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Slab
On a slab that's all Katrina left of her Mississippi home, Tiger tells her story, and it is as American as Horatio Alger, Schwab's Pharmacy, and a tent revival. She was a stripper, but is she now a performance artist and best-selling author, and it is really Barbara Walters she's narrating this tale to? We're too dazzled to know more than that this is about how a girl ends up in the backwash of decadence and sin and how out of the flotsam and jetsam she might construct a story of herself and the South to carry her to salvation. Serial killers, preachers, and prison flower-arranging classes. Bikers, bad boyfriends, and a stripper who performed as a Trans Am. Tiger has seen it all and as she sits on her slab, identifying anecdotes as they go by, we witness Selah Saterstrom at her greatest—funny, bawdy, and steeped in the landscape and all the devastation it has created and absorbed. Selah Saterstrom is the author of the novels The Pink Institution , The Meat and Spirit Plan, and Slab , all published by Coffee House Press. She is also the author of Tiger Goes to the Dogs , a limited edition letterpress project published by Nor By Press. Her prose, poetry, and interviews can be found in publications such as The Black Warrior Review , Postroad , Tarpaulin Sky , Fourteen Hills , and other places. She is the director of the PhD program in creative writing at the University of Denver and teaches and lectures throughout the United States.
- GenresFiction
186 pages, Paperback
First published July 20, 2015
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295 people want to read
About the author
Selah Saterstrom
9 books110 followersSelah Saterstrom is the author of the novels Slab, The Meat and Spirit Plan, and The Pink Institution, all published by Coffee House Press. In 2016 Essay Press will publish a collection of her essays on Divinatory Poetics. She is the Director of Creative Writing at the University of Denver.
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
December 16, 2015
Selah Saterstrom is a visionary and her latest book, Slab, takes us to the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina where our narrator, Tiger, waits to be rescued from the concrete slab where a house might have once stood. But none of that is stated overtly—in fact, if you were not familiar with Saterstrom or Hurricane Katrina you might have missed this—which is sort of the point. Instead it’s pure Saterstrom, where the ruined landscape becomes a mutable, pliable, Everyman landscape. “Big City” could ultimately be any city. And while waiting on The Slab for “what comes next” Tiger tells her story—a story complete with strip clubs, Trans Ams, fortune tellers and a Preacher on the move—to a fictional Barbara Walters. Though much of the charm of Saterstrom’s narrative is woven in its Southern flavors, superstitions, hilarious anecdotes, and a “recipe” for red velvet cake, her insights about the nature of destruction and resiliency are universal. Saterstrom gently reminds us that in the end we all must sit on our own slabs and face our own beautiful, flawed selves.
November 13, 2017
Slab, by Selah Saterstrom is the story of a stripper named Tiger, hailing from New Orleans. She is named due to her habit of dancing with striped highlights in her hair, and over the course of recounting numerous vignettes from her life, she offers a vast handful of fragmented observations that allow readers to reflect pensively upon a life of hardship, deprivation, struggle and, occasionally, clarity.
We first join Tiger before she has received her name, as she and several colleagues work on creating themes for their dancing routines. Tiger displays a level of cultural awareness that attempts to reach beyond her meagre surroundings, considering the influences of “profound women,” but ultimately this extents little further than, for example, allowing the story of Florence Nightingale to inspire a nurse-theme stripper costume complete with the red highlights that gave Tiger her name.
As the story progresses, Tiger routinely refers back to a hypothetical interview with Barbara Walters, who asks Tiger about her formative experiences as if she were some newly emergent celebrity. Tiger’s responses allow her the opportunity to recount some event from her life, such as, for example, her family’s failed experience with dog ownership, which tend to end, not in profound revelation, but the recounting of some tolerable hardship that seems to define the life or way of life from which Tiger hails.
Tiger recounts her time as an inmate of juvenile correctional facility, where she was sent due to a failed attempt at grand theft auto. While inside, she meets a woman of Japanese descent who taught the inmates flower arrangement for self-improvement purposes, and who shortly thereafter, died of breast cancer, after having left a positive impression on Tiger’s life.
Tiger speaks of how she lived in a plantation house created by one of the Harpe brothers, two of the earliest documented serial killers in America, how she dated a self-proclaimed devil-worshipper who encouraged her to write poetry and how she first became a stripper, moving from one club to the next in pursuit of a venue that would allow her to make more money.
There are other anecdotes featured as well. There is, for example, the story of Penelope, a waterman’s wife who accidently gives her mother the erotic pictures she had intended for her husband. There is also Preacher, a man named in the vain hopes that the appellation would confer upon him holiness, yet who nonetheless receives revelations of a spiritual nature as he is granted visions of the future by a fortune teller.
In the end, a young woman named Harriet receives a final revelation from the fortune teller, a bittersweet revelation that portends an impending conclusion. She is told, while standing before a concrete slab, that it is time for her to leave.
This scene is important for the structure of the work overall due to its encapsulating quality. The revelation that Harriet receives claims, on page 191, “It is what it is. The best you can do is accept it.” It further suggest, on that same page “Make an offering for what is lost without judging how that offering is received.” This sentiment is, in my opinion, a powerfully effective summary of the overall nature of this work. It is an act of remembrance of many circumstances, each of which contain within them a sort of circumstantial duality. There is, contained within, a great deal of extreme hardship, but never confronted with an attitude of despair or lamentation, only of remembrance.
Tiger recalls, for example, the grim situation surrounding Cindy on page 15, remarking “See you, She says” and “See you, I say.” As it would turn out, “That was the last time I saw Cindy.” Tiger takes not a moment to recall her own mourning, only acknowledging that the tragic separation did indeed occur.
