“A visually arresting and verbally cadenced transformation of the Coleridge classic.” from the rime of the modern mariner
somehow intersperses 18th-century diction with references to email, Blackberry and Tupperware without jarring the reader. It begins with a man who is a bit of a detached dandy and who has just executed his divorce, tossing aside his marriage (his wife is barely mentioned) like he does a plastic foam cup. He encounters a mariner who proceeds to tell him a tale, one that involves a seafaring adventure, the fateful killing of an albatross, a descent through an ocean of pollution into hell and a rescue that allows the mariner to survive and sound his warning. After hearing the mariner’s soliloquy, the divorcé brushes it off, returning “To a world detached of consequence / Where he would not live for long.” The reader will likely find the story far more moving, as the nightmarish imagery trumps the occasional tendency toward thematic overkill. More than a classic-comics adaptation, this is an original work of art.
Buggy Festival, Jackie and the group tackle some very heavy situations, including local reactions to the Cuban missile crisis that result in a mistaken arrest and a run-in with the KKK. In fact, the characters experience/discuss/confront almost every social, political, religious, gender-sensitive and environmental issue that’s relevant in the South during the early ’60s, and each topic is couched in so many Southern colloquialisms and treated with such superficiality that it’s hard to take any of it too seriously—which is just as well. Fun to read.
PUSHCART PRIZE XXXVII Best of the Small Presses (2013 Edition)
Henderson, Bill with Pushcart Prize editors--Eds. Pushcart (640 pp.) $35.00 | $18.95 paper | Nov. 15, 2012 978-1-888889-66-6 978-1-888889-65-9 paperback
MISS DREAMSVILLE AND THE COLLIER COUNTY WOMEN’S SOCIETY
Hearth, Amy Hill Atria (272 pp.) $15.00 paperback | Oct. 2, 2012 978-1-4516-7523-8
Hearth (Having Our Say: The Delany Sisters’ First 100 Years, 1994, etc.) goes hog wild with lighthearted humor as she tackles some heavyweight issues in
her debut novel. It’s 1962, and Bostonians Jackie Hart and family have moved to Naples, Fla., a community that’s more country than a bowl of grits. She’s itching to make new friends and become involved in community activities, but of course, that’s easier said than done. Small Southern towns don’t exactly welcome transplanted Northerners with open arms. But Jackie’s an obstinate redhead who starts a reading club that attracts a stereotypical mixture of lovable misfits. The salon, as Jackie calls them, meets each week at the town library to discuss books and everything else under the hot Florida sun, and they quickly form a tight bond. There’s the librarian, the only member of the group who doesn’t carpool with them to the meetings; the gay man who’s the town’s lone Sears employee; a woman who secretly pens magazine articles about romance and sex; a young black maid with aspirations of a better life; an octogenarian who’s also a convicted murderer; and the narrator, a postal clerk who’s known around town as the Turtle Lady because she rescues snapping turtles before they can become roadkill. But Jackie’s the central force and the one who provides impetus for the group’s adventures. In addition to her job as a part-time copy editor at the local paper, she’s the anonymous voice of Miss Dreamsville, a sultry radio personality who lulls listeners to sleep in the late hours of the night. Everyone in town is consumed with finding out Miss Dreamsville’s true identity, but before a climatic showdown at the annual Swamp
2016
|
15 september 2012
|
fiction
|
kirkus.com
An old literary warhorse plods along, with no sign of going lame—but without much energy, either. Readers who have followed Pushcart from day one—or year 36, for that matter—will know the formula: From a mountain of submissions curated by a small army of guest editors, Henderson mounds up a smaller mountain of “important works” by way of a sampling of the annual zeitgeist. As ever, the anthology numbers about 600 pages; as ever, it’s fronted by a nicely illtempered complaint about the decline of publishing (a decline four decades running, that) and the end of the literary world as we know it; as ever, its organization shows no apparent reason, its poetry seldom a rhyme. And, as ever, there’s a mix of contributors: Some are well into their careers, some at the end, others at the very beginning. Most are allied to the academy and its mutual and reciprocal logrolling rituals. There are plenty of good things here, including stories by Wendell Berry and Joyce Carol Oates, stalwarts ever, and a deliciously enigmatic poem by Jane Hirshfeld. But there are no real surprises. The tropes and props are remarkably constant from year to year: alcoholism, failed love, old movies, dreams. (Always dreams.) And there’s no shortage of carefully crafted phrases, sanded to a fine gloss but never quite memorable (“Call me a Trendmonger, but I’ve sprung for a tree house”; “When midwestern bugs hit your windshield, they chink like marbles”). A trend in this year’s batch: As with the larger society, guns and their associated violence seem to be ever more evident (“At her hip she carries handcuffs, a telescoping baton, a .40 caliber Glock”) in these pages. Essential for writers real and potential studying the market and otherwise reading the tea leaves. For others, not so much.
|