What is a story, I wonder, reading Sex World by Ron Koertge. And how the hell do you pronounce Koertge? Sometimes he is a character in his own stories. Ron. Ronnie. Does Ronnie rhyme with Koertge?
These stories are flash fiction. Fifty-six of them, each under 1,000 words. I counted the stories, but not the words. Ronnie’s stories are sometimes whimsical, sometimes ironic, sometimes brutal. I like the brutal ones, like when a man whose father taught him to pack efficiently looks at his father’s coffin and thinks, “Look at all that wasted space.”
Many stories are populated with characters from fairytales or Greek mythology. I think this is cheating, bringing pre-formed characters into flash fiction. These characters carry baggage with them, baggage much heavier than one thousand words. We know the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I don't care what it feels like inside the wolf's belly. We know who the Sirens are, I don’t care to see them trained to sing.
What is a story? We expect characters to change, even if they don’t understand how they’re different. A boy understands his dead mother better by wearing her clothes. Two unloved boys call a sex line and request, simply, a mother, not a MILF. A couple of virgins pretend to have sex, pretend to fight, pretend to break-up, and one of those games comes true. A boy goes hunting with his father and uncle and fears he will one day become them.
Many of these stories are less than a page. Some are not. With those that are longer, I get to the bottom of the page and think, “That’s it? That’s the ending?” But I turn the page and there’s more. I do that a few times. I never learn. Why does the false ending leave me unsatisfied, but the actual ending on the next page feel like closure?
What is an ending? The Jesus-Dog disappears. Lois Lane wears kryptonite as perfume and regrets it. A young teacher considers if his sacrifices are worth it. A father tells his daughter the story of how he met his wife. Now go to sleep.
I turn the page and read another story. Until I read the final story. Then I turn the page. The next page is blank. So is the next one. I am older, if only by an hour.