This same style of remembrance can be observed as Tiger recounts her living situation. She describes on page 35 “The first documented serial killers in u.s. territory were brothers Micajah and Wiley Harpe…” in a style of narration that borders on the absolutely clinical. This progresses for several pages until Tiger finally reaches a point to connect the story to her own life. She recalls that the house of one of the Harpe brothers “Was where I lived as a small child” on page 38, and later still adds “by which time Little Harpe was long dead.” This clinical description of horrific events creates a sense of distance which connects this passage to the thesis of simple acknowledgement which appeared at the end of the story. The Harpe murders stain the location of Tiger’s childhood, but they did not define it. Instead, Tiger recalls, on page 38, how her grandfather had installed a tire swing.
This duality in Tiger’s existence is further embodied by the nature of her one-time boyfriend, Jesus. She describes him in a manner that some might find cliché, “He listened to Heavy metal and drank beer and smoked shitty joints” on page 41. Indeed, Tiger even remarks “He was like all the guys I knew but different.” Tiger further recalls, on that same page, however, that Jesus was a fan of poetry, reading Robert Frost and attempting to encourage Tiger to find her own poetic muse, despite her own lack of confidence. This incident, as well, serves as an example of the dualism in Tiger’s life. While it may seem gritty and deprived in many cliché trappings, it has, all at once, moments of revelatory optimism that are all the more powerful for their slight and mundane nature.
One of the most striking aspects of my experience after having read this book is the extent to which I feel the text had invited me to consider the events depicted within on its own terms. The tendency of the narration not to invest itself aggressively in the emotions of its moments, seeming as they are to have been fraught with emotional potential, was, in my reading experience, extremely pensive. In reading this work, I wanted to observe, and usually, the text did not relent in providing opportunities to do so.
Its highlight-focused approach to pseudo-memoire was powerfully engaging. Each moment felt formative to the life of the principal characters, and I felt privileged to have the chance to reflect upon them myself. It is for that reason that I would be willing to recommend this book to anyone feeling starved for a piece of gritty personal reflection.
We first join Tiger before she has received her name, as she and several colleagues work on creating themes for their dancing routines. Tiger displays a level of cultural awareness that attempts to reach beyond her meagre surroundings, considering the influences of “profound women,” but ultimately this extents little further than, for example, allowing the story of Florence Nightingale to inspire a nurse-theme stripper costume complete with the red highlights that gave Tiger her name.
As the story progresses, Tiger routinely refers back to a hypothetical interview with Barbara Walters, who asks Tiger about her formative experiences as if she were some newly emergent celebrity. Tiger’s responses allow her the opportunity to recount some event from her life, such as, for example, her family’s failed experience with dog ownership, which tend to end, not in profound revelation, but the recounting of some tolerable hardship that seems to define the life or way of life from which Tiger hails.
Tiger recounts her time as an inmate of juvenile correctional facility, where she was sent due to a failed attempt at grand theft auto. While inside, she meets a woman of Japanese descent who taught the inmates flower arrangement for self-improvement purposes, and who shortly thereafter, died of breast cancer, after having left a positive impression on Tiger’s life.
Tiger speaks of how she lived in a plantation house created by one of the Harpe brothers, two of the earliest documented serial killers in America, how she dated a self-proclaimed devil-worshipper who encouraged her to write poetry and how she first became a stripper, moving from one club to the next in pursuit of a venue that would allow her to make more money.
There are other anecdotes featured as well. There is, for example, the story of Penelope, a waterman’s wife who accidently gives her mother the erotic pictures she had intended for her husband. There is also Preacher, a man named in the vain hopes that the appellation would confer upon him holiness, yet who nonetheless receives revelations of a spiritual nature as he is granted visions of the future by a fortune teller.
In the end, a young woman named Harriet receives a final revelation from the fortune teller, a bittersweet revelation that portends an impending conclusion. She is told, while standing before a concrete slab, that it is time for her to leave.
This scene is important for the structure of the work overall due to its encapsulating quality. The revelation that Harriet receives claims, on page 191, “It is what it is. The best you can do is accept it.” It further suggest, on that same page “Make an offering for what is lost without judging how that offering is received.” This sentiment is, in my opinion, a powerfully effective summary of the overall nature of this work. It is an act of remembrance of many circumstances, each of which contain within them a sort of circumstantial duality. There is, contained within, a great deal of extreme hardship, but never confronted with an attitude of despair or lamentation, only of remembrance.
Tiger recalls, for example, the grim situation surrounding Cindy on page 15, remarking “See you, She says” and “See you, I say.” As it would turn out, “That was the last time I saw Cindy.” Tiger takes not a moment to recall her own mourning, only acknowledging that the tragic separation did indeed occur.
This same style of remembrance can be observed as Tiger recounts her living situation. She describes on page 35 “The first documented serial killers in u.s. territory were brothers Micajah and Wiley Harpe…” in a style of narration that borders on the absolutely clinical. This progresses for several pages until Tiger finally reaches a point to connect the story to her own life. She recalls that the house of one of the Harpe brothers “Was where I lived as a small child” on page 38, and later still adds “by which time Little Harpe was long dead.” This clinical description of horrific events creates a sense of distance which connects this passage to the thesis of simple acknowledgement which appeared at the end of the story. The Harpe murders stain the location of Tiger’s childhood, but they did not define it. Instead, Tiger recalls, on page 38, how her grandfather had installed a tire swing.
This duality in Tiger’s existence is further embodied by the nature of her one-time boyfriend, Jesus. She describes him in a manner that some might find cliché, “He listened to Heavy metal and drank beer and smoked shitty joints” on page 41. Indeed, Tiger even remarks “He was like all the guys I knew but different.” Tiger further recalls, on that same page, however, that Jesus was a fan of poetry, reading Robert Frost and attempting to encourage Tiger to find her own poetic muse, despite her own lack of confidence. This incident, as well, serves as an example of the dualism in Tiger’s life. While it may seem gritty and deprived in many cliché trappings, it has, all at once, moments of revelatory optimism that are all the more powerful for their slight and mundane nature.
