Uncomfortable vignettes from a dirty mind. I was very excited to see a short story collection in Book of the Month Club's January line-up, but as I starting working my way through the book, my excitement and interest began to wane and turn to disappointment.
(Note: Spoilers beyond this point).
Let me preface this by saying -- I like 'weird.' I can handle stories that are gritty, uncomfortable, strange and downright gross. Maybe I've watched too many b-movies from the Netflix horror section, but it takes a lot to shock me.
That said, the brand of 'gross' that Moshfegh employs is senseless and cheap. There's no substance behind the gore, so these gritty vignettes of perversion, drug use, mental illness, etc. feel completely hollow and devoid of meaning or consequence.
To effectively pull off something graphic and offensive, I think an author has to offer some sort of substance or redemption. Whether it's an intriguing conflict that holds a reader's interest, or a bigger picture that gives purpose and meaning to what happens within the frame of a story, or an endearing character that garners a feeling of loyalty or compassion... there has to be something that creates substance, or gives the story a point.
These stories lacked that, and often felt 'weird for the sake of being weird.' As I worked through the first few stories, I found myself wondering 'what's the point? why did the author write this? where is this going?' Moshfegh often deviates from the standard story arc, and more than once I found myself reaching the end of a story and wondering '...that's it? nothing happened?'
Another issue I took was voice. This is entirely a matter of opinion (and I'm sure some will disagree with me on this), but I felt that Moshfegh could have challenged herself to create more distinct voices for each of the stories... especially since many of the stories were written in first person.
Writing in first person gives an author the opportunity to really flesh out the mentality and identity of a character, but after reading several stories, I felt that Moshfegh continually failed to shed her own voice and inhabit that of her narrator. She employed similar tone, syntax, phrasing, diction, and pacing from story to story.
For example, the protagonists (if you can call them that) in 'Mr. Wu' and 'Malibu' couldn't be more different -- one a neurotic pervert with a penchant for prostitutes, the other a lovesick pimple-face living with his uncle and collecting unemployment -- but they both use the oddly specific phrase 'moving their bowels.' That pimple-face from 'Malibu' doesn't have anything in common with the ridiculously inappropriate teacher who narrates 'Bettering Myself,' either, but they both describe doing calisthenics on their kitchen floors.
To me, failing to adapt the proper voice for a character feels on par with dressing up as the Little Mermaid for Halloween but failing to wear a bright red wig. If you're writing a story -- especially one in first person -- you need to embody the character completely. Would the narrator in 'Malibu' REALLY say 'moving my bowels,' or would he say 'taking a sh*t'? Would he REALLY do calisthenics on the kitchen floor, or would he try to run around the block and give up after the first 50 feet?
One story that did stand out from the rest in terms of character development and voice was 'A Dark and Winding Road.' In stark contrast to other stories in the collection, this one had a strong and tight construction to support the surprise ending. Moshfegh gave us the right balance of background and insight into the narrator, but left out just enough to create intrigue and curiosity and let us fill in the blanks. This was the first story in the collection where I imagined the voice of the male protagonist relaying his story, rather than the voice of its female author merely reading it aloud.
While the characters in other stories lacked a sense of voice or personal connection that gave substance to their weird or depraved actions, the narrator in 'A Dark and Winding Road' felt authentic and genuine... relatable and funny, even. And thanks to that substance and character development, there was meaning and motive supporting the closing scene.
There was also movement, and the sense that 'A Dark and Winding Road' was following the structure of a story arc. The other stories felt like brief exposures into the stagnant lives of sad people; in contrast, 'A Dark and Winding Road' felt like a proper story.
If only the other stories had followed this pattern, I think 'Homesick' would have been a strong collection of stories that were unsettling, but satisfying. Unfortunately, in my opinion, that wasn't ultimately the case.