Talebones #28 | |||||
Full Unit Hookup #5 | |||||
A review by Matthew Cheney
The greatest joy of reading small press magazines is discovering odd and/or beautiful and/or enchanting and/or marvelously
uncategorizable writing, the kind of writing that makes you catch your breath, that sends shivers through your spine and
timbres. In the twenty-eighth Talebones, this joy is at its height with Sandra McDonald's fine story
"Bluebeard by the Sea"; the fifth issue of Full Unit Hookup brings shivering bits of "ah ha!" with the
breadth of the poetry presented and, especially, with "Hurricane Sandrine", a thoughtful and enigmatic tale by Daniel Braum.
Before we sing the praises of those two stories, let's consider the other words and other pages of the two magazines
before us. First: poetry. This issue of Talebones contains five poems, short lyrics all, some in
traditional forms and some in verse aspiring to be free. Nothing painfully awful, but nothing remarkable,
either. Full Unit Hookup is exactly the opposite -- there are at least two flaccid bits of filler
labeled as poetry, but also fine poems by G.O. Clark and Sonya Taaffe.
The non-fiction in Talebones is a bit more substantial than that of Full Unit
Hookup. Talebones offers numerous very short reviews of books, a chatty note from the
editors, a couple of letters, and, most significantly, a solid interview with novelist Kay Kenyon, conducted
by Ken Rand. Full Unit Hookup offers reviews by Lucy A. Snyder of the films Murder by
Decree and The Company of Wolves and a bit of harmless fluff by editor Mark Rudolf.
Aside from the two stories we'll soon discuss, the fiction in both magazines is generally competent and easy
enough to read, but also often feels as if it has missed some good opportunities, letting our readerly breaths
escape when they should have been caught. Jay Lake has a good story in Full Unit Hookup, a tale
of bones that become a skeleton that becomes an angel and haunts a neat-freak who could be Norman Bates's cousin
in the land of mother-loving psychos. It's a well-written story, but, like so much half-hearted horror fiction,
is content to be superficial, a morbid joke embellished with narrative. Bruce Holland Rodgers and Greg Beatty
provide shorter jokes-as-stories; amusing in the minute it takes to read them, more interesting than the average
advertisement in a subway car, but nothing to interrupt your life for. Aynjel Kaye's "Mockingbird Girl" starts
extremely well -- she is a writer to watch -- but ends predictably, with the gentle oddness and careful tone
of the first few pages metamorphosing into a saccharine paean to ethereal avian romance. A venue such
as Full Unit Hookup provides a good opportunity for talented writers like Kaye to begin to
find an audience as they continue sharpening their skills.
Talebones provides us with eight stories this time around, an amount the editors note is
atypically large. The variety of the stories -- variety of tone, subject matter, and style -- is
admirable. Editors are seldom willing to let so many different sorts of fiction mingle between the covers
of one issue of a magazine, but it creates a worthwhile effect: though only a few stories will seem effective
to any one reader, the magazine is enjoyable to read cover-to-cover simply for the surprise of seeing what
the next page has to offer. Nonetheless, many of the stories and poems in issue twenty-eight touch on similar
themes of death and transcendance.
Paul Melko's "Ten Sigmas" explores what happens when an omniscient consciousness begins to have its parallel
universes whittled down from an infinite amount to a handful; Devon Monk writes about the afterlife of a
suicide in "Fishing the Edge of the World"; "The Ethics of Nonlinearity" by Steven Mohan, Jr. is a traditional
bit of anthropological science fiction involving a priest in a secular universe and a planet facing a
plague; David J. Schwartz's "The King of Memphis" brings Egyptian gods to Graceland; Jeffrey Turner writes
about "The Gods at Rest" in Rwanda and elsewhere; and, in "To Crown a Sand Castle Just Right," T.J. Berg
explores the hopes of a mother whose son is dying of cancer. The final story of the issue, "Where is the
Line" by David D. Levine, is not about death, but it's certainly about transcendance -- the transcendance
offered by a really great massage.
"Bluebeard by the Sea" is by far the best of the death and transcendance stories, however, because it is the
most successfully imaginative. The pacing is excellent -- Sandra McDonald knows exactly what length a scene
needs to be to create the sort of emotional effects she seeks, and she succeeds at making us care about the
fate of a wooden sculpture of Bluebeard's face stuck on the front of a funhouse at a seaside resort in
the 40s. (No small accomplishment, that!) The face one day discovers it has a mind, and it wants to know
what the world is like, but it's stuck to the front of the funhouse. The story suffers from an unfortunate
sentimentality in its middle, with a young boy running away from an abusive father, a choice of character that
is far too familiar and easy, but the beginning and end of the story are masterful. Take the first two
paragraphs, where McDonald displays a sharp sense of what rhythm and diction can accomplish:
"You're not a man," the sea gull tells him. "You're not imprisoned."
"Hurricane Sandrine" offers plenty of examples of good writing, too, though nothing quite as obviously skillful as
the opening of "Bluebeard by the Sea." The strength of Daniel Braum's writing is the strength that comes from
patience, from a writer trusting his audience with a steady, slow pace that allows details to accumulate in the
mind so that the story becomes consistently more vivid until it reaches a conclusion that is profound in its
subtlety and restraint. This is a story that carves its own shadows, that delves into its own depths. Summary
does it no justice, because it is not a story about events so much as it is about the after-effects of events, the
nouns that get left behind in the wake of verbs. There is a man, a drowned wife, a hurricane, a gypsy, an island,
a threat, a lost brother, a child who may be the wind. These elements transcend plot and hover together in the
hum of prose, allowing the reader one of the supreme pleasures of fiction: to connect the dots and discover a
symphony of imagination.
Matthew Cheney teaches at the New Hampton School and has published in English Journal, Failbetter.com, Ideomancer, and Locus, among other places. He writes regularly about science fiction on his weblog, The Mumpsimus Matthew Cheney teaches at the New Hampton School and has published in English Journal, Failbetter.com, Ideomancer, and Locus, among other places. He writes regularly about science fiction on his weblog, The Mumpsimus. |
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