One of the most striking aspects of my experience after having read this book is the extent to which I feel the text had invited me to consider the events depicted within on its own terms. The tendency of the narration not to invest itself aggressively in the emotions of its moments, seeming as they are to have been fraught with emotional potential, was, in my reading experience, extremely pensive. In reading this work, I wanted to observe, and usually, the text did not relent in providing opportunities to do so.
Its highlight-focused approach to pseudo-memoire was powerfully engaging. Each moment felt formative to the life of the principal characters, and I felt privileged to have the chance to reflect upon them myself. It is for that reason that I would be willing to recommend this book to anyone feeling starved for a piece of gritty personal reflection.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 3, 2020
It's a wild ride, but worth it!
November 13, 2017
Slab is a book that doesn't like to be pigeonholed as a single genre. It is part fiction, part poetry, part play, and part historical non-fiction, among others. It challenges the reader to extract meaning from a seemingly disoriented plot, one that I'm sure is intentional of capturing the devastation after a life-changing storm.
In Act One, Slab follows Tiger, a stripper (and part-time writer?) who only has a concrete slab left of her home after Hurricane Katrina, and who is being interviewed by an assumed fictionalized version of Barbara Walters. She tells her stories of her various friends, lovers, and dogs, and the true story of Micajah and Wiley Harpe, the first known serial killers in U.S. territory. As a child, she lived on the property where Wiley Harpe was hanged. Tiger makes succinct yet profound (and at times humorous) statements to Barbara after telling her stories: "The real devil is loneliness," or, "What need is there to weep over parts? The whole of it calls for tears." On the surface, it seems as though Saterstrom uses these interview moments to reach the reader in a moment of here's what it all means, but I think this only further complicates the narrative. One has to ask oneself: Why is this presented as a play? Why is there a fictional interview? This is about a very real storm, what parts are non-fiction?
Act Two lost me a little - I knew that Tiger had to meet Preacher at some point (the full title of the book is Slab: On that Hallelujah Day When Tiger & Preacher Meet), but Preacher's story comes in as almost an afterthought. The man's name is actually Preacher, and he becomes a preacher after a terrible accident. It gets somewhat confusing from there, as there are biblical retellings and Tarot card readings depicting the future.
I like this book for experimenting with genre and telling a story in a refreshing way, but I have to admit that I didn't always fully grasp what was supposed to be happening, and perhaps this is deliberate. Although Katrina isn't explicitly stated much in the narrative, the vision on the last page resonates something most of us remember:
"It is the story of people leaving their homes and never coming back ... There isn't time to pack a bag, you must be on your way." And so, we have a book with characters who struggle with identity, so it seemed to be reinventing itself in terms of content and form. Although this can be a bit perplexing at times, I would still recommend the book.
In Act One, Slab follows Tiger, a stripper (and part-time writer?) who only has a concrete slab left of her home after Hurricane Katrina, and who is being interviewed by an assumed fictionalized version of Barbara Walters. She tells her stories of her various friends, lovers, and dogs, and the true story of Micajah and Wiley Harpe, the first known serial killers in U.S. territory. As a child, she lived on the property where Wiley Harpe was hanged. Tiger makes succinct yet profound (and at times humorous) statements to Barbara after telling her stories: "The real devil is loneliness," or, "What need is there to weep over parts? The whole of it calls for tears." On the surface, it seems as though Saterstrom uses these interview moments to reach the reader in a moment of here's what it all means, but I think this only further complicates the narrative. One has to ask oneself: Why is this presented as a play? Why is there a fictional interview? This is about a very real storm, what parts are non-fiction?
Act Two lost me a little - I knew that Tiger had to meet Preacher at some point (the full title of the book is Slab: On that Hallelujah Day When Tiger & Preacher Meet), but Preacher's story comes in as almost an afterthought. The man's name is actually Preacher, and he becomes a preacher after a terrible accident. It gets somewhat confusing from there, as there are biblical retellings and Tarot card readings depicting the future.
I like this book for experimenting with genre and telling a story in a refreshing way, but I have to admit that I didn't always fully grasp what was supposed to be happening, and perhaps this is deliberate. Although Katrina isn't explicitly stated much in the narrative, the vision on the last page resonates something most of us remember:
"It is the story of people leaving their homes and never coming back ... There isn't time to pack a bag, you must be on your way." And so, we have a book with characters who struggle with identity, so it seemed to be reinventing itself in terms of content and form. Although this can be a bit perplexing at times, I would still recommend the book.
November 13, 2017
Annotations
I think it is interesting that you described this book as (what is the specific term?) having a post Hurricane Katrina setting as I think this is only a very small part of the book. In fact, if you had not said this and I hadn't read the inside flap, I don't think I would have realized what destroyed Tiger's home, only that it was flooding. I think what Katrina does for the story is that it adds to Tiger's homelessness and lack of belonging. She transitions between jobs, between relationships frequently throughout the book. She feels lost, and this is strongest in Scene Sixteen when she is with Champ, although it is a return to the slab, to what home was.
I have been looking at how the south is represented in this book and while I definitely find it interesting it also seems unflattering. That in the south people are not respectable and in some cases, seem to revert to some animal nature. One of Tiger's stories that stands out to me the most is the one about the Harpe brothers. That tale of wilderness and violence, of psychopathy, to say "I was raised here. I lived in the history of these men." (Not actually quoted from the book.) I suppose this story shows that the devil's presence is not an unusual part of Tiger's life. It helps me understand why she is more curious rather than alarmed, by her lover's devil worshipping. I am an atheist, and do not believe in the devil. But I believe that the devil represents evil. If someone told me they worshipped the devil they might as well have told me they worship Charles Manson. I think I would avoid this person.
