So….
I mean…..
Well…..
Hmm.
In one of my reading status updates for this book, I wrote that I am not smart enough for Steve Rasnic Tem. I stand by this assessment. Reading Tem is an experience akin to watching Twin Peaks: The Return — it’s beautiful and unnerving and certainly means something greater than I can comprehend and wait a minute, it’s over?
Tem’s writing is gorgeous. The man can craft a sentence. I mean, listen to this:
The phone rings many times a day, but it is always someone pretending to be someone they are not. Sometimes you can barely hear them. They act as if they know you when they don’t know you at all. Sometimes when you answer no one is there but everyone is listening.
Amazing, right? And what does it mean? No clue!
Many of the stories spend much of their running time detailing normal, boring, real-life events that are suddenly, weirdly turned on their ears at the last possible second—often in the last paragraph, sort of like this (disclaimer: Tem did not write this. I did.):
Chuck stared out into the summer sun. It was a beautiful day, warm but not too warm, cool but not too cool, with a slight hint of the rain that would come later in the evening. Chuck sat on his back deck, looking at the lake behind his house. Although he was satisfied with his life, there was always an element of uncertainty in every decision he made.
This probably went back to his childhood. Although he couldn’t remember everything clearly, he knew that something terrible happened to him when he was five years old. He remembered talking to his imaginary friend, Charles, about it. He just couldn’t remember exactly what it was that he had said.
As the sun began to set and the rain began to fall, Chuck went back into his home. He thought he heard a noise like whistling outside, but he wasn’t sure. He looked out his window and saw nothing. No one was there.
As he entered the bathroom, he realized his face felt funny, like it had never felt before. He looked around for a mirror, but they had all disappeared. He reached up slowly, gingerly, and touched his face. There was nothing there.
Feel that WTF? That burning in your brain that insists you must have missed something? That’s essentially what it’s like to read the stories in this volume. So while I didn’t dislike them, it is unlikely that I’ll return to this book anytime soon. I just don’t think my brain works the way it needs to in order to enjoy them. I freely admit that I am very much in the minority, however, so what do I know?
(You may be thinking, “If you didn’t really enjoy or understand this, then why did you give it 4 stars?” Easy peasy, pal o’ mine: I’m at least smart enough to know when I’ve been outclassed.)