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The twelve stories in Indelible Acts are variations on a theme of longing. A line outside a cheese shop leads to a thrilling infidelity; a funeral exposes a love gone sour; a scene of sickness and despair in a foreign hotel room becomes a metaphor for incurable grief. In "A Bad Son," a young boy from a damaged home searches for peace, risking his life on a snowy hill. In the title story, two lovers confront their lust amid the ruins of Rome.
Each piece in A. L. Kennedy's mesmerizing collection is an eloquent, excoriating revelation, saved from bleakness by the humanity and humor of the author's unrelenting wit and by her unwavering scrutiny of desire and loss. Her characters' lives are dashed, impassioned, each in his or her own way immolated by hope and by the unassuageable human need for contact, for completion, for that most fugitive gift of all: reciprocal love.
212 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2002
I dawdled through this collection at first, entertaining the idea of putting it down at the end of each short story. Yet, I never did, and am vaguely glad at myself for doing so; I picked up my dragging feet and gradually arrived at its near-conclusion, made breathless by a lovely couple of lines.
"The best love is a little like light. It is unremitting, cannot fail to find you, to take the shortest, surest way, as if that were marked out as part of your nature, the line where you and love are made to meet. It is your law, the physics of your life. It will move from somewhere to nowhere and back again and it will make you lost. It is beautiful and terrible and blinding and you will never understand the trick of it."
Kennedy's truisms on longing, in all its various and convoluted forms, were honest and soothing: there are things we all crave, with a great deal of them being nonromantic and asexual in nature. We want to understand, to be accepted, to feel okay, and we want all of this very badly, more badly than we can stand.