Slab is one of these "what genre is this?" texts. From the outside it looks like a novel. It has paragraphs interspersed with dialogue like a novel, yet it also has stage directions and a list of players. It has acts. This hybrid combination of play/novel seems to add meta and distance to the book. Each time I read the stage notes it took me out of the story. Stage directions seem to imply "this is how it should be logistically." People are told where to stand, where the light should shine. It is not the story. On page 156 there is the line "After a moment's hesitation, the actress playing Tiger joined him." From what I have found, this is the first time Tiger's character is shown to not actually be Tiger other than what a reader might infer from the stage notes. The play is acknowledging itself.
Maybe Tiger wrote the book and died, and to share her story it has been put on stage?
The Barbara Walters scenes feel like a strange addition. Suddenly, I have even more questions about who Tiger is. Is she really talking to Barbara Walters? Barbara doesn't interview boring people. She doesn't interview people who don't matter. It reminds me of when I am teaching rhetorical appeals to my students. If Barbara is talking with Tiger then Tiger's ethos is suddenly raised. I don't know if these scenes are true events in Tiger's life. I can go either way with it being in Tiger's head, or that she achieved a level of fame/notoriety. I am, however, leaning towards that it is imagined because from the several Barbara Walters interviews I have seen over the years, Barbara's personality does not feel spot on. Would she say, "So, we should say thank you. Not only to darling Tommy the Gun, but also to U.S. veteran hero Dwayne..." (117). That seems a little too much, like she is feeding Tiger's ego. Also, Anton Chekhov died in the early 1900s. Pretty sure Barbara Walters did not interview him.
I think it is interesting that you described this book as (what is the specific term?) having a post Hurricane Katrina setting as I think this is only a very small part of the book. In fact, if you had not said this and I hadn't read the inside flap, I don't think I would have realized what destroyed Tiger's home, only that it was flooding. I think what Katrina does for the story is that it adds to Tiger's homelessness and lack of belonging. She transitions between jobs, between relationships frequently throughout the book. She feels lost, and this is strongest in Scene Sixteen when she is with Champ, although it is a return to the slab, to what home was.
I have been looking at how the south is represented in this book and while I definitely find it interesting it also seems unflattering. That in the south people are not respectable and in some cases, seem to revert to some animal nature. One of Tiger's stories that stands out to me the most is the one about the Harpe brothers. That tale of wilderness and violence, of psychopathy, to say "I was raised here. I lived in the history of these men." (Not actually quoted from the book.) I suppose this story shows that the devil's presence is not an unusual part of Tiger's life. It helps me understand why she is more curious rather than alarmed, by her lover's devil worshipping. I am an atheist, and do not believe in the devil. But I believe that the devil represents evil. If someone told me they worshipped the devil they might as well have told me they worship Charles Manson. I think I would avoid this person.
Slab is one of these "what genre is this?" texts. From the outside it looks like a novel. It has paragraphs interspersed with dialogue like a novel, yet it also has stage directions and a list of players. It has acts. This hybrid combination of play/novel seems to add meta and distance to the book. Each time I read the stage notes it took me out of the story. Stage directions seem to imply "this is how it should be logistically." People are told where to stand, where the light should shine. It is not the story. On page 156 there is the line "After a moment's hesitation, the actress playing Tiger joined him." From what I have found, this is the first time Tiger's character is shown to not actually be Tiger other than what a reader might infer from the stage notes. The play is acknowledging itself.
Maybe Tiger wrote the book and died, and to share her story it has been put on stage?
The Barbara Walters scenes feel like a strange addition. Suddenly, I have even more questions about who Tiger is. Is she really talking to Barbara Walters? Barbara doesn't interview boring people. She doesn't interview people who don't matter. It reminds me of when I am teaching rhetorical appeals to my students. If Barbara is talking with Tiger then Tiger's ethos is suddenly raised. I don't know if these scenes are true events in Tiger's life. I can go either way with it being in Tiger's head, or that she achieved a level of fame/notoriety. I am, however, leaning towards that it is imagined because from the several Barbara Walters interviews I have seen over the years, Barbara's personality does not feel spot on. Would she say, "So, we should say thank you. Not only to darling Tommy the Gun, but also to U.S. veteran hero Dwayne..." (117). That seems a little too much, like she is feeding Tiger's ego. Also, Anton Chekhov died in the early 1900s. Pretty sure Barbara Walters did not interview him.
November 10, 2017
Slab is not a book that you casually read. While it is a relatively fast read because of the choices regarding form made by Saterstrom, the material is dense and meandering. At the center of the book is a character named Tiger - a stripper, writer of an intensely odd cookbook, and a con artist. Though the narrative is conveyed in multiple ways, the general framework is an interview with Barbara Walters. We learn about the south, about family, about religion, about crime, and about alternative ways of telling a story.
One of the things that's most fascinating about this piece is how Saterstrom plays with the idea of how a book can be written. For example, is this a play? Is this a novel? Is it a pseudo-memoir of the south and the effects of hurricanes? Is it, at least in part, a prose poem? Attempting to answer that question is ultimately futile and that's part of the point. Saterstrom seems to want us, as readers, to go through the book and accept it as what it is - a menagerie of stories, identities, and forms.
