Why is it I never had read Karen Russell’s St Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves (2005)?! Great title! And it is terrific, a story collection with irrealist or magical realism intent; there is real invention and effervescence and more great ideas in it than in a hundred books. Magic, grounded most often in the real world of growing up; could be a YA book. All the stories take place in the same island community in the Florida Everglades. Infused with lyrical prose and humor.
So many stories I loved. The title story is about girls raised by wolves who are now being “reformed” by nuns to enter the human world. I was reminded of schools in general meant to school the wild out of you. Stand in line, be quiet, do what you are told. Indigenous schools where the “Indian” is beaten out of indigenous kids. This is a feminist story, too, of course, since it is about girls raised to be domesticated. And, sadly, this process works for most of them. But not all of them!
“Ava Wrestles the Alligator” is the first in a series of stories that became Swampklandia (which I have yet to read), about the Bigtree Wrestling Dynasty—Grandpa Sawtooth, Chief Bigtree, and twelve-year-old Ava—proprietors of Swamplandia!
The opening story, “Haunting Olivia,” grabbed me right away. It’s about two young boys who make midnight trips to a boat graveyard in search of their dead sister. The last line took my breath away!
“ZZ’s Sleep-Away Camp for Disordered Dreamers” may not be the best story in the volume, but because my immediate family has a fascinating history of sleep issues, this is the one I found a pdf for and shared with the fam.
I hesitate to call these experiences disorders, as Russell would call it fascinating opportunities for amazing psychic and imaginative experiences. Okay, since you’re curious: We have had sleep talkers, sleep walkers, insomniacs, night terrors, lucid dreaming, those who see dead people, all of it (though not me, I’m not psychic, boring).
The camp has a series of cabins: Sleep apneacs, somnambulists, somniloquists, headbangers, night eaters, gnashers, night terrors, insomniacs, narcoleptics, incubuses, and incontinents, which is also a kind of ranked order of the social hierarchy--being teens, there has to be a social hierarchy.
Oh, and there’s one more category: Other, which the narrator of this story occupies. “That means we’re considered anomalies by Gnasher dudes who have ground their pearly whites down to nubbins, by Incubus girls who think that demon jockeys are riding them in their sleep.”
“At precisely 4:47, we woke up screaming, staring straight at one another. Oglivy’s hair was sticking straight up, his white eyes goggling out in the dark, the mirror image of my terror. Our screams gave way to giggles. ‘What did you dream?’ he wheezed. ‘I dreamed,’ I gasped, still laughing, “that there was this silver rocket, burning and burning.’ He stopped laughing abruptly. ‘Me, too.’ I was a prophet. Annie calls them my postmonitions.”
There’s an insomnia balloon you can go in. “This year, we’ve got a New Kid, this Eastern European lycanthrope.” There’s Felipe, a parasomniac with a coincidence of spirit possession.
The closing of “Sleepaway Camp”:
“Overhead, the glass envelope of the Insomnia Balloon is malfunctioning. It blinks on and off at arrhythmic intervals, making the world go gray:black, gray:black. In the distance, a knot of twisted trees slashes like cerebral circuitry.”