So.
Kelly Link is a brilliant author of magical realism.
I kind of hate that term. Magical realism. Because it's redundant. Magic (if you're doing it right) always feels real. Nothing feels more real than magic. I'll get around to that later.
In the mean time:
Kelly Link's stories blur the line between surreal experimental narratives and fairy tales and try to capture (and mostly succeed) that child-like sense of wonder and danger inherent in not really grasping the world around you. That feeling of living in a world that is so much bigger than you, where everything feels like it can be real.
Being a kid and knowing there are rules, and that you must follow them, but not really being aware of the depth and complexity of the game. So everything feels like a spider-web. Traps woven into traps woven into traps and dangled all around you in a glistening collage of threat, beauty and wonder.
This book is a collection of short stories that are real modern day fairy tales. Not the Disney kind where we get tons of (sometimes extremely dark) cultural folklore processed into happily ever after baby pablum. But stories that are about living in the world told from the perspective of younger people growing into it. Stories that capture the feeling of adventure and also apprehension, confusion and the dizzying overwhelming sensory overload of sweet foods, first kisses, great hugs and family struggles.
For me this book was a very fast read.
I finished it in a single sitting.
It was recommended by Laird Barron, so I was hoping to get something exceptionally strange.
And I did.
But not because of technique or style or prose. And not because of its narrative choices to subvert popular fictional trends. The real sense of weirdness in this book is not in the shopping zombies or fairy cultures living in old hand-bags, it's in the characters. It is deeply seated in their every day experience living with these things.
As I've pointed out before, strange is an underrated part of fiction. Because the feeling of something being 'weird' is one of the most difficult things to genuinely capture and one of the feelings that most defines our life. This is what I mean when say nothing is more real than magic.
We love a lot of scientific thinking (for the exact same reason we love religion) because we love the world to make sense, and there is a demand for that. Because for 99% of (at least my) life, nothing makes sense.
There is always a demand for order, because the world is chaos.
But a lot of times both religion and science fail to give you that sense of objective reality. And their failures in doing so, create a higher sense of weirdness and dissociation.
For example: the idea that I'm a collection of nerves and electric signals that has convinced itself it is alive, made up of the debris of exploded stars going back billions of years to the birth of the universe. This, I have been told, is a very rational explanation for my current state of being. I am just a living thing of lightning and dead stars and chaotic patterns that got so complex they developed self-awareness and tricked themselves into a sense of meaning!
No big deal! HEY-YO!
That's our sensible, rational understanding of the world.
And that sound you hear in the background is the gentle twitching of my good eye.
The more I have come to know the less I understand.
The thing is, because we are so inundated in this weird experience sometimes the weird in fiction and art can feel almost...too choreographed. Where we are told "expect the unexpected" but we are given exactly what we expected. Which I guess is unexpected in this case?
But.
No.
When you are told something is absurd and it is absurd, it becomes less absurd. It becomes predictable. It becomes formulaic.
I see this all the time in modern and contemporary art. All the concepts of abandoning form, deconstructing style, abandoning style, abandoning structure, incorporating other cultures, challenging norms, challenging hierarchy, challenging meaning?
None of that is new, or particularly done better in the current styles.
And I love abstract and contemporary art. But when you call attention to abandoning a form I think the message you send isn't 'abstract'. It's that the form holds a lot of meaning to you. That the form is everything to you. By drawing attention to not having it, you draw attention to the want of it. Not necessarily from your audience, but from you, the artist.
I think a great realistic work can be more abstract and more surreal than 'surreal' or 'abstract' works. There can be something in a work like Albert Bierstadt's Storm in the Rocky Mountains that brings up emotions we can't define, that makes us approach the world around us in a way we can't express.
And the same is true in narrative. Sometimes the most realistic thing, twisted just right, like a divorce, like a first kiss, like a funny Grandma who loves to cheat at Scrabble? That can create a sense of overall weirdness and strangeness that is a bigger and grander deconstruction than overt playing with formula.
A child's loss of structure from their family and friendships and their favourite show ending (or dramatically changing) can express a larger sense of deconstruction of culture and identity as a whole. While drawing attention to subversion of classic plot/design is often just (I feel), a superficial challenge that is easy to accept and discard.
I think a lot of the value of 'realism' in art comes from struggling with the abstract and very, very strange nature of our life and experiences.
Anyways, this review has gotten completely away from me. It has grown legs like Baba Yaga's house and marched into the forest to lay an egg.
Goodnight review! Speed you to your nest.
But that, in a sense, is always the biggest compliment I can give to a writer.
They capture me in their mood.
They confuse me.
They get me blabbing and babbling.
For people like me, head-vomit is essentially the same as a warm hug by a fireplace. A snuggle under a blanket. Good books get me thinking and grinding my gears. I can always tell when an author has written something interesting, because I'll feel provoked. Not necessarily challenged, but poked with a stick. Like. Shoved. And made to come out of my filthy den to think for a moment.
So here I am... all thinking. All bottled up lightning and dying stars and searching for patterns.
AND I BLAME KELLY LINK.
Insufferable, nasty, full of sticks! And cats! Frustrating. Cruel. Cutesy. Pretentious! Nostalgic. And provocative.
I like that.
9/10