While I found myself ultimately mystified by this book, I enjoyed the playful way that Saterstrom tells stories. She seems to capture the new south in a way that few are able to. Ideas of race and privilege are touched upon thoughtfully and with grace. An examination of the way that southern states have changed since Hurricane Katrina is also incredibly valuable - since it was partly inspired by the loss of her mother's house, it is the backbone of the book (and inspired the title). Further, Saterstrom doesn't hesitate to display the greasy, gritty underbelly of the south, one full of crime and desperation.
The biggest weakness of the book was, in my opinion, the final section, which dwelt on a suddenly new character - Preacher. He's another representation of a conman and brings out the mystical underbelly of the book even further. In this way, the section was really valuable. The elements of magical realism were brought more to the forefront. However, it also felt out of place. Had it been braided throughout the book, perhaps it would have worked better. As is, though, it felt tacked on. Preacher doesn't show growth and isn't nearly as intriguing as Tiger and the playful darkness isn't as successful.
Overall, because of the way that this book aspires to partially reinvent a truly old wheel, Slab is a massive success. The south has been looking for new authors to carry on the tradition of Faulkner and O'Connor and though I wouldn't necessarily say that Saterstrom is directly following in their footsteps, she is adapting their stories and the modernism of Faulkner to a new south, one that is struggling to find its identity. As a book that works towards an understanding of identity (both in terms of form and in terms of its characters), Slab represents a brilliant approach to difficult topics.
One of the things that's most fascinating about this piece is how Saterstrom plays with the idea of how a book can be written. For example, is this a play? Is this a novel? Is it a pseudo-memoir of the south and the effects of hurricanes? Is it, at least in part, a prose poem? Attempting to answer that question is ultimately futile and that's part of the point. Saterstrom seems to want us, as readers, to go through the book and accept it as what it is - a menagerie of stories, identities, and forms.
While I found myself ultimately mystified by this book, I enjoyed the playful way that Saterstrom tells stories. She seems to capture the new south in a way that few are able to. Ideas of race and privilege are touched upon thoughtfully and with grace. An examination of the way that southern states have changed since Hurricane Katrina is also incredibly valuable - since it was partly inspired by the loss of her mother's house, it is the backbone of the book (and inspired the title). Further, Saterstrom doesn't hesitate to display the greasy, gritty underbelly of the south, one full of crime and desperation.
The biggest weakness of the book was, in my opinion, the final section, which dwelt on a suddenly new character - Preacher. He's another representation of a conman and brings out the mystical underbelly of the book even further. In this way, the section was really valuable. The elements of magical realism were brought more to the forefront. However, it also felt out of place. Had it been braided throughout the book, perhaps it would have worked better. As is, though, it felt tacked on. Preacher doesn't show growth and isn't nearly as intriguing as Tiger and the playful darkness isn't as successful.
Overall, because of the way that this book aspires to partially reinvent a truly old wheel, Slab is a massive success. The south has been looking for new authors to carry on the tradition of Faulkner and O'Connor and though I wouldn't necessarily say that Saterstrom is directly following in their footsteps, she is adapting their stories and the modernism of Faulkner to a new south, one that is struggling to find its identity. As a book that works towards an understanding of identity (both in terms of form and in terms of its characters), Slab represents a brilliant approach to difficult topics.
November 13, 2017
Slab is one of those books that starts stronger than it finishes. Which makes sense with a pastiche-style narrative: front-load it with the interesting stuff.
Divided into seventeen chapters, each of which works as a self-contained short story, Slab tells the story of the protagonist, Tiger, and her life as an exotic dancer and cookbook writer. None of the chapters are related, though there is a structuring element going on throughout: an interview between Barbara Walters and the narrator. As I always try to reverse-engineer books, I would imagine the Barbara Walters sections were added late in the revision in order to make the book more cohesive.
Slab sort of reminds me of Kathy Acker, where it is really grounded in reality but makes a lot of pastiche-style decisions (hymn lyrics, interviews, concrete-ish poems, bad drawings, etc). Saterstrom does a great job of keeping the narrative interesting enough that these pastiche elements do not feel intrusive. Mainly through humor or great story endings.
The book is full of good jokes, but one that really amuses me is more of a meta-level one: not only is the book's second act really short, it is really short in comparison to the first act, perhaps 20 pages long. It feels like filler, almost, as it features a different main character, Preacher, and doesn't really go anywhere. But earlier in the novel Saterstrom quotes Chekov's famous formalist maxim "If there's a gun in the first act, it better be used in the third." While there are plenty of guns in the first act -- and most of them are in fact used -- one is left to wonder what this gun does in the imaginary final act. At the very least, evoking a third act in a work that barely gets out of the first is an amusing idea.
That's the overarching question: why does the book's subtitle suggest Tiger and Preacher will meet? Why does the subtitle give Preacher as much importance as Tiger, though he barely appears in the book? I am sure this is playing with reader expectation or novelistic form, but at the state it's in, it feels like a novella with a short story added to make it novel-length.
Divided into seventeen chapters, each of which works as a self-contained short story, Slab tells the story of the protagonist, Tiger, and her life as an exotic dancer and cookbook writer. None of the chapters are related, though there is a structuring element going on throughout: an interview between Barbara Walters and the narrator. As I always try to reverse-engineer books, I would imagine the Barbara Walters sections were added late in the revision in order to make the book more cohesive.
Slab sort of reminds me of Kathy Acker, where it is really grounded in reality but makes a lot of pastiche-style decisions (hymn lyrics, interviews, concrete-ish poems, bad drawings, etc). Saterstrom does a great job of keeping the narrative interesting enough that these pastiche elements do not feel intrusive. Mainly through humor or great story endings.
