Balancing on the Edge of the World

I hope Elizabeth Baines will forgive me if I use this review of this anthology of stunning short stories in part to say a little about the nature of literary fiction that I'm in the throes of addressing on my other blog.

And before you're sitting comfortably and before I begin, can I once again urge anyone who wants to read fiction that's different, quirky, varied but most of all, brilliant, then they should take a look at Salt Publishing. You may remember that Salt were facing difficulties so had this clever idea to get as many people as possible to buy just one book. I do hope it was successful but even more I hope everyone has now well and truly caught the Salt bug. I know I have. In April of this year I reviewed Tania Hershman's The White Road and I will shortly be looking at several others including Some New Ambush by Caryl Davies, Vanessa Gebbie's Words from a Glass Bubble and The Scent of Cinnamon by Charles Lambert. Salt books are not just good to read, they feel great in the hand and have the most brilliant covers too.

From what I've heard or read, those who claim not to like literary fiction condemn it for its wordy floweriness and pretention. 'I have to keep a dictionary to hand,' they say. 'The writer's just showing off.' So let's just look at the opening paragraph of Condensed Metaphysics, and my favourite story in this collection. Oh and don't let the title put you off either; all is explained in the story. A science degree is not necessary or the Concise Oxford!

"We're all drunk and Ellie's drunkest. She runs up to the guy with a begging cup outside the Babylon and asks him to lend us some money, we're hungry and want a pizza and none of us has any money."

Not a flower in sight and to exemplifies what I love about Elizabeth's writing. She draws you immediately into the story and the voice of the narrator and doesn't feel the need to explain what's going on because she trusts us to work it out for ourselves (or rather she has the skill to make it easy for us!) And look what she's done in two simple sentences. If you want to teach yourself how to write effectively and clearly but with depth and nuance, make a list of what you've picked up already about where we are and who these people are, their ages and their lifestyle. Whilst having to think too hard when reading can be a turn off, a little bit of effort is well worth the satisfaction from being a partner in the process. Novels that tell me what I should be thinking or 'emoting' (hate that word) are a real turn off for me. Especially when the author feels the need to say the same thing on every page as if we've got the attention span of a gnat.

As Condensed Metaphysics progresses, we move to a late night pizza parlour. With the deftest of brush strokes Elizabeth introduces a rich variety of characters and and awful lot of humour. Who says literary fiction is po-faced?

Another (misplaced) complaint about literary fiction, especially short stories is that there's no plot and there's never any conclusion. Unsatisfying, they say. Not at all, IMHO. This is because literary fiction traditionally doesn't tell you how to read the story and what you should get out of it. What it does is paint a picture and allows the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. I suppose a simplistic way to describe LF is that it's 'a slice of life.' I don't much like the expression. Besides, life is never complete. It's always ongoing; even if we die others carry on.

Many of the stories in this collection are about childhood and family, particularly the darker undercurrents but without melodrama or sensation. I was particularly impressed by Compass and Torch which tells of a camping trip a boy takes with his estranged father. Again these supposedly simple tale exposes the conflicting and complex emotions the boy feels. Again there are no conclusions. These are the final lines:

"Neither hears the horses moving around the tent in the night. For years to come, though, in his dreams, the boy will see their wild fringed eyes and feel the deep thudding of their hooves."

Did anything happen overnight? Was there a tragic accident? Possibly. Or not. Perhaps the horses represent the boy's fears about his father's inadequacies. The writer leaves it up to us. WE can make it our own story. And if anyone wants to know what I mean by clear but stunning writing, this is a fine example. Wild fringed eyes says it all for me. (Oh and I can't resist stressing the absence of adverbs!)

The very purpose of Into the Night is its ambiguity. To put it simply, it tells of a typical and ordinary one-night-stand. It ends as the woman wakes the following morning and wonders dreamily whether they'll both go their separate ways or begin a relationship. I didn't feel short-changed. Quite the opposite. It captures that delicious point of balance where the future is unknown and anything is possible.

I must be honest and say I found one or two of the stories didn't appeal to me but I wasn't bothered. In any anthology, like a box of chocolates, there are always some centres you aren't too keen on. (anything with a hint of orange or strawberry fondant goes straight in the bin or a conveniently passing dog.) The overall impression, though, is rich and satisfying. Every word counts, every image shines. And yet it all feels effortless. (Which to my mind is at the heart of all good art.)

One story differs a little from the rest in texture and tone. In The Shooting Script a single mother is offered an opportunity to write and create a film for television. She is to be helped to write her script and work with a 'mentor'. Only she finds that charismatic, troubled Bob Deal is not as easy to work with as she imagined and things don't go to plan. The characterisation is so good and I laughed all the way through it even as I winced. The satire is as sharp as a stiletto. Although it's about film-making, it brought to mind a f publishing enterprise I predict will end in tears--but not those of the organisers, alas. There are plenty of Bob Deals around.

And to dispel any myths that literary fiction written by women expresses 'politically correct' views, then read How to Behave. The wronged wife and the mistress meet and gang up against the male chauvinism of the man they share. This is sisterhood at work, right? Only it isn't. One of them is a calculating bitch out for revenge. On the other hand, Who's Singing is one of the saddest stories I've ever read.

I am delighted Elizabeth sent me her collection to review and I don't hesitate to recommend them. I am both in awe and inspired. Thank you, Salt and thank you, Elizabeth.

PS. I'm having trouble with my links today. If they're broken, please bear with me. I'll fix them eventually--if and when Blogger decides to co-operate.