One of the things I love about literary fiction is the way that tiny actions can have monumental meaning. A word, a gesture, a character turning one way instead of the other can shift the story world profoundly.
So it is with the stories in Jamel Brinkley's new collection, Witness. The subjects are friendship, sibling relationships through the decades, romantic relationships that are functional, dysfunctional, and semi-functional. The themes run deeper: how race and gender constructs play out in individuals' lives, the consequences of violence—both domestic and societal, grief, loss, change.
Brinkley's skill shines in effortless but breathtaking phrases and characters who break your heart even as you shake your head at their foibles. He commands the narrative with just the right amount of revelation at just the right moment and is a master of the slow reveal: unfurling characters' secrets like a slow-motion video of a high-wire fall, maintaining an element of surprise without straining credulity.
I tried to choose a favorite, but I couldn't.
Would it be "Comfort," in which Simone, still struggling to get her life on track four years after her brother was killed by a police officer, takes up with a man she calls Bamboo because they met at a Caribbean restaurant? "She enjoys the ease of him, his willingness to come over whenever she asks him to, his compliance when she wants to be left alone. She likes that he doesn't insist too strongly on going out, or on talking about her troubles." She imagines the wife of the police officer, who was not convicted, and how moving to the suburbs, as the officer did after his administrative leave, "might be the fulfillment of an old-fashioned dream, a life of safety and peace away from the city. Or maybe she's bored out of her mind in the suburbs, maybe she despises it there." Simone drinks herself into oblivion as she ruminates on the officer and his family and her brother's last moments playing out in the squad car. The "comfort" of the title is revealed in the brief ending scene, told from Bamboo's point of view, which I won't spoil for readers.
Or my favorite could be "Arrows," a modern ghost story that doesn't reveal itself as such immediately, in which Helena haunts her husband and son from within the bedroom of the house she once inhabited. Or maybe "Gloria," in which a lonely older woman begins writing notes to her food delivery person. As a hospitality service worker herself, she finds herself entangled in the dynamics of the hotel's power structure. Her letters to the delivery person become more detailed, revealing her relationship with her late husband. "Before now," she writes, "I've never had deep, forthright correspondence with anyone. I've never kept a diary or a journal. A woman and her wall of books (and sometimes a flaming dress worth one's notice)—that's all I've ever been, really.”
Each story seemed more engaging than the last, and by the time I reached "Witness," the tenth, I had become a devoted fan of Brinkley's work and look forward to more.
I received an advance copy of this book through NetGalley.