The book is full of good jokes, but one that really amuses me is more of a meta-level one: not only is the book's second act really short, it is really short in comparison to the first act, perhaps 20 pages long. It feels like filler, almost, as it features a different main character, Preacher, and doesn't really go anywhere. But earlier in the novel Saterstrom quotes Chekov's famous formalist maxim "If there's a gun in the first act, it better be used in the third." While there are plenty of guns in the first act -- and most of them are in fact used -- one is left to wonder what this gun does in the imaginary final act. At the very least, evoking a third act in a work that barely gets out of the first is an amusing idea.
That's the overarching question: why does the book's subtitle suggest Tiger and Preacher will meet? Why does the subtitle give Preacher as much importance as Tiger, though he barely appears in the book? I am sure this is playing with reader expectation or novelistic form, but at the state it's in, it feels like a novella with a short story added to make it novel-length.
November 10, 2017
I'm pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed this book! I went into it thinking, "Please be good," because i didn't know what to expect from it and I don't think the cover helps at all. (Don't judge a book by its cover ha!).
Anyways, the craft in this book is very different from anything I've read so far and I really enjoyed that. I enjoyed the kind of play like format and how sections began with parts and there was a scene 1 and 2 to the book as well. It was also relatively easy to keep everything in order when reading it despite the format not being traditional.
I think what works in this book is that it touches on different topics in a way that isn't traditional and when reading it one can follow along, because you're kind of left in awe as to how and why this is working as well as it did.
When i did get to the second part of the book which is also the ending I was kind of confused. I wanted to keep reading about Tiger and I found that the voice for Preacher was different than the rest of the book. I almost put the book down and quit reading it on that section just because something about it disrupted the flow/mind set that I was in, but I think that is what that part is meant to do.
I also enjoyed how the book ends despite it not being a very happy ending. There is something tragic that kind of grips you at your heart with the last sentence and I found that really hauntingly beautiful.
Anyways, the craft in this book is very different from anything I've read so far and I really enjoyed that. I enjoyed the kind of play like format and how sections began with parts and there was a scene 1 and 2 to the book as well. It was also relatively easy to keep everything in order when reading it despite the format not being traditional.
I think what works in this book is that it touches on different topics in a way that isn't traditional and when reading it one can follow along, because you're kind of left in awe as to how and why this is working as well as it did.
When i did get to the second part of the book which is also the ending I was kind of confused. I wanted to keep reading about Tiger and I found that the voice for Preacher was different than the rest of the book. I almost put the book down and quit reading it on that section just because something about it disrupted the flow/mind set that I was in, but I think that is what that part is meant to do.
I also enjoyed how the book ends despite it not being a very happy ending. There is something tragic that kind of grips you at your heart with the last sentence and I found that really hauntingly beautiful.
November 14, 2017
I could write at length about this book and I'm not sure I'd even cover the half of it, but here are some quick thoughts.
In Slab, we have a woman, Tiger, who, desperate to reconstruct her life following a defining moment of trauma, tells stories. These stories create her own, new world, for herself, and attempt to reconcile her loss of memory and life. Through the stories, which undoubtedly hold some truth, we are offered plural renditions of trauma, coping, and recovery. I'm going to use the word trauma a lot here.
I'm drawn especially to Tiger's attitudes toward death. Tiger finds death both something to laugh at and something to try to understand. One of these is much easier than the other, and Tiger's understandings of death recur in erratic ways.
This book, too, is obsessed with performativity. Staged as a play wherein Tiger sits atop a concrete slab and recounts these stories to the audience and an imagined (?) Barbara Walters, with are offered, within the play, multiple performative elements. Tiger as interviewee. Tiger as dancer. Tiger as Miss Mississippi. Tiger as character played by actress. It's these performances that help suggest Tiger is grasping for an identity.
I love this book and I hope that Saterstrom continues writing and I also hope that these annotations aren't diminishing to her book...
In Slab, we have a woman, Tiger, who, desperate to reconstruct her life following a defining moment of trauma, tells stories. These stories create her own, new world, for herself, and attempt to reconcile her loss of memory and life. Through the stories, which undoubtedly hold some truth, we are offered plural renditions of trauma, coping, and recovery. I'm going to use the word trauma a lot here.
I'm drawn especially to Tiger's attitudes toward death. Tiger finds death both something to laugh at and something to try to understand. One of these is much easier than the other, and Tiger's understandings of death recur in erratic ways.
This book, too, is obsessed with performativity. Staged as a play wherein Tiger sits atop a concrete slab and recounts these stories to the audience and an imagined (?) Barbara Walters, with are offered, within the play, multiple performative elements. Tiger as interviewee. Tiger as dancer. Tiger as Miss Mississippi. Tiger as character played by actress. It's these performances that help suggest Tiger is grasping for an identity.
I love this book and I hope that Saterstrom continues writing and I also hope that these annotations aren't diminishing to her book...
November 13, 2017
From play to interview to prose to poetry to recipes, this novel seems as though it was chucked in with the genre title because no one could figure out what the hell it was. Perhaps if it had been labeled differently Slab would have been less disappointing for those readers who expect an actual plot from a novel.
The skips in time and space and narrator are disorienting and disruptive, particularly when it comes to the interview portions with Barbara Walters. Elements such as this that might be quirky and whimsical to some, come across as gimmicky to others. The disconnected and fragmented nature of this text (which can be done very well) is painful to sift through without a single lifeline to hold onto, leaving the reader to feel adrift in overblown nonsense. Is the book about religion? Good and evil? The South? Identities? Hurricane Katrina? Who knows? But that's what the book jacket would have you believe.
While the details of a few sentences here and there are compelling and momentarily make me want to keep reading, most of the novel is an unpleasant trudge. Had this been a simple collection of poetry with the fat trimmed off it probably would have been more appealing.
