trust me--it's messed up. Royally.
The next story is the reincarnation one I described above: "Embodied". If nothing else, look this story up. I'm sure it exists somewhere online, and I promise that it will make you want to reader the other stories. I actually don't have a lot to say about this--the concept itself is really cool, and it's just so perfect. Almost all of the stories in here wrap up into neat little boxes, and even when there isn't closure, it feels darned well like there is. I don't even want to spoil it... So I guess we'll go on to the next story, strangely enough, the only one which has a lack of closure that bothers me. The story takes place at a zoo--a woman is there with her son and grandfather. Her father is a bit like the father in Big Fish, something the woman resents him for. They have a kind of understanding at the end--but ultimately, it is a passing affection and understanding, and both she and her father know that when he goes back to his home, their relationship will be just as strained and disjointed as it has always been, and nothing will really change. Alternately, there is her inner monologue regarding her job at the patent office. She has been getting letters from a man who claims to have invented a time machine. He includes items in packages, such as a gravy boat from 1901, supposedly once on King Edward VII's table. He includes a washcloth that looks like one that was in the girl's house growing up... And the most recent package had a bolo tie. This tie (or a nearly identical tie) is mentioned in the grandfather's inner monologue, and supposedly his daughter knows nothing of it. The story ends with her finally deciding to call the number on the supposed time traveler's packages and patent applications. It obviously wasn't the father sending the packages, not even the bolo tie, so... it's just kind of there. I didn't get why. It didn't quite flesh it out. Other than that I liked it, though. It was kind of sad, but ultimately true, even if it was uncomfortable to admit it... Anyways. Why mention this story? What did I mark in it? Well...
"She has found herself looking, really looking, over the blueprints. The machine isn't familiar: not a DeLorean or Bill and Ted's phonebooth or Doctor Who's police box or any ships she recognizes from Star Trek or Star Wars or H.G. Wells. It is simply a smooth, metal tube, that does not seem, somehow, like something a crazy person would design" (Horrocks 111). Look at all those references. My nerdgasm cannot be contained. I do not even care if you are grossed out! Because you know you did too. (It was mostly for the Doctor Who reference, even if she botched it a little.)
Anyways, that's my last note or anything for this. I'm glad that I impulsively picked this up--it's worth it, and it's a relatively fast read. (It will probably be in your library's new or just arrived section, if your library has that sort of thing.) I believe all of the stories were published in magazines or newspapers as well, so you could even just look them up online, maybe. So... Yeah! HG Wells's The Time Machine will be next! (I didn't even do that on purpose, either.)
MLA Citation Information: Horrocks, Caitlin. This Is Not Your City. Sarabande Books: Kentucky, 2011.
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