The skips in time and space and narrator are disorienting and disruptive, particularly when it comes to the interview portions with Barbara Walters. Elements such as this that might be quirky and whimsical to some, come across as gimmicky to others. The disconnected and fragmented nature of this text (which can be done very well) is painful to sift through without a single lifeline to hold onto, leaving the reader to feel adrift in overblown nonsense. Is the book about religion? Good and evil? The South? Identities? Hurricane Katrina? Who knows? But that's what the book jacket would have you believe.
While the details of a few sentences here and there are compelling and momentarily make me want to keep reading, most of the novel is an unpleasant trudge. Had this been a simple collection of poetry with the fat trimmed off it probably would have been more appealing.
March 26, 2024
“What we want to know is if you can shake that ass. Ten ways from here to Georgia. If you can shake that ass like it’s going to be the death of you.”
What a trip, what an act.
Tiger is on her slab. Her slab is barren and empty, but it’s hers. There are face eating dogs, strip joints, a shotgun, fictional Barbara Walters, a fortune teller, a preacher reviving a seagull.
Tiger -a stripper, a writer, a juvenile detention inmate, a gun safety advocate - reminisces on her life and where she’s going next. It is a memoir, a play, an interview all wrapped into one. A fucking wild ride, that’s for sure.
Don’t be fooled by the short blocks of text, this is a dense read that gets you thinking. What does your slab look like after Katrina - or any disaster?
Saterstrom is a damn good writer and masterful story teller. I’m so excited to read more of her books. She has a way of speaking for those that are usually not listened to, and I loved every second of it. Tiger for president.
4.5/5
What a trip, what an act.
Tiger is on her slab. Her slab is barren and empty, but it’s hers. There are face eating dogs, strip joints, a shotgun, fictional Barbara Walters, a fortune teller, a preacher reviving a seagull.
Tiger -a stripper, a writer, a juvenile detention inmate, a gun safety advocate - reminisces on her life and where she’s going next. It is a memoir, a play, an interview all wrapped into one. A fucking wild ride, that’s for sure.
Don’t be fooled by the short blocks of text, this is a dense read that gets you thinking. What does your slab look like after Katrina - or any disaster?
Saterstrom is a damn good writer and masterful story teller. I’m so excited to read more of her books. She has a way of speaking for those that are usually not listened to, and I loved every second of it. Tiger for president.
4.5/5
November 8, 2017
Selah Saterstrom’s Slab details through moments of memory from the point of view of Tiger. Despite the scene-like introductions, the story progresses through moments that Tiger remembers assumably because they are poignant to her. Tiger humorously dictates her moments to Barbara Walters, but the only other person of present time contact with Tiger is Preacher. These characters interactions serve to disclose histories and life, but as a reader you have to be willing to find those meanings as you read. Otherwise, the story comes off as simply a story about Tiger’s life. In reality it deals with identity and its ability to flex as a person grows.
May 6, 2024
Retelling the Christian origin story, Saterstrom writes, “Night took the faces of this man and woman and peeled them off like a question formed inside a fetal darknesss mouth. There, they saw a blood scene. And when finally underwater, the woman mouthed back, I do. The snake said, Do you want some of this fruit from this terrific tree? She did” (165).
January 30, 2018
Best book I've ever read
March 11, 2018
I actually enjoyed this book quite a bit even though it was mildly bizarre and required for class. I liked the way it was told and how the pages were split up. I loved Tiger and all of her stories and am glad I read it.
QUOTE:
“It was not worse than where she was before, but it was more than where she was before.” (157)
QUOTE:
“It was not worse than where she was before, but it was more than where she was before.” (157)
September 18, 2015
Short Review: Oh my f'ing god! (and this exclamation and declarative cannot be abbreviated nor should it even be censored, but I didn't want the thought police to censor it instead). "True story," as Tiger herself would say: "This book really is that spectacular."
Longer Review: I have long been a devout fan of Selah Saterstrom's writing, just as I've long grappled over the tough decision: Which of her books is my favorite? I love both The Meat & Spirit Plan and The Pink Institution for different reasons, and sometimes it's not about one thing being better than the other, a concept which in itself is the very fabric of Saterstrom's texts. That's why I'm not going to say something like Slab is Saterstrom's best book to date. Rather, I'm going to say Saterstrom has accomplished a masterpiece of storytelling and hybrid text. She has outdone herself.
Stitched together by narrative and set on the slab-stage of post-Katrina, post-any-disaster, this story is patched together from stage directions, parables, interviews with Barbara Walters, doodles, flower arrangements, the Wabi-Sabi made by storms and/or the hands of god and/or the devil, memories, divination, and visions.
Saterstrom has the uncanny ability to elevate the voices of the otherwise unheard and transcribe their stories onto the page in a way that is both utterly honest and true, as well as absolutely eloquent. As a priestess in her own right, both of the literary nature and the natural and supernatural nature, Saterstrom serves as the medium for the poverty-stricken (not necessarily impoverished), forgotten or ignored, South. Like Jim Grimsley and Daniel Woodrell, she presents the unseen heroes and anti-heroes to the world and makes us understand that they are human too by never even exploring another option or method of portrayal. Meanwhile, she also shows us how we--that is America--turn away from these populations again and again, and leave them to starve to death and to die from dehydration on rooftops and other islands of isolation. Hell, we turn away and let them starve to death and die of dehydration even when there isn't a storm from which to rescue them.
And Saterstrom never forgets the magic either, and in this way, Saterstrom's books (and most especially Slab) are vibrating texts of basic goodness. There is something sacred in the way she arranges letters to make shrines on the page for us to kneel before, on which for us to place our own beliefs. Her work works the root magic of the reader's soul as she simultaneously entertains and educates; simultaneously opens our hearts and rends our spirits; simultaneously performs our funerary rites and then resurrects us again (even if we're just a dirty dead pelican).
Another true story about Selah Saterstrom: She can tell a goddamn good story.
It has almost been forever since I can remember not being able to put a book down at two in the morning. I'm just too tired and overworked these days. But I just could not put Slab away and I'm simultaneously sad to have finished this book I've long-awaited to read as I am also honored to have been changed by knowing its words, both frontwards and backwards, right-side-up and inverted, like sacrament, they are now a part of me. And I know that anytime I need to, I can pick Slab up again and return.
Selah: Thank you for this gift.
Longer Review: I have long been a devout fan of Selah Saterstrom's writing, just as I've long grappled over the tough decision: Which of her books is my favorite? I love both The Meat & Spirit Plan and The Pink Institution for different reasons, and sometimes it's not about one thing being better than the other, a concept which in itself is the very fabric of Saterstrom's texts. That's why I'm not going to say something like Slab is Saterstrom's best book to date. Rather, I'm going to say Saterstrom has accomplished a masterpiece of storytelling and hybrid text. She has outdone herself.
Stitched together by narrative and set on the slab-stage of post-Katrina, post-any-disaster, this story is patched together from stage directions, parables, interviews with Barbara Walters, doodles, flower arrangements, the Wabi-Sabi made by storms and/or the hands of god and/or the devil, memories, divination, and visions.
Saterstrom has the uncanny ability to elevate the voices of the otherwise unheard and transcribe their stories onto the page in a way that is both utterly honest and true, as well as absolutely eloquent. As a priestess in her own right, both of the literary nature and the natural and supernatural nature, Saterstrom serves as the medium for the poverty-stricken (not necessarily impoverished), forgotten or ignored, South. Like Jim Grimsley and Daniel Woodrell, she presents the unseen heroes and anti-heroes to the world and makes us understand that they are human too by never even exploring another option or method of portrayal. Meanwhile, she also shows us how we--that is America--turn away from these populations again and again, and leave them to starve to death and to die from dehydration on rooftops and other islands of isolation. Hell, we turn away and let them starve to death and die of dehydration even when there isn't a storm from which to rescue them.
And Saterstrom never forgets the magic either, and in this way, Saterstrom's books (and most especially Slab) are vibrating texts of basic goodness. There is something sacred in the way she arranges letters to make shrines on the page for us to kneel before, on which for us to place our own beliefs. Her work works the root magic of the reader's soul as she simultaneously entertains and educates; simultaneously opens our hearts and rends our spirits; simultaneously performs our funerary rites and then resurrects us again (even if we're just a dirty dead pelican).
Another true story about Selah Saterstrom: She can tell a goddamn good story.
It has almost been forever since I can remember not being able to put a book down at two in the morning. I'm just too tired and overworked these days. But I just could not put Slab away and I'm simultaneously sad to have finished this book I've long-awaited to read as I am also honored to have been changed by knowing its words, both frontwards and backwards, right-side-up and inverted, like sacrament, they are now a part of me. And I know that anytime I need to, I can pick Slab up again and return.
Selah: Thank you for this gift.
October 25, 2021
This book was really interesting and uniquely formatted. The story itself wasn't necessarily the type that sucks me in (totally subjective...it's a good story), but I really enjoyed her style and presentation of the characters...those factors sucked me in.
did-not-finish
January 24, 2016I get what is good about this book. I just can't read it right now. My brain needs something a little more straightforward than this.
Part play, part poetry, part stream of conscious monologue, part fictional memoir told in the first person. It's all over the place and I can't switch gears fast enough to folloow.
Part play, part poetry, part stream of conscious monologue, part fictional memoir told in the first person. It's all over the place and I can't switch gears fast enough to folloow.
January 1, 2022
An interesting mixture of various formats, cultures and story telling genres infused in one great book!
February 8, 2018
One of the most heartbreaking books about American culture and history that I have ever read.
December 11, 2016
This book was interesting but very hard for me to understand. By the end I was just flipping pages.
I liked that it was so different from things I normally read. Parts were very nice and poetic too.
I liked that it was so different from things I normally read. Parts were very nice and poetic too.
October 6, 2025
Selah is just so good!!
Read
November 13, 2017Slab written by Selah Saterstrom utilizes familiar concepts of religious iconography to create an intertextual dialogue that strips the stigma from symbols that stem from a staunchly defined Adam and Eve. Saterstrom achieves this onerous task by exploring a forever-imprinted dystopian south with the use of protagonist, Tiger. Tiger shares several anecdotes that reveal she has a dysfunctional family, a troubled past, and has a history as a sex worker. Throughout Act 1, Tiger’s character is flushed out for readers while the book assumes various forms, shifting from an interview with a fictive Barbara Walters, to conversational prose, to pictures that have been hand-drawn by Tiger. The tone of the book then shifts to Act 2, hosting a narrative that signals lyricism and a fundamental transition as the book creates intertextual discourse. This fundamental transformation accelerates previous ideas in the beginning of Slab, to create extended metaphors pertaining to language, sound, and meaning. This shift in the form and focus lends to the subversion of religious motifs that have been previously defined through ontological hypocrisy best understood and exemplified in the meaning of snakes featured on p. 165 which are equated to sound. This is further extended when we learn about the Preacher, whom we later learns was named to sound like a preacher but is in fact not a preacher but eventually transforms into his namesake to preach; “And in your surrender you become the questions you’ve asked . . .” (p. 147), which Tiger has already known as titled in Act 1 of “✤ SCENE FIFTEEN ✤/~in which~/TIGER Remembers the Answer/to the Question”(p. 147). These sections create playful intertextual realities that remind readers of Adam and Eve which compels readers to peruse the book to look for more of these intertextual Easter